“How wonderful! how wonderful!”

Amy Waring, who had not heard the previous conversation between her two aunts, blushed as she heard these words, as if Mrs. Bennet had been alluding to something in which Amy was particularly interested.

“Amy,” said Mrs. Bennet.

Amy could scarcely raise her eyes.  There was an exquisite maidenly shyness overspreading her whole person.  At length she looked the response she could not speak.

“How could you?” asked her aunt.

Poor Amy was utterly unable to reply.

“Coming and going in my house, my dearest niece, and yet hugging such a secret, and holding your tongue.  Oh Amy, Amy!”

These were the words of reproach; but the tone, and look, and impression were of entire love and sympathy.  Lawrence Newt looked calmly on.

“Aunt Lucia, what could I do?” was all that Amy could say.

“Well, well, I do not reproach you; I blame nobody.  I am too glad and happy.  It is too wonderful, wonderful!”

There was a fullness and intensity of emphasis in what she said that apparently made Amy suspect that she had not correctly understood her aunt’s intention.

“Oh, you mean about Aunt Martha!” said Amy, with an air of relief and surprise.

Lawrence Newt smiled.  Mrs. Bennet turned to Amy with a fresh look of inquiry.

“About Aunt Martha?  Of course about Aunt Martha.  Why, Amy, what on earth did you suppose it was about?”

Again the overwhelming impossibility to reply.  Mrs. Bennet was very curious.  She looked at her sister Martha, who was smiling intelligently.  Then at Lawrence Newt, who did not cease smiling, as if he were in no perplexity whatsoever.  Then at Amy, who sat smiling at her through the tears that had gathered in the thoughtful womanly brown eyes.

“Let me speak,” said Lawrence Newt, quietly.  “Why should we not all be glad and happy with you?  You have found a sister, Aunt Martha has found herself and a son, I have found a wife, and Amy a husband.”

They returned to the room where they had left the guests, and the story was quietly told to Hope Wayne and the others.

Hope and Edward looked at each other.

“Little Malacca!” she said, in a low tone, putting out her hand.

“Sister Hope,” said the young man, blushing, and his large eyes filling with tenderness.

“And my sister, too,” whispered Ellen Bennet, as she took Hope’s other hand.

CHAPTER LXXXIII.

MRS. DELILAH JONES.

Mr. Newt’s political friends in New York were naturally anxious when he went to Washington.  They had constant communication with the Honorable Mr. Ele in regard to his colleague; for although they were entirely sure of Mr. Ele, they could not quite confide in Mr. Newt, nor help feeling that, in some eccentric moment, even his interest might fail to control him.