removed to Windsor; and two days afterwards I received a parcel from her, my own letters all returned!—­and a few lines at the same time by the post, stating her extreme surprize at not having had the smallest reply to her last; and adding, that as silence on such a point could not be misconstrued, and as it must be equally desirable to both to have every subordinate arrangement concluded as soon as possible, she now sent me, by a safe conveyance, all my letters, and requested, that if I could not directly command hers, so as to send them to Highbury within a week, I would forward them after that period to her at—­:  in short, the full direction to Mr. Smallridge’s, near Bristol, stared me in the face.  I knew the name, the place, I knew all about it, and instantly saw what she had been doing.  It was perfectly accordant with that resolution of character which I knew her to possess; and the secrecy she had maintained, as to any such design in her former letter, was equally descriptive of its anxious delicacy.  For the world would not she have seemed to threaten me.—­Imagine the shock; imagine how, till I had actually detected my own blunder, I raved at the blunders of the post.—­ What was to be done?—­One thing only.—­I must speak to my uncle.  Without his sanction I could not hope to be listened to again.—­ I spoke; circumstances were in my favour; the late event had softened away his pride, and he was, earlier than I could have anticipated, wholly reconciled and complying; and could say at last, poor man! with a deep sigh, that he wished I might find as much happiness in the marriage state as he had done.—­I felt that it would be of a different sort.—­Are you disposed to pity me for what I must have suffered in opening the cause to him, for my suspense while all was at stake?—­No; do not pity me till I reached Highbury, and saw how ill I had made her.  Do not pity me till I saw her wan, sick looks.—­I reached Highbury at the time of day when, from my knowledge of their late breakfast hour, I was certain of a good chance of finding her alone.—­I was not disappointed; and at last I was not disappointed either in the object of my journey.  A great deal of very reasonable, very just displeasure I had to persuade away.  But it is done; we are reconciled, dearer, much dearer, than ever, and no moment’s uneasiness can ever occur between us again.  Now, my dear madam, I will release you; but I could not conclude before.  A thousand and a thousand thanks for all the kindness you have ever shewn me, and ten thousand for the attentions your heart will dictate towards her.—­If you think me in a way to be happier than I deserve, I am quite of your opinion.—­Miss W. calls me the child of good fortune.  I hope she is right.—­In one respect, my good fortune is undoubted, that of being able to subscribe myself,
                    Your obliged and affectionate Son,
                                          F. C. WESTON CHURCHILL.

CHAPTER XV