“Did you ever know Eliza concede anything, Bertie?”

“Well, not often.”

“Who gave her away?”

“I did:  look at my gala toggery”—­opening his overcoat.  “He wanted to forbid it.  ‘Don’t hinder me, father,’ I pleaded; ’it is the last brotherly service I can ever render her.’  And so,” his tone changing to lightness, “I have been and gone and done it.”

Harry Carradyne understood.  “Not the last, Hubert; don’t say that.  I hope you will live to render her many another yet.”

Hubert smiled faintly.  “Look at me,” he said in answer.

“Yes, I know; I see how you look.  But you may take a turn yet.”

“Ah, miracles are no longer wrought for us.  Shall I surprise you very much, cousin mine, if I say that were the offer made me of prolonged life, I am not sure that I should accept it?”

“Not unless health were renewed with it; I can understand that.  You have had to endure suffering, Bertie.”

“Ay.  Pain, discomfort, fears, weariness.  After working out their torment upon me, they—­why then they took a turn and opened out the vista of a refuge.”

“A refuge?”

“The one sure Refuge offered by God to the sick and sorrowful, the weary and heavy-laden—­Himself.  I found it.  I found Him, and all His wonderful mercy.  It will not be long now, Harry, before I see Him face to face.  And here comes His true minister but for whom I might have missed the way.”

Harry turned his head, and saw, advancing up the drive, a good-looking young clergyman.  “Who is it?” he involuntarily cried.

“Your brother-in-law, Robert Grame.  Lucy’s husband.”

It was not the fashion in those days for a bride’s mother (or one acting as her mother) to attend the bride to church; therefore Mrs. Carradyne, following it, was spared risk of conflict with Captain Monk on that score.  She was in Eliza’s room, assisting at the putting on of the bridal robes (for we have to go back an hour or so) when a servant came up to say that Mr. Hamlyn waited below.  Rather wondering—­for he was to have driven straight to the church—­Mrs. Carradyne went downstairs.

“Pardon me, dear Mrs. Carradyne,” he said, as he shook hands, and she had never seen him look so handsome, “I could not pass the house without making one more effort to disarm Captain Monk’s prejudices, and asking for his blessing on us.  Do you think he will consent to see me?”

Mrs. Carradyne felt sure he would not, and said so.  But she sent Rimmer to the library to ask the question.  Mr. Hamlyn pencilled down a few anxious words on paper, folded it, and put it into the man’s hand.

No; it proved useless.  Captain Monk was harder than adamant; he sent Rimmer back with a flea in his ear, and the petition torn in two.

“I feared so,” sighed Mrs. Carradyne.  “He will not this morning see even Eliza.”

Mr. Hamlyn did not sigh in return; he spoke a cross, impatient word:  he had never been able to see reason in the Captain’s dislike to him, and, with a brief good-morning, went out to his carriage.  But, remembering something when crossing the hall, he came back.