“You may make arrangements for a new assistant in the branches this lady has taught.  Miss Helen Darley is to be my wife.  I had hoped to have announced this news in a less abrupt and ungraceful manner.  But I came to tell you with my own lips what you would have learned before evening from my friends in the village.”

Mr. Bernard went to Helen, who stood silent, with downcast eyes, and took her hand warmly, hoping she might find all the happiness she deserved.  Then he turned to Dudley Venner, and said, “She is a queen, but has never found it out.  The world has nothing nobler than this dear woman, whom you have discovered in the disguise of a teacher.  God bless her and you!”

Dudley Venner returned his friendly grasp, without answering a word in articulate speech.

Silas remained dumb and aghast for a brief space.  Coming to himself a little, he thought there might have been some mistake about the items,—­would like to have Miss barley’s bill returned,—­would make it all right,—­had no idee that Squire Venner had a special int’rest in Miss barley,—­was sorry he had given offence,—­if he might take that bill and look it over—­

“No.  Mr. Peckham,” said Mr. Dudley Venner, “there will be a full meeting of the Board next week, and the bill, and such evidence with reference to the management of the Institution and the treatment of its instructors as Mr. Langdon sees fit to bring forward will be laid before them.”

Miss Helen Darley became that very day the guest of Miss Arabella Thornton, the Judge’s daughter.  Mr. Bernard made his appearance a week or two later at the Lectures, where the Professor first introduced him to the reader.

He stayed after the class had left the room.

“Ah, Mr. Langdon! how do you do?  Very glad to see you back again.  How have you been since our correspondence on Fascination and other curious scientific questions?”

It was the Professor who spoke,—­whom the reader will recognize as myself, the teller of this story.

“I have been well,” Mr. Bernard answered, with a serious look which invited a further question.

“I hope you have had none of those painful or dangerous experiences you seemed to be thinking of when you wrote; at any rate, you have escaped having your obituary written.”

“I have seen some things worth remembering.  Shall I call on you this evening and tell you about them?”

“I shall be most happy to see you.”

This was the way in which I, the Professor, became acquainted with some of the leading events of this story.  They interested me sufficiently to lead me to avail myself of all those other extraordinary methods of obtaining information well known to writers of narrative.