“Do you mean—?” said Aurelia, not daring to ask farther.

“I mean, my dear young lady,” said Mr. Wayland, “that your researches have brought to light the means of doing tardy justice to your good father.”

“His right to the Manor House is here established,” explained Mr. Belamour.  “It will not be a matter of favour of my Lady’s, but, as my brother supposed, he ought to have been put in possession on the old Lord’s death.”

“And Eugene will be a gentleman of estate,” cried Aurelia, joyously.  “Nor will any one be able to drive out my dear father!  Oh! how happy I am.”

Both she and Mr. Belamour spared Mr. Wayland the knowledge of my Lady’s many broken promises, and indeed she was anxious to get back to the Royal York, lest her father and sister should have returned, and think her again vanished.

They all met at the door, and much amazed were the Major and Betty to encounter her with her two squires.  Mr. Wayland took the Major to show him the parchments.  Betty had her explanation from her sister and Mr. Belamour.

“You actually ventured back to that dreadful house,” she said, looking at them gratefully.

“You see what protectors I had,” said Aurelia, with a happy smile.

“Yes,” said Betty, “I have been longing to say—­only I cannot,” for she was almost choked by a great sob, “how very much we owe to you, sir.  I could say it better if I did not feel it so much.”  And she held out her hand.

“You cannot owe to me a tithe of what I owe to your sister,” said Mr. Belamour, “and through her to you, madam.  Much as nature had done for her, never would she have been to the miserable recluse the life and light-bringing creature she was, save for the ‘sister’ she taught me to know and love, even before I saw her.”

A wonderful revelation here burst on Aurelia, the at least half-married woman, and she fled precipitately, smiling to herself in ecstasy, behind her great fan.

Betty, never dreaming of the drift of the words, so utterly out of the reach of love did she suppose herself, replied, composedly, “Our Aurelia is a dear good girl, and I am thankful that through all her trials she has so proved herself.  I am glad she has been a comfort to you, sir.  She—–­”

“And will not you complete the cure, and render the benefit lasting?” said Mr. Belamour, who had never let go the hand she had given him in gratitude, and now gave it a pressure that conveyed, for the first time, his meaning.

“Oh!” she cried, trying to take it away, “your kindness and gratitude are leading you too far, sir.  A hideous old fright like me, instead of a lovely young thing like her!  It is an absurdity.”

“Stay, Miss Delavie.  Remember that your Aurelia’s roses and lilies were utterly wasted on me; I never thought whether she was beautiful save when others raved about her.  I never saw her till yesterday; but the voice, the goodness, the amiability, in fact all that I did truly esteem and prize in her I had already found matured and mellowed together with that beauty of countenance which is independent of mere skin-deep complexion and feature.  You know my history, and how far I am from being able to offer you a fresh untouched young heart, such as my nephew brings to the fair Aurelia; but the devotion of my life will be yours if you will accept it.”