And when the train had gone, Sir Francis left the platform in a state of profound abstraction, and was driven home in his brougham feeling more like a sentimentalist than a lawyer.
"Extraordinary!" he ejaculated--"The most extraordinary thing I ever heard of in my life?
But I knew--I felt that Helmsley would dispose of his wealth in quite an unexpected way! Now I wonder how the man--Mary Deane's lover--will take it?
I wonder! But what a woman she is!--how beautiful!--how simple and honest--above all how purely womanly!--with all the sweet grace and gentleness which alone commands, and ever will command man's adoration! Helmsley must have been very much at peace and happy in his last days! Yes!--the sorrowful 'king' of many millions must have at last found the treasure he sought and which he considered more precious than all his money! For Solomon was right: 'If a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would be utterly contemned!'" * * * * * At Weircombe next day there was a stiff gale of wind blowing inland, and the village, with its garlands and pyramids of summer blossom, was swept from end to end by warm, swift, salty gusts, that bent the trees and shook the flowers in half savage, half tender sportiveness, while the sea, shaping itself by degrees into "wild horses" of blue water bridled with foam, raced into the shore with ever-increasing hurry and fury.

But notwithstanding the strong wind, there was a bright sun, and a dazzling blue sky, scattered over with flying masses of cloud, like flocks of white birds soaring swiftly to some far-off region of rest.

Everything in nature looked radiant and beautiful,--health and joy were exhaled from every breath of air--and yet in one place--one pretty rose-embowered cottage, where, until now, the spirit of content had held its happy habitation, a sudden gloom had fallen, and a dark cloud had blotted out all the sunshine.

Mary's little "home sweet home" had been all at once deprived of sweetness,--and she sat within it like a mournful castaway, clinging to the wreck of that which had so long been her peace and safety.

Tired out by her long night journey and lack of sleep, she looked very white and weary and ill--and Angus Reay, sitting opposite to her, looked scarcely less worn and weary than herself.