him together," shouted Deborah in a burst of gratitude,
"and there he sits upstairs with arms to put about my lily-queen for the
drying of her dear eyes."

Mr. Pash was not at all pleased at this news and rubbed his nose hard.
"If a proper will had only been made," he said aggressively, "a proper
guardian might have been appointed, and this young lady would not have
been permitted to throw herself away."

"Beggin' your parding, Mr. Pash," said Deborah, in an offended tone,
"but this marriage is of my making, to say nothing of Heaven, which
brought him and my pretty together. Mr. Beecot ain't got money, but his
looks is takin', and his 'eart is all that an angel can want. My
pretty's chice," added the maiden, shaking an admonitory finger, "and my
pretty's happiness, so don't you go a-spilin' of it."

"I have nothing to say, save to regret that a young lady in possession
of five thousand a year should make a hasty contract like this," said
Mr. Pash, dryly, and hopping up the cellar stairs.

"It wasn't hasty," cried Deborah, following and talking all the time;
"six months have them dears billed and cooed lovely, and if my queen
wants to buy a husband, why not? Just you go up and read the will proper
and without castin' cold water on my beauty's warm 'eart, or trouble
will come of your talkin'. I'm mild," said Deborah, chasing the little
lawyer up the stairs leading to the first floor, "mild as flat beer if
not roused: but if you make me red, my 'and flies like a windmill,
and--"

Mr. Jabez Pash heard no more. He stopped his legal ears and fled into
the sitting-room, where he found the lovers seated on a sofa near the
window. Sylvia was in Paul's embrace, and her head was on his shoulder.
Beecot had his arm in a sling, and looked pale, but his eyes were as
bright as ever, and his face shone with happiness. Sylvia also looked
happy. To know that she was rich, that Paul was to be her husband,
filled the cup of her desires to the brim. Moreover, she was beginning
to recover from the shock of her father's death, and was feverishly
anxious to escape from Gwynne Street, and from the house where the
tragedy had taken place.

"Well," said Mr. Pash, drawing a long breath and sucking in his cheeks,
"you lose no time, young gentleman."

Paul laughed, but did not change his position. Sylvia indeed blushed and
raised her head, but Paul still held her with his uninjured arm, defying
Mr. Pash and all the world. "I am gathering ro