u may say what you please. He has
got you in his power now, and I don't think even you can go back."

"No; I shall not go back again."

"I would join with Lady Midlothian in putting you into a madhouse,
if you did. But I am so glad; I am, indeed. I was afraid to the
last,--terribly afraid; you are so hard and so proud. I don't mean
hard to me, dear. You have never been half hard enough to me. But you
are hard to yourself, and, upon my word, you have been hard to him.
What a deal you will have to make up to him!"

"I feel that I ought to stand before him always as a penitent,--in a
white sheet."

"He will like it better, I dare say, if you will sit upon his knee.
Some penitents do, you know. And how happy you will be! He'll never
explain the sugar-duties to you, and there'll be no Mr Bott at
Nethercoats." They sat together the whole morning,--while Mr Palliser
was seeing to the springs and cushions,--and by degrees Alice began
to enjoy her happiness. As she did so her friend enjoyed it with her,
and at last they had something of the comfort and excitement which
such an occasion should give. "I'll tell you what, Alice; you shall
come and be married at Matching, in August, or perhaps September.
That's the only way in which I can be present; and if we can bespeak
some sun, we'll have the breakfast out in the ruins."

On the following morning they all started together, a first-class
compartment having been taken for the Palliser family, and a
second-class compartment close to them for the Palliser servants. Mr
Palliser, as he slowly handed his wife in, was a triumphant man; as
was also Mr Grey, as he handed in his lady-love, though, in a manner,
much less manifest. We may say that both the gentlemen had been
very fortunate while at Lucerne. Mr Palliser had come abroad with a
feeling that all the world had been cut from under his feet. A great
change was needed for his wife, and he had acknowledged at once that
everything must be made to yield to that necessity. He certainly
had his reward,--now in his triumphant return. Terrible troubles
had afflicted him as he went, which seemed now to have dissipated
themselves altogether. When he thought of Burgo Fitzgerald he
remembered him only as a poor, unfortunate fellow, for whom he should
be glad to do something, if the doing of anything were only in his
power; and he had in his pocket a letter which he had that morning
received from the Duke of St Bungay, marked private and