oncealed much longer. Two more little slips
of paper, and I have done. Third proof! Certificate of Doctor Ganz,
still living in practice at Neuchatel, dated July, 1838. The doctor
certifies (you shall read it for yourselves directly), first, that he
attended the adopted child in its infant maladies; second, that, three
months before the date of the certificate, the gentleman adopting the
child as his son died; third, that on the date of the certificate, his
widow and her maid, taking the adopted child with them, left Neuchatel on
their return to England. One more link now added to this, and my chain
of evidence is complete. The maid remained with her mistress till her
mistress's death, only a few years since. The maid can swear to the
identity of the adopted infant, from his childhood to his youth--from his
youth to his manhood, as he is now. There is her address in England--and
there, Mr. Vendale, is the fourth, and final proof!"

"Why do you address yourself to _me_?" said Vendale, as Obenreizer threw
the written address on the table.

Obenreizer turned on him, in a sudden frenzy of triumph.

"_Because you are the man_! If my niece marries you, she marries a
bastard, brought up by public charity. If my niece marries you, she
marries an impostor, without name or lineage, disguised in the character
of a gentleman of rank and family."

"Bravo!" cried Bintrey. "Admirably put, Mr. Obenreizer! It only wants
one word more to complete it. She marries--thanks entirely to your
exertions--a man who inherits a handsome fortune, and a man whose origin
will make him prouder than ever of his peasant-wife. George Vendale, as
brother-executors, let us congratulate each other! Our dear dead
friend's last wish on earth is accomplished. We have found the lost
Walter Wilding. As Mr. Obenreizer said just now--you are the man!"

The words passed by Vendale unheeded. For the moment he was conscious of
but one sensation; he heard but one voice. Marguerite's hand was
clasping his. Marguerite's voice was whispering to him:

"I never loved you, George, as I love you now!"

THE CURTAIN FALLS

May-day. There is merry-making in Cripple Corner, the chimneys smoke,
the patriarchal dining-hall is hung with garlands, and Mrs. Goldstraw,
the respected housekeeper, is very busy. For, on this bright morning the
young master of Cripple Corner is married to its young mistress, far
away: to wit, in the little town of Brieg