dia's getting the situation, which she'll be very pleased to hear, and
that it's your wish I should see her safe to London. But if I do find
the bag, and all safe in it, you shall hear, sir, afore I get back."

Tuesday evening, 6 p.m. A telegram for Reverend Ernest Maltby from
London. The vicar opened it; it was signed TB, and was as
follows:--"All right--I have got it--hurrah!--Tell Jane."

An hour later found the vicar in Thomas Bradly's comfortable kitchen,
and seated by his sister.

"Jane," he began, "I have often brought you the best of all good news,
the gospel's glad tidings; perhaps you won't be sorry to hear a little
of this world's good news from me."

"What is it?" she asked, turning rather pale.

"Jane, the Lord has been very good--the bag is found; your brother has
got it all right."

Poor Jane! She thought that she had risen out of the reach of all
strong emotion on this subject; but it was not so. "Patience had indeed
had her perfect work in her," yet the pressure and strain of her sorrow
had never really wholly left her. And now the news brought by the vicar
caused a rush of joy that for a few moments was almost intolerable. But
her habitual self-control did not even then desert her, and she was
enabled in a little while to listen with composure to the explanation of
her clergyman, while her tears now flowed freely and calmly, bringing
happy relief to her gentle spirit. And then, at her request, Mr Maltby
knelt by her side, and uttered a fervent thanksgiving on her behalf to
Him who had at length scattered the dark clouds which had long hung over
the heart of the meek and patient sufferer. And now, oh what a joy it
was to feel that the heavy burden was gone; that she who had borne it
would be able to show her late mistress, Lady Morville, that she was
innocent of the charge laid against her, and had never swerved from the
paths of uprightness in her earthly service. As she thought on these
things, and bright smiles shone through her tears, the vicar was deeply
touched to hear her, as she quietly bowed her head upon her hands,
implore pardon of her heavenly Father for her impatience and want of
faith. He waited, however, till she again turned towards him her face
full of sweet peace, and then he said,--

"`Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye do much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
With blessings on your head.'

"Yes, Jane, your trial has indeed been