I do beg of you, as the only kindness you can do
me now, never to let it be known by any living creature at Clifford Hall.

"Yours till death, WALTER."

Mr. Bartley entered with the telegraph forms, and said to Mary, sharply,
"Where is he?" Mary told him. "Well, write him a telegram. It shall be at
the railway in half an hour, at Marseilles theoretically in one hour,
practically in four."

Mary sat down and wrote her telegram: "Pray come to Clifford Hall. Your
father is dangerously ill."

"Show it to me," said Bartley. And on perusing it: "A woman's telegram.
Don't frighten him too much; leave him the option to come or stay."

He tore it up, and said, "Now write a business telegram, and make sure of
the thing you want."

"Come home directly--your father is dying."

Old Baker started up. "God bless you, sir," says he, "and God bless you,
miss, and make you happy one day. I'll take it myself, as my trap is at
the door." He bustled out, and his carriage drove away at a great rate.

Mr. Bartley went quietly to his study to business without another word,
and Mary leaned back a little exhausted by the scene, but a smile almost
of happiness came and tarried on her sweet face for the first time these
many days; as for old John Baker, he told his tale triumphantly at the
Hall, and not without vanity, for he was proud of his good judgment in
going to Mary Bartley.

To the old housekeeper, a most superior woman of his own age, and almost
a lady, he said something rather remarkable which he was careful not to
bestow on the young wags in the servants' hall: "Mrs. Milton," says he,
"I am an old man, and have knocked about at home and abroad, and seen a
deal of life, but I've seen something to-day that I never saw before."

"Ay, John, surely; and what ever was that?"

"I've seen an angel pray to God, and I have seen God answer her."

From that day Mary had two stout partisans in Clifford Hall.

* * * * *

Mr. Bartley's views about Mary now began to waver. It occurred to him
that should Colonel Clifford die and Walter inherit his estates, he could
easily come to terms with the young man so passionately devoted to his
daughter. He had only to say: "I can make no allowance at present, but
I'll settle my whole fortune upon Mary and her children after my death,
if you'll make a moderate settlement at present," and Walter would
certainly fall into this, and not demand accounts from Mary's trust