At dessert, the butler brought a large letter to Sir William. It was a telegraph message--I recognized the look of the things we had several during papa's illness. Easy to sit still now. I seemed to know quite well what was coming, but the only clear thought was “mine--mine.” Sir William read, folded up the message, and passed it on to Augustus, then rose. “Friends, fill your glasses. I have just had good news; not unexpected, but still good news. Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honour to give you the health of my nephew, Francis Charteris, Esquire, Governor-elect of ------------.” In the cheering, confusion, and congratulation that followed, Lisa passed the telegram to me, and I saw it was from “Max Urquhart, London.” As soon as we got into a corner by ourselves, my sister burst out with the whole mystery. “Thank goodness, it's over; I never kept a secret before, and Augustus was so frightened lest I should tell--and then what would Doctor Urquhart have said? It's Doctor Urquhart's planning, and he was to have brought the good news to-day; and I'm very sorry I abused him, for he has been working like a horse for Fancis's interest, and--did you ever see a young fellow take a piece of good fortune so coolly--a lovely West Indian Island, with Government house, and salary large enough to make Penelope a most magnificent governor's wife--yet he is not a bit thankful for it--I declare I am ashamed of Francis Charteris.” She went on a good deal more in this fashion, but I had nothing to say--I felt so strange and confused; till at last I leant my head on her shoulder, and cried softly. Which brought me into great opprobrium, and subjected me to the accusation of always weeping when there was the least prospect of a marriage in the family. Marriage! just at that moment, there might not have been such a thing as marriage in the world. I never thought of it. I only thought of life, a life still kept safe, labouring busily to make everybody happy, true to itself and to its promises, forgetting nothing and no one, kind to the thankful and unthankful alike. Compared to it, my own insignificant life, with its small hopes and petty pains, all crumbled down into nothingness. “Well, are you glad, Dora?” Ay, I was; very glad--very content. Papa came in soon, and he and I walked up and down, arm-in-arm, talking the matter over; till, seeing Francis sitting alone in a recess, we went up to him, and papa again wished him all happiness. He merely said, “thank you,” and muttered something about “wishing to explain by-and-by.” “Which means, I suppose, that I am shortly to be left with only one girl to take care of me--eh! Francis,” said papa, smiling. “Sir--I did not mean--I” he actually stammered. “I hope, Mr. Johnston, you understand that this appointment is not yet accepted--indeed I am uncertain if I shall accept it.”