“I hope I find your health quite re-established? This change to your own pleasant house--pleasant as ever, I see”--he once more glanced round it--paused--then altogether broke down. “It seems but a day since we were children, Anne,” he said, in a faltering voice. Agatha and her husband moved away. They respected the one real feeling which had outlasted all his sentimentalism. For several minutes they stood at the far window apart. When Anne called them back, Major Harper had recovered himself, and was sitting by her. “Nathanael, our old friend here says you wished to speak with me?” “I did.” “Make haste, then, for I am going to London to-night I have made up my mind. I cannot settle here in Dorsetshire.” “Not if it were your father's wish--his last longing desire?” “Anne, for God's sake don't speak of my father.” He leant his elbow on the table and covered his eyes. Nathanael and Agatha exchanged looks, then both smiled--the happy smile of a clear conscience and a heart at rest. “Tell him now,” whispered the wife to her husband. “Brother!” Major Harper lifted up his head. “My elder brother!” And Nathanael offered the hand of peace, which, in spite of all outward and necessary association, neither had offered or grasped since Frederick's return to Dorset. “What do you mean?” “I mean that you are my elder brother--my father's favourite always. If he had lingered but another day he would doubtless have proved that, and have done--what I intend to do, just as if he had himself accomplished it. Do you understand me?” “No!” And Major Harper looked thoroughly amazed. “Do you see this? which you, either from forgetfulness, or trust in me--I had rather believe the latter--left in my hands on that day.” And he drew from his pocket the will which had been read. “You spoke of throwing it into Chancery, and there would be scope for a century of Chancery business here. But I choose rather to respect the honour and unity of the family. Therefore, with my wife's entire consent in her presence, Anne's and yours, I here do what my father, had he lived, would certainly have done.” He took up the codicil, separated it from the will to which it was fastened by seals, and quietly, as if it had been a fragment of worthless paper, put it into the fire. “Now, Frederick, the original will stands.” Frederick sat motionless. He seemed hardly to believe the evidence of his own eyes. He watched the curling, crackling paper with a sort of childish curiosity. When at last it was completely destroyed, he shut his eyes with a great sigh of satisfaction. Miss Valery softly touched him. “Major Harper, every brother would not have acted thus.” “No, indeed. Just Heavens, no!” he cried, as the whole fact burst on him, touching his impressible nature to the quick. “My dear Nathanael! My dear Agatha! God bless you both.”