"I suppose the truth is, he found the house so different from his own place, the Oaks, that he couldn't reconcile himself to stop in it," resumed Mr. Dexter, talking as fast as ever. "A magnificent place that, his servant tells me. He has another, too, close by it, that he keeps up as well. I pressed the question on the servant—a most respectable man, quite superior, Sir Harry—what could be taking his master away; but he said he didn't know, unless it might be that he was disappointed at finding the shooting here so poor. The preserves at the Oaks are hardly to be matched in the kingdom. Any way, Sir Harry, he's _gone_, whatever may have taken him." As Mr. Dexter went out of the room, disburdened of his news, Sir Harry came to the window where I sat at work, laid his hand upon my head, and made me look up at him. "Is that little heart of yours relieved by the tidings?" "Yes; oh, yes. I have not dreaded Mr. Edwin Barley so much the last few days; but I am glad he is gone. I was always fearing that he might apply for some power that would enable him legally to take me hence." "In that case I must have got legal power on my side in the shape of a special licence, and married you romantically in the great drawing-room at twelve at night, and so made you secure in that way. I think even now it may be safer, Anne, not to delay the ceremony long." I looked up in consternation, believing he really thought there might still be danger, and met the expression in his eyes. Mine fell on my work again. I began sewing fast. "Don't you think Monsieur de Mellissie looks very ill, Sir Harry?" "I do; but low fever reduces a man greatly. When are you going to leave off the 'Sir?' 'Sir Harry' is worse than 'Mr. Chandos' was." "But what can I call you?" "I was christened Harry." "I shall learn it in time," I answered, shyly, "through hearing the others say it." "Anne, do you know what poor George said the last night of his life?" he asked, after a pause. "No. Was it about me?" "It was about you: when you were the little thing he met at Hallam. He said you were a sweet, loveable child: truthful, honest, and good. I think you are the same still." I bent my blushing face: praises were so sweet from him. Sir Harry suddenly clasped me to him with a deep sound—quite a cry of love; and I had to kneel down afterwards and hunt for my needle. A few mornings subsequent to this, the post brought a packet addressed to Sir Harry Chandos. When I saw it was Mr. Edwin Barley's handwriting, my heart failed me. Sir Harry read it twice over; glanced at me, and put it in his pocket. Monsieur de Mellissie was considerably better; the change of air and scene had almost restored him. He did not yet get up to breakfast. I, Emily, and her brother took it alone. Plans had been under discussion for some days. Sir Harry's marriage was already talked of openly.