"That is what I call comfortable confidence, Berty; but you have good reason for it. Norman would not be dear as a son to me if he were not a good, unselfish brother. I do believe that whilst he owns a shilling you will be certain of sixpence." I had like faith in my brother, and there was also a hidden consciousness that if I stood otherwise alone in the world, I could claim the devotion of a true heart and the protection of a strong arm to bless and shield me in my journey through life, if I so willed it. True, Stephen Hastings had not spoken to me of love, except by those eloquent eyes of his, and all the thoughtful, tender attentions which it was possible for him to pay me during his visit to King's Court. I think I knew why he hesitated to speak. Stephen was a younger brother, with small means, and his way to make; but he had first-rate abilities, and great energy and perseverance, with friends also who desired to help him into a position where he could find scope for all these. It was only to wait and trust, and I felt that Stephen deserved all confidence and was worth waiting for. CHAPTER II. WE lost our kind uncle six months after Norman came of age. He had come to stay with us suddenly one day, and had been delighted by the manner in which my brother realized the responsibilities of his position, and predicted a bright future for us both. "You will not disgrace the old name, my boy," he said, "and I trust you will soon bring a fair young wife to occupy your mother's chair. I picture you both—Berty and you, I mean—fittingly mated, and the sooner my dream becomes a reality the better." Afterwards, he whispered something about Stephen Hastings, and said, "Even if he should take my pet without a penny, he would never regret it." "He has not asked for me yet, Uncle Bernard," I replied. "But I can see as far into the future without spectacles as my neighbours can, and I have bought you a wedding present on the strength of my prophetic vision. I mean to give it you now, but you must not wear it till your wedding-day." "I believe you rack your brains for excuses to buy me things; but you must keep back your wedding gift till the proper time comes, Uncle Bernard," I replied. "No, dear. You must indulge me by taking it from my own hand. If I should live to give you away to—spare your blushes, Berty, I will mention no name—a husband, well. If not, you will remember that I actually gave you these little souvenirs. Come with me." Uncle Bernard led us to a quaint-looking piece of furniture, ornamental outside, but really a strong iron safe, and took from it a case containing a beautiful suite of diamonds, then some other jewels, and a purse with gold and notes. Besides these, he showed us a sealed packet, addressed, as I thought, to myself.