My brother had wooed sweet Lucy Pemberton, my dear friend and old schoolfellow, and expected to bring his bride to King's Court early in the new year. My engagement to Stephen Hastings had fulfilled Uncle Bernard's prophetic hopes, and I was waiting eagerly for news from my betrothed, who was a candidate for an Indian legal appointment. There were many competitors, but if Stephen were successful, our wedding was to take place on the same day as Norman's. My brother and I had spent some time in watching and waiting for the all-important letter which was to decide whether this matrimonial programme could be carried out or no. In these days, when people "wire" to each other about comparatively trivial things, our patience would not have been called into exercise. But I am telling of what happened about twenty years ago, when King's Court was eight miles from the nearest telegraph office, and a special messenger had to be sent on horseback when a telegram came to Overford, our village, or the Court itself. Our letters came to the railway station, which was also the post office, and were fetched thence by one of the servants. We were looking for his return, and Norman was pacing up and down and gazing from the window in turns, chafing at the delay. "That mail train is always late!" he exclaimed. "Like every other that calls at Overford," said I. "Did you ever know one arrive punctually?" "Yes," replied Norman. "It was when I was going to town last spring, and, relying on its being at least regular in its irregularities, I reached the station two minutes after the time, and was left behind." "When you ought to have met Aunt Bella at London Bridge Station, and she waited, bewildered and indignant, but firm in her determination to guard her luggage at the risk of her life." Norman burst into a hearty laugh. "Shall I ever forget that scene?" he said. "Aunt Bella amid mountains of luggage, of which her parrot's cage formed the apex. She had guarded her belongings for two hours against all corners. She has never forgiven me, and never will. Here comes the train, thirty-five minutes late. I will rush across the park, get your letter myself, and save you at least ten minutes of suspense, Berty." The train was only just in sight, a little puff of white vapour indicating its whereabouts, and my fleet-footed brother would reach Overford Station as soon as it would; but I implored him not to go. "Parks will bring the letters," I said. "He took a trap down to convey the new housemaid and her luggage to the house. He will lose no time." "But that stupid Frith will keep him waiting, if only to annoy me," said Norman, hastily; for a quick temper was my darling brother's besetting sin. He had fought and struggled against it, and often mourned with bitter penitence over its results; but the enemy was strong still, and the day of complete conquest seemed as yet in the distant future.