Stephen and I were eagerly waiting to tell him our news, for my beloved had distanced all competitors, and every one foretold a brilliant professional future for him. After these more interesting details had been gone through, I asked if Norman had made all smooth with Frith. "To be sure I have; and now your affair is over, Stephen, I shall not be tempted to break my word by again meddling with Her Majesty's mail-bags." "I do not understand the allusion," said Stephen. "Berty has been worrying herself about something: I can hardly tell what. Let me have your version." Norman coloured and looked a little ashamed, but told the story without sparing himself. I spoke indignantly as he ended—"It was too bad of Frith to write straight off about such a ridiculous affair. He might have waited for Norman to explain." Stephen looked, as I thought, needlessly grave. "Frith was undoubtedly right," he said. "There could be no explanation, dear. I should have done as he did." I took alarm, for Stephen's face was always eloquent, and I was sure he anticipated coming trouble; but Norman interposed before I could ask any further questions. "No gloomy retrospections—no evil forebodings. Frith and I are good friends, and future misunderstandings impossible. Now for a pleasanter subject. We have fixed the week for the weddings—what about the day?" Stephen promptly suggested Monday, but was snubbed and silenced by me, though I knew he and I must sail for the East very soon after our marriage. Finally, Thursday was agreed upon, subject to Lucy's sanction. We three lingered until a rather late hour, but after I had retired, Norman asked Stephen why he looked so grave on hearing his story about the affair with the mail-bag. "You are learned in the law. Tell me what my freak will cost, Stephen?" "I am afraid it is not a matter of money," replied Stephen; "but, you know, I have had no actual experience of exactly such a case." His unwillingness to answer directly made Norman uneasy, and, laying his hand on that of his friend, he asked— "Is it a matter of imprisonment? Surely I shall not have to pay so dearly for what was only a piece of foolish bravado! But let me know the worst that can happen." Stephen told him in two words—"Seven years." Poor Norman! He was utterly unprepared for such a response, and felt certain that Steve was wrong. At the worst, he had only anticipated a heavy fine or a sharp reprimand, and he was stunned by the words. The colour forsook his face, and he dropped back on the seat from which he had risen, utterly overcome, gasping out, "You must be mistaken."