The husband and wife sat silent for a little, and then Dr. Grey said, "I always thought he was not altogether bad--there was some good in him, and he may be the better, poor fellow, all his life for having once had a month's acquaintance with Christian Oakley." Christian pressed her husband's hand gratefully. That little word or two carried in it a world of healing. But she was not able to say much; her heart was too full. "And now what is to be done?" said Dr. Grey, meditatively. "He must have had some motive in writing this letter--a not unkindly motive either. He must be aware of some strong reason for it when he tells you to 'defend yourself.' He forgets." added Christian's husband, tenderly, "that now there is some body else to do it for you." Christian burst into tears. All her forlorn, unprotected youth, the more forlorn that in her father's lifetime it was under a certain hollow sham of protection; the total desolation afterward, exposed to every insult of the bitter world, or at least that bitter portion of it which is always ready to trample down a woman if she is helpless, and to hunt her down if she is strong enough to help herself--all this was gone by forever. She was afraid of nothing any more. She did not need to defend herself again. She had been taken out of all her misery, and placed in the safe shelter of a good man's love. What had she done to deserve such blessedness? What could she do to show her recognition of the same? She could only weep, poor child! and feel like a child, whom the Great Father has ceased to punish--forgiven, and taken back to peace. "I think," she said, looking up from her hiding-place, "I am so happy, I should almost like to die." "No, no. Not just yet, my foolish little woman," said Dr. Grey. "We have, I trust, a long lifetime before us. Mine seems only just beginning." Strange, but true. He was forty-five and she twenty-one and yet to both this was the real spring-time of their lives. After a pause, during which he sat thinking rather deeply, the master rose and rang the bell. "Barker, do you know whether Sir Edwin Uniacke is still in Avonsbridge?" Barker had seen him not an hour ago, near the senate-house. "Will you go to his lodgings?--let me see; can you make out this address, my dear?" and Dr. Grey pointedly handed over the letter--the fatal letter, which had doubtless been discussed by every servant in the house--to his wife. "Yes, that is it. Go, Barker, present my compliments, and say that Mrs. Grey and myself shall be happy to see Sir Edwin at the Lodge this morning." "Very well, master," said Barker, opening his round eyes to their roundest as he disappeared from the room. "What shall you say to him?" asked Christian. "The plain truth," answered Dr. Grey, smiling. "It is the only weapon, offensive or defensive, that an honest man need ever use."