"That you have never seen me except on my holidays--that we have never met. What have you done since you have been in London?" I thought of my walks and tireless quest in Oxford Street with a kind of shame. That old life was severed from the present by whole worlds. "I have lived very quietly," I answered. "But is it so strange that we have never met?" She laughed a low and musical laugh, and as the boat drew shoreward and grounded, replied-- "Perhaps not. Come, let us go to mother--Jasper." O sweet sound from sweetest lips! We stepped ashore, and hand-in-hand entered the room where her mother sat. As she looked up and saw us standing there together, she knew the truth in a moment. Her blue eyes filled with sudden fear, her worn hand went upwards to her heart. Until that instant she had not known of my presence there that day, and in a flash divined its meaning. "I feared it," she answered at length, as I told my story and stood waiting for an answer. "I feared it, and for long have been expecting it. Claire, my love, are you sure? Oh, be quite sure before you leave me." For answer, Claire only knelt and flung her white arms round her mother's neck, and hid her face upon her mother's bosom. "You love him now, you think; but, oh, be careful. Search your heart before you rob me of it. I have known love, too, Claire, or thought I did; and indeed it can fade--and then, what anguish, what anguish!" "Mother, mother! I will never leave you." Mrs. Luttrell sighed. "Ah, child, it is your happiness I am thinking of." "I will never leave you, mother." "And you, sir," continued Mrs. Luttrell, "are you sure? I am giving you what is dearer than life itself; and as you value her now, treat her worthily hereafter. Swear this to me, if my gift is worth so much in your eyes. Sir, do you know--" "Mother!" Claire drew her mother's head down towards her and whispered in her ear. Mrs. Luttrell frowned, hesitated, and finally said-- "Well, it shall be as you wish--though I doubt if it be wise. God bless you, Claire--and you, sir; but oh, be certain, be certain!" What incoherent speech I made in answer I know not, but my heart was sore for this poor soul. Claire turned her eyes to me and rose, smoothing her mother's grey locks. "We will not leave her, will we? Tell her that we will not." I echoed her words, and stepping to Mrs. Luttrell, took the frail, white hand. "Sir," she said, "you who take her from me should be my bitterest foe. Yet see, I take you for a son." Still rapt with the glory of my great triumph, and drunk with the passion of that farewell kiss, I walked into our lodgings and laid my hand on Tom's shoulder. "Tom, I have news for you." Tom started up. "And so have I for you." "Great news." "Glorious news!" "Tom, listen: I am accepted." "Bless my soul! Jasper, so am I." "You?" "Yes." "When? Where?"