"Nay, my dear lady, I have done only what was right and just; right and just in His sight, and according to His laws," was George Atkinson's solemn answer. "We must all strive for that, you know, if we would ensure peace at the last. Here comes the other fly with the young ones!--and that curly-headed urchin, gazing at us with his great blue eyes, must be my disappointed little candidate for the Bluecoat School." The week passed soon; and the wedding morning dawned. And now that was past, and the bridal carriage had driven off; and the white slippers and the rice were thrown, and they had all collected on the lawn in the afternoon sun. The only guests were Frank Raynor and his wife, who had arrived the night before. Street the lawyer and a brother of William Stane's had come for the morning; but had already left again by an afternoon train. Frank Raynor, aided by the seven thousand pounds made over to him, had taken to the house and practice of a deceased medical man in Mayfair, and was securely established there and doing already fairly well. Mr. Max Brown, who, with his wife, had been spending a week with them, had disposed of the Lambeth practice to another purchaser. Daisy was happy again, and just as pretty and blooming as in the old days at Trennach. Frank, without entering into actual particulars (he did that only to Edina), had disclosed to her enough of that past night's fatal work to account for his interest in, and care of, Mrs. Bell and poor Rosaline. A dozen times at least in the day, Daisy, with much contrition and many repentant tears, would whisper prayers to her husband to be forgiven; saying at the same time she could never forgive herself. Frank would kiss the tears away and tell her to let bygones be bygones; they were beginning life afresh. Rosaline had sailed for her new home and country--was probably by this time nearing its shores. Most earnestly was it to be hoped she would regain happiness there. Who so proud as Daisy, flitting about the lawn with her three-months' old baby in her arms, resplendent in its white robes! The little thing was named Francis George, and George Atkinson was its godfather. So many interests had claimed their attention that day, that not a minute had yet been found for questions and answers; and it was only now, at the first quiet moment, that Mr. Atkinson was beginning to inquire how Frank was prospering. "First-rate," said sanguine Frank, his kindly face glowing. "I wish with all my heart every beginner was getting on as well as I." "And my mother has recovered her amiability," put in Daisy, irreverently, handing the baby over to its nurse, who stood by. "I had quite a long letter from her yesterday morning, Mr. Atkinson, in which she graciously forgives me, and says I shall have my share of the money that my uncle Tom left her last year. That will be at least some thousands of pounds."