We were coming into London. After being long upon the brine, we had at last reached England. And now this bright December morning we sailed up the sparkling Thames, passing swiftly the craft that, bent on business or pleasure, thronged its waters. Rapidly we sailed by them one by one, and kept on our steady way to the harbor. Each familiar spot I saw seemed to greet me as an old friend, and with Margaret at my side, we laughed and jested, as we drew nearer and nearer to London and home. Home--that gray old castle, where my forefathers had lived and died, was to be our home, for we had determined to stay in London only a few days. I had prevailed on Margaret not to put me off any longer, and to-morrow morning, with only a few near friends to witness it, we were to be married quietly in a little chapel, and then would journey on to Richmond Castle, where, with her dear presence to cheer me, I was to take up the duties and responsibilities of my position. I would have much to do, for we had made many plans for the improvement of my estate, and for the well-being and advancement of the tenants. There together we would pass our days in peace and happiness. I had suffered much, sorrowed much in the past, and longed for the rest and quiet of the calm green country, where, surrounded by my friends, and far from the noise and turmoil of London, I could forget all, happy in the sweet sunshine of my lady's smiles. We had turned the last bend of the river, and a great roar went up from the men, as like little children they shouted and cried. Many strong men, who had faced death unafraid, fell upon their knees, tears streaming from their bronzed faces, and thanked God that they had been spared to set foot on old England again. The culverins of our vessel screamed out a greeting, and from the shore the guns roared back a reply. My lady had given a little cry of joy as we looked, for there in front of us lay the great city, the docks dotted with the crowd which had gathered to greet the vessel. Margaret laid her hand gently upon my arm. "Look!" she cried, and following her outstretched finger, I saw, at the very edge of the water, a little group shouting and screaming to us. Could it be possible? Yes, there was Oliver Gates, dancing for joy, as he waved his hat and yelled like a savage; he had grown handsomer than ever, and looked stout and robust. Behind him stood Steele, his broad face wreathed in smiles, and leaning on his arm, his wife, stouter and more matronly than of yore, but still beautiful, a look of joy and welcome in her eyes. And Bobby, dear old fellow, yelling at me as though he would split his throat. A little behind them there stood a larger group, old Sir Henry DeGray, Francis Drake, Bacon, Walter Raleigh, Sir William Stone, the little Doctor Robbins, and a score of other whilom friends, who cried out a hearty welcome as we neared them, and with wide open arms stood awaiting us.