At last they drew up at the address Sandy had privately given. How beautiful the new house looked! The hall door stood open, and Anne's smiling face was seen on the threshold. The children raised a shout at sight of her and the flowers, which were so gay in the windows. Mr. Home in a puzzled kind of way was putting out his head to tell the cabby that he had made a mistake, and that he must just turn the corner. Charlotte was feeling a queer little sensation of surprise, when Uncle Sandy, with a face almost purple with emotion, flung open the door of the cab, took Daisy in his arms, and mounting her with an easy swing on to his shoulder said to Charlotte,-- "Welcome, in the name of your dear, dead mother, Daisy Wilson, to your new home, Niece Lottie." The children raised a fresh shout. "Oh, come, Daisy," said Harold; she struggled to the ground and the two rushed in. Anne came down and took the baby, and Mr. and Mrs. Home had no help for it but to follow in a blind kind of way. Uncle Sandy pushed his niece down into one of the hall chairs. "There!" he said; "don't, for Heaven's sake, you two unpractical, unworldly people, begin to be angry with me. That place in Tremins Road was fairly breaking my heart, and I could not stand it, and 'tis--well--I do believe 'tis let, and you _can't_ go back to it, and this house is yours, Niece Charlotte, and the furniture. As to the rent, I'll be answerable for that, and you won't refuse your own mother's brother. The fact was, that attic where the children slept was too much for me, so I had to do something. Forgive me if I practised a little bit of deception on you both. Now, I'm off to an hotel to-night, but to-morrow, if you're not too angry with your mother's brother, I'm coming back for good. Kept a fine room for myself, I can tell you. Anne shall show it to you. Trust Sandy Wilson to see to his own comforts. Now good-bye, and God bless you both." Away he rushed before either of the astonished pair had time to get in a word. "But I do think they'll forgive the liberty the old man took with them," were his last waking thoughts as he closed his eyes that night. CHAPTER XLIX. HE WEPT. Mr. Harman was beginning to take the outward circumstances of his life with great quietness. What, three months before, would have caused both trouble and distress, now, was received with equanimity. The fact was, he felt himself day by day getting so near eternity, that the things of time, always so disproportionately large to our worldly minds, were assuming to him their true proportions. John Harman was being led by a dark road of terrible mental suffering to his God; already he was drawing near, and the shadow of that forgiveness which would yet encircle him in its perfect rest and peace was at hand.