"Dove, Dove!" he said, "look at this! Here is the money that is to take us all down to St. Mary-Kirby again—back to the old house, you know, and your own room upstairs; and in a little while the springtime will be in, and you and I shall go down to the river for primroses, as we used to do. Here it is, Dove—everything we want; and we can go, whenever you brighten up and get strong enough to move." "But where did you get the money, papa?" "God must have looked at your face, my darling, and seen that you wanted to go to St. Mary-Kirby." "And you have plenty of money, papa, to spend on anything?" All his ordinary prudence forsook him. Even without that guarantee of the bank-note, he would at once have believed in the genuineness of the letter, so eager was he to believe it for Dove’s dear sake. "Plenty of money, Dove? Yes. But not to spend on anything. Only to spend on you." "There was Will’s knock," she said; "he has just come in time to hear the news. But go and tell him in another room, papa, for I am tired." So he left the room, and, as Will had come in, the two men had a long consultation over this strange letter. "You need not remain long in suspense, sir," said Will; "write me out a cheque for fifty pounds, and I will take it down to the bank." "But I have none of the printed cheques of the bank." "You don’t need one. That is a vulgar error. Any bit of paper with a stamp on it will do." "But they must know that my signature is genuine." "True. You must come down with me and see the manager. In any case, we can bear the disappointment, if the thing is a hoax. When you have ascertained that you are a rich man, father, I’ll give you another piece of good news." Mrs. Anerley was left with Dove, and the two men drove off to the bank. The manager had expected the visit. He warded off Will’s bold inquiries with a grave silence; he had received certain instructions—it was not his business to say from whom. "Before I can avail myself of this money," said Mr. Anerley, "you must at least answer me one question. Was it placed in your hands by Frederick Hubbard—by Count Schönstein?" "No." "Thank you." So they went out into the free air, and lo! London was changed. It was no longer a cruel and bitter mother, starving her children, heedless of their cries and their sufferings; but a gracious empress, profuse of feasts, with stores of pleasures in her capacious lap. And this generous creature was to exercise all her power on behalf of Dove; and pure air, and the sweet sunlight, and the sharp hunger of health, were once more to make the young girl’s face less shadowy and unreal. "Now for your news, Will," said the old man, cheerfully. "Nothing much, sir," said he. "Only that I have gained the appointment, and the company guarantees me 1000*l.* a year for three years. It never rains but it pours, you see; and if Heaven would only send one more good——"