"Ay. I know. Mr. Brandon"--his voice sinking deeper in its solemnity, and his eyes glistening--"in the very last minute of my mother's life--when her soul was actually on the wing--she told me that she _knew_ I should be helped to throw off what was wrong. She had prayed for it, and seen it. A conviction is within me that I shall be--has been within me ever since. I think this--now--may be the turning-point in my life. Don't deny me the farm, sir." "Frank Radcliffe, I'd let you have the farm, and another to it, if I thought you were sincere." "Why--you _can't_ think me not sincere, after what I have said!" cried Frank. "Oh, you are sincere enough at the present moment. I don't doubt that. The question is, will you be sincere in keeping your good resolutions in the future?" "I hope I shall. I believe I shall. I will try with all my best energies." "Very well. You may have the farm." Frank Radcliffe started up in his joy and gratitude, and shook Mr. Brandon's hands till the purple tassel quivered. He had a squeaky voice and a cold manner, and went in for coughs and chest-aches, and all kinds of fanciful disorders; but there was no more generous heart going than old Brandon's. Business settled, the luncheon was ordered in. But Frank was a good deal too impatient to stay for it; and drove away in the pony-gig to impart the news to all whom it might concern. Taking a round to the Torr first, he drove into the back-yard. Stephen came out. Stephen looked quite old now. He must have been fifty years of age. Hard and surly as ever was he, and his stock of hair was as grizzled as his father's used to be before Frank was born. "Oh, it's you!" said Stephen, as civilly as he could bring his tongue to speak. "Whose chay and pony is that?" "It belongs to Pitchley's bailiff. He lent it me this morning." "Will you come in?" "I have not time now," answered Frank. "But I thought I'd just drive round and tell you the news, Stephen. I'm going to have Pitchley's Farm." "Who says so?" "I have now been settling it with Mr. Brandon. At first, he seemed unwilling to let me have it--was afraid, I suppose, that I and the farm might come to grief together--but he consented at last. So I shall get in as soon as I can, and take Annet with me. You'll come to our wedding, Stephen?" "A fine match _she_ is!" cried cranky Stephen. "What's the matter with her?" "I don't say as anything's the matter with her. But you have always stuck up for the pride and pomp of the Radcliffes: made out that nobody was good enough for 'em. A nice comedown for Frank Radcliffe that'll be--old Farmer Skate's girl." "We won't quarrel about it, Stephen," said Frank, with his good-humoured smile. "Here's your wife. How do you do, Mrs. Radcliffe?"