Then came afternoon tea, and it was a pretty sight for Lucius to behold his dear one officiating at Miss Glenlyne’s tea-table, whose massive silver equipage glittered in the ruddy firelight; pretty to see her so much at her ease in her kinswoman’s home, and to know that if he had not been able to regain her birthright for her, he had at least given her back her father’s name. Altogether that quiet Sunday afternoon in Selbrook-place was as pleasant as it was curious. After the early tea Lucius and Lucille went out, at Miss Glenlyne’s special request, for half-an-hour’s walk in the autumn gloaming. Perhaps autumnal evenings at Brighton are better than they are anywhere else. At any rate, this one seemed so to these lovers. There was no sea fog, the newly lighted lamps glimmered with a pale brightness in the clear gray atmosphere, the crimson of the setting sun glowed redly yonder, where the dim outlines of distant headlands showed like vague purple shadows against the western sky. Never had these two been able to talk so hopefully of the future as they could talk to-night. They arranged everything during that happy half-hour, which, brief as it seemed, did in actual time, as computed by vulgar clocks, stretch itself to nearly an hour-and-a-half. If Mr. Sivewright carried out his plan of selling the bric-à-brac, and did verily endow Lucius with some of the proceeds thereof, he Lucius would assuredly establish himself in some pleasanter quarter of London, where his patients would be more lucrative, yet where he might still be a help and comfort to the poor, whom this hard-working young doctor loved with something of that divine affection which made Francis of Assisi one of the greatest among saints. He would set up afresh in a more airy and cheerful quarter of the great city, and make a worthy home for his fair young bride. The girl’s little hand stole gently into his. ‘As if I cared what part of town I am to live in with you,’ she said fondly. ‘I should be just as happy in the Shadrack-road as in Cavendish-square, just as proud of my husband as a parish doctor as I should be if he were a famous physician. Think of yourself only, dear Lucius, and of your own power to do good—not of me.’ ‘My darling, the more prominent a man’s position is the more good he can do, provided it be in him to do good at all. But depend upon it, Lucille, if I go to the West-end, I shall not turn my back upon the sufferings of the East.’ EPILOGUE.