"Here you are!" broke out a loud, hearty, laughing voice upon their ears. "I knew it was where I should find you. Lucy, I have been to your house after you. Take my load off me, Travice." Need you be told that the voice was Barbara Fauntleroy's? She came staggering in under the load: a something held out before her, nearly as tall as herself. A beautiful epergne for the centre of the table, of solid silver. Travice was taking it from her, but awkwardly--he was one of the incapable ones, like poor Peter Arkell. Miss Fauntleroy rated him and pushed him away, and lifted it on the table herself, with her strong hands. "It's our present to you two, mine and Lizzie's. You'll accept it, won't you, Lucy?" Kindness invariably touched the chord of Lucy Arkell's feelings, perhaps because she had not been in the way of having a great deal of it shown to her in her past life. The tears were in her earnest eyes, as she gently took the hands of Miss Fauntleroy. "I cannot thank you as I ought. I----" "Thank me, child! It's not so much to thank me for. Doesn't it look well on the table, though? Mrs. Arkell must allow it to stand there for the breakfast." "For that, _and for all else_," whispered Lucy, with marked emotion, retaining the hands in her warm clasp. "You must let us show our gratitude to you always, Barbara." Barbara Fauntleroy bent her full red lips on Lucy's fair forehead. "Our bargain--his and mine--was, that we were all three to be firm and fast friends through life, you know. Lucy, there's nobody in the world wishes you happier than I do. Jolly good luck to you both!" "Thank you, Barbara," said Travice, who was standing by. "And now, who'll come and release Lizzie?" resumed Miss Fauntleroy. "We shall have her rampant. She's in a fly at the door, and can't get out of it." "Not get out of it!" repeated Mr. Arkell. "Not a bit of it. It's filled with flower-pots from our hot-house. We thought perhaps you'd not have enough for the rooms, so we've brought a load. But Lizzie got into the fly first, you see, to pack them for bringing steadily, and she can't get out till they are out. I took care of the epergne, and Lizzie of the pots." With a general laugh, everybody rushed to get to the imprisoned Lizzie. Lucy lingered a moment, ostensibly looking at the epergne, really drying her tears away. Travice came back to her. He took her in his arms; he kissed the tears from her cheeks; he whispered words of the sweetest tenderness, asking what her grief was. "Not grief, Travice--joy. I was thinking of the past. What would have become of us but for her generosity?" "But for her generosity, Lucy, I should have been her husband now. I should never have held my darling in my arms. Yes, she was generous! God bless her always! I'll never hate anybody again, Lucy."