Thus the good old man prosed on, with childlike pleasure in the prospect of meeting ‘his’ Sebastian again, and of seeing his bride, so engrossed in the anticipation that he did not even look at his listener, who sat still, composed and pale, hearing distinctly all that was said, and occupied, he too, in picturing the scene: how Sebastian Mallory would lead forward his bride, who would be glad that his old friends were pleased to welcome her. Myles could exactly realise how she would go up to good old Herr Süsmeyer with both hands held out, and eyes shining with happiness, and he--perhaps he need not be there at all; but, at any rate, if he only kept sufficiently in the background he would not be observed, and he could bear his pain alone. This stroke had been long delayed, but it had come at last--as he knew it must. Those words he had heard spoken in the Thanshope Park had held good. Why there had been so long an interval he could not tell; he had often wondered, had many a time sought the papers through with sickening anxiety, and had never yet seen what he expected and dreaded to see. But at last all uncertainty was over. He could never doubt again: and now, he thought to himself, life would be much easier to live, for he had too much sense to bewail his lot when he knew what it was; it was uncertainty which was so wearing, and no doubt it was uncertainty which had caused all his mental pain and distress. Now, certainly, things would be better. Thus consoling himself, he rose to take his leave of Herr Süsmeyer, who shook hands with him, and thanked him for calling, and said. ‘You know, you too must see Mr. Mallory. He will wish to see you; indeed, he says so in this letter.’ ‘Yes, I shall see him, of course,’ said Myles. Then he went away--walked back to town to his lodgings; found his lamp burning, and his books open as he had left them; said to himself, ‘Now, at last, I can study with a mind at ease,’ and straightway prepared to do so.