But I was not quite happy, though I tried to appear so. Struggle against it as I might, I felt a little mortified when I remembered that I had resigned all further connection with the search for the letter at such a time as this. My one comfort was to think of Eustace. My one encouragement was to keep my mind fixed as constantly as possible on the bright change for the better that now appeared in the domestic prospect. Here, at least, there was no disaster to fear; here I could honestly feel that I had triumphed. My husband had come back to me of his own free will; he had not given way, under the hard weight of evidence--he had yielded to the nobler influences of his gratitude and his love. And I had taken him to my heart again--not because I had made discoveries which left him no other alternative than to live with me, but because I believed in the better mind that had come to him, and loved and trusted him without reserve. Was it not worth some sacrifice to have arrived at this result! True--most true! And yet I was a little out of spirits. Ah, well! well! the remedy was within a day’s journey. The sooner I was with Eustace the better. Early the next morning I left London for Paris by the tidal-train. Benjamin accompanied me to the Terminus. “I shall write to Edinburgh by to-day’s post,” he said, in the interval before the train moved out of the station. “I think I can find the man Mr. Playmore wants to help him, if he decides to go on. Have you any message to send, Valeria?” “No. I have done with it, Benjamin; I have nothing more to say.” “Shall I write and tell you how it ends, if Mr. Playmore does really try the experiment at Gleninch?” I answered, as I felt, a little bitterly. “Yes,” I said “Write and tell me if the experiment fail.” My old friend smiled. He knew me better than I knew myself. “All right!” he said, resignedly. “I have got the address of your banker’s correspondent in Paris. You will have to go there for money, my dear; and you _may_ find a letter waiting for you in the office when you least expect it. Let me hear how your husband goes on. Good-by--and God bless you!” That evening I was restored to Eustace. He was too weak, poor fellow, even to raise his head from the pillow. I knelt down at the bedside and kissed him. His languid, weary eyes kindled with a new life as my lips touched his. “I must try to live now,” he whispered, “for your sake.” My mother-in-law had delicately left us together. When he said those words the temptation to tell him of the new hope that had come to brighten our lives was more than I could resist. “You must try to live now, Eustace,” I said, “for some one else besides me.” His eyes looked wonderingly into mine. “Do you mean my mother?” he asked. I laid my head on his bosom, and whispered back--“I mean your child.” I had all my reward for all that I had given up. I forgot Mr. Playmore; I forgot Gleninch. Our new honeymoon dates, in my remembrance, from that day.