“My love! my own husband!” was all she said, but such an intensity of devotion and sympathy was in the act and tone that he felt he had indeed a true heart beating with his, as he held her close, and his lips touched her forehead as a seal to a new bond. It was but a single step to the parlour door, which opened on a room all aglow with light, and radiant faces. On Mr. Ashton’s inspiriting, Simon’s easy chair had been wheeled in from the house-place, there being no stately Mrs. Ashton at hand to demur at the innovation, or to whisper a syllable of class distinctions. And surely that was not—yes, it was—Ben Travis himself standing by the rheumatic old tanner, with both hands outstretched, to greet a new cousin in his long-time friend. And there was Bess, proudly glancing from his face to a piece of yellow paper. “It’s as like as two peas,” she cried for the twentieth time, handing to her tall foster-son a sketch which, though little more than a succession of brown smears, was a ludicrous resemblance to himself. “Well, Jabez,” said Mr. Ashton, sitting by the fire, with his handkerchief over his knee, after the first hubbub of congratulation had subsided, “it is as well our new partnership has not been gazetted. I suppose there will have to be a change of name, and Ellen there will be Mrs. Travis after all.” This was but a playful sally on his part, but Ben Travis visibly winced, and quick-eyed Jabez saw it. “No, sir,” replied Jabez, calmly, with his hand on his wife’s shoulder, “there will be no change. I bear the name of the kind friends who saved my infant life; fed, clothed, and kept me through evil report and good report, through pinching poverty, privation, and pain” (he glanced towards Bess); “as Jabez Clegg I was enrolled as a Blue-coat boy; as Jabez Clegg I was apprenticed to you, sir; as Jabez Clegg I married my wife; as Jabez Clegg I have been honoured with a place in your firm; and Jabez Clegg shall go with me to the grave. I had no name when that good man” (pointing to Simon) “lent me his; time has made it mine, and I mean to keep it as honourable as it came to me.” He looked down: “Mrs. Clegg, are _you_ content?” “Perfectly, Jabez.” A long-sustained pinch of snuff spoke Mr. Ashton’s approbation, whilst Simon could only reiterate, “Eh, lad, when aw tuk thee eawt o’ the wayter, aw little thowt whatn a blessin’ theawd be to us, or the credit theaw’d bring on ar neäme! Aw nobbut wish Parson Brucks wur aloive neaw to yer thee.” “Our relationship will only bind our friendship closer, whatever name you bear,” put in Ben Travis, warmly, in spite of himself pleased with the decision which would spare him the pain of addressing Ellen as Mrs. Travis.