“I now come to Joshua Pedler,” resumed Mr. Hatfield, “You will remember, my dear doctor, that this man and his wife Matilda were appointed to the charge of the Eddystone Light-house. There they remained for six or seven years--as indeed I wrote to you to this effect a long time ago----” “Yes--and then you sent them out as emigrants to Canada,” interrupted Sir John Lascelles; “and they continued to do well. What say your last accounts concerning them?” “They are still happy--contented--and prosperous,” answered Mr. Hatfield. “Their shop at Quebec thrives admirably; and they have managed to put by several hundred pounds. Pedler says that the sweetest bread he has ever eaten in his life, has been that which he has earned by his honest toils. I have reason to feel convinced, moreover, that he is kind and good towards his wife, and that his only regret is their not having any children.” “And the Bunces are still living in St. Peter’s-Port, after having acquired a competency in the Island of Sark?” enquired the physician. “Yes--they are still in the capital of Guernsey,” was the response. “Bunce tells me in his letter that his wife’s health does not improve; in fact, she doubtless received a cruel shock when she heard of the death of Jacob Smith--for it had been her hope that he might some day take up his abode with her and her husband--a hope which she however nourished in secret.” “Bunce himself has never learnt the real parentage of Jacob, I believe?” said the physician. “Indeed, I remember you told me the other day that his wife, always bearing in mind the injunctions you conveyed to her through Mrs. Harding, had retained as a profound secret her former illicit connexion with Benjamin Bones.” “Yes--it was useless to make a revelation which would only have troubled their domestic peace,” said Mr. Hatfield. “Harding divined the hope that the woman had formed relative to Jacob--and in his letters he communicated his ideas to me. But even if death had spared Jacob, he would not have quitted me--no, not though it were to dwell with his own mother!” “And Jeffreys?” asked the physician: “what of him?” “He is well pleased that he removed last summer from Hackney to Liverpool. The money he had saved during a period of eighteen years at his shop in the London suburb, enabled him to take a very handsome establishment in the great commercial town in the north; and he is carrying on a large and flourishing business.” “Thus, in every instance, save that of Old Death, have you succeeded in reclaiming those wicked people whose reform you took in hand,” said Sir John Lascelles. “Tidmarsh died tranquilly in his bed in the Island of Alderney--and the others still exist, worthy members of society.” With these words the physician rose and took his leave; and almost immediately after he had quitted the library, the Earl of Ellingham entered, closing the door behind him with the caution of one who has some important or mysterious communication to make.