However, the main point was, that the old gentleman seemed ready to overlook the past and to receive Sylvia. Paul wanted to return to his home, not so much on account of his father, as because he wished to smooth the remaining years of his mother, and he knew well that Sylvia with her gentle ways and heart of gold would make Mrs. Beecot happy. So long as Paul loved the girl he wished to marry, the mother was happy; but Beecot senior had an eye to the money, and thus was ready to be bribed into forgiveness and decent behavior. Now all this was altered. From the tone of the letter, Paul knew his father would never consent to his marrying a girl not only without a name, but lacking the fortune which alone rendered her desirable in his eyes. Still, the truth would have to be told, and if Beecot senior refused to approve of the marriage, the young couple would have to do without his sanction. The position, thought Paul, would only make him work the harder, so that within a reasonable time he might be able to provide a home for Sylvia. So, the young man facing the situation, bravely wrote to his father and explained how the fortune had passed from Sylvia, but declared, with all the romance of youth, that he intended to marry the girl all the same. If Beecot senior, said Paul, would permit the marriage, and allow the couple a small income until the husband could earn enough to keep the pot boiling, the writer would be grateful. If not, Paul declared firmly that he would work like a slave to make a home for his darling. But nothing in the world would make him give up Sylvia. This was the letter to his father, and then Paul wrote one to his mother, detailing the circumstances and imploring her to stand by him, although in his own sinking heart he felt that Mrs. Beecot was but a frail reed on which to lean. He finished these letters and posted them before midnight. Then he went to bed and dreamed that the bad news was all moonshine, and that Sylvia and he were a happy rich married pair. But the cold grey searching light of dawn brought the actual state of things again to his mind and so worried him that he could hardly eat any breakfast. He spent the morning in writing a short tale, for which he had been promised a couple of sovereigns, and took it to the office of the weekly paper which had accepted it, on his way to Gwynne Street. Paul's heart was heavy, thinking of what he had to tell, but he did not intend to let Sylvia see that he was despondent. On turning down the street he raised his head, assumed a smile and walked with a confident step into the shop.