“Perhaps not,” said Herriot, musingly--“perhaps not. But I did not mean to be understood as imposing any conditions to the act I was about to perform, after ascertaining your entire deliverance from the power and supposed claims of one whom I deem a bad man, as well as a foe to his country. Here, deserving girl,” he continued, taking up one of the documents from the table and extending it towards her, “here is a deed of gift, from me to you, of all this, which was your father's estate. Take it; it is freely given and worthily bestowed.” Surprise at an act as unexpected as it was munificent, kept all mute for some seconds; when Sabrey, whose sensibilities were too deeply moved to permit her to speak, threw upon the donor a look which her grateful emotions made more eloquent than any language she could have summoned for a reply; and then, turning, she silently extended her hand to Woodburn, with the deed still laying across the open palm. “Which?--the hand or the paper?” asked the latter, in a low tone, and with a slightly apprehensive air. “Either, or both,” replied the maiden, as a blush stole over her conscious cheek. “The hand, then,” exclaimed the delighted lover, grasping the coveted prize, and bearing it in triumph to his lips. “It is all right; but no words,” said Herriot, making a motion for silence to Woodburn, who was about to address him--“no words. I have much to say--let me proceed. Bart,” he continued, after a thoughtful pause, as he turned to the young man who had stood mutely noting the proceedings with a puzzled look--“Bart, do you remember the old Rose Homestead, which was confiscated, and also purchased by me?” “Well, yes,” replied Bart, looking up with an inquiring, doubtful expression--“yes, for as many as two several reasons, or more,” he added, with one glance to Woodburn, and another, and more significant one, to Vine, who was standing demurely at his side. “Would you like it for your own?” asked the former. “My own!” exclaimed Bart, casting an incredulous but searching look at the other's countenance, in which, however, he read something that at once changed his demeanor; and, in a softened and respectful tone, he replied to the question, “Yes, Father Herriot, as soon as the smell of toryism got fairly out of it, I would like it grandly, that's a fact.” “It is yours, then, as this deed will show,” said Herriot, handing to the surprised and hesitating young man the instrument in question; “it is yours; but have you no one to share it with you?”