Arthur's spirit was proud and fiery. He made a spring towards the little gate, but checked himself; he felt that he dared not confront, in wrath, the father of the girl he loved, and so he turned sadly and hopelessly away, like a good, simple-hearted lad as he was, to tell his mother all about it, for he concealed nothing from her; but, somewhat to his surprise and chagrin, instead of sympathising with his disappointment, or betraying indignation at the "flinty-hearted father," she laughed merrily, smiled, and kissed him, thrusting at the same time into her bosom a letter she had just received from her husband. "But I shall never see her more, mamma," urged Arthur, piteously. "You shall, Arthur--you shall! be assured of that. Did your own mamma ever deceive you?" "No, no, never!" replied Arthur, hopefully. "And she is to be at Restormel--is that the name of the place?" "Yes, mamma; Restormel Court--a grand place, they say." "At Christmas? Well, Arthur, and you shall be there too, or your mamma is no true prophetess." Diana's husband had reached Jersey in safety, and gone to the little secluded church of St. ----, where they had offered their mutual vows to heaven on that eventful morning, so well remembered still, when their only witnesses were the parish clerk and sexton. "The poor old curate"--so ran his letter--"you remember his thin, spare figure, with a long black, rusty coat, diagonal shovel hat, gaiters, and white choker--has gone to his last home under the old yew-tree that for centuries has guarded the burial-ground. By a destructive fire in the vestry the whole of the marriage registers, and some of the baptismal ditto, have perished before the copies thereof were transmitted to headquarters--wherever that may be; but I have, most fortunately, oh, my Diana! by the special providence of heaven, secured _the attested copy_ of our marriage lines, which the old curate made at my request from the now defunct register. It was found among his papers by his successor, and is now in my possession--in the old scarlet pocket-book, together with my will, which I have carefully drawn up in favour of you and our boys, and signed before witnesses. I mean to spend two days here with an old friend, and shall return by the steamer _Queen Guinevère_, which leaves Jersey for Falmouth on Friday, and which, by-the-bye, has on board a large sum in specie coming from France to England." "Friday? On Saturday I shall see him!" thought the wife in her heart, with a sigh of relief, and a prayer of thanks to heaven. "The register of their marriage had perished! _What if the attested copy had been lost?_ Oh, what then would have been the fate, the future, of their idolized sons--her tall and handsome Arthur, her merry little dark-eyed Ralf?"