"But we must keep our bargains, whether they are good or bad, Heather," whispered my father to me. "That is the law of life: as we sow we shall reap. And I am not altogether unhappy, not since this good fellow has found out the truth and I am cleared in his eyes, and in the eyes of you, my child, and in my sister-in-law's eyes. Nothing else greatly matters. Heather, you are in the morning of your days, I am in the evening of life. When we come to the evening of life nothing concerns us, except so to live that we may fear God and do His commandments, and so fulfil the duty of man. That's about all, child. I am more grateful to you than I can say, and more than grateful to you, Carbury. Give poor dear Pen my love when she wakes, and tell her that it is quite all right--yes, quite all right. I am in the evening of life, and I will do my duty worthily to the very end." As father said the last words he got up. He took me in his arms and kissed me; there was a solemnity about his kiss, and his dear, bright blue eyes looked softer than I had seen them for a long time. "Heather, you're the image of your mother," he said abruptly. "And she--bless her memory!--she was the one woman in all the world for me." Then he wrung Vernon's hand and went away. We could not detain him. I sat up for a little longer with Vernon, and then I went upstairs to bed. Vernon was staying in an hotel not far away. All that long night I lay awake, not for one minute could I slumber. My past seemed to come before my eyes, it seemed to torture me. I felt somehow as though I were passing into a region of great darkness, as though I were going--I, myself--through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. What right--oh, what right had I to be happy when my father, my darling father, was thought so cruelly of by the world! I felt I could not bear it. I got up, I paced the floor, I drank cold water, I went to bed again, I tried every dodge for coaxing sleep to come to me, but sleep would not obey my mandate. At last morning broke, and with the first blush of dawn I got up. I was downstairs and in the breakfast-room when Vernon appeared. He brought in some beautiful roses; he laid them on my plate. "Have you told Aunt Penelope yet?" he asked. "No," I replied. "I have not seen her since last night." Just at that moment my dear auntie entered the room. "Well, children," she said, "I hope you have slept well. I have. I have got a great accession of strength and am determined to go right through with this matter. We'll wait here, as promised, until twelve o'clock, then we'll go straight to my solicitors, and, hey, presto! the thing is done. That fine madam will be down on her knees to us before the day is over. I know the sort--horrible, painted wretch!" "You will have some breakfast before you do anything else, won't you?" said Vernon.