"If you are not rich, my dear, I am," she said, when Lucian alleged his poverty as the only bar to their union, "and as money gives me no pleasure without you, I do not care to stay in Berwin Manor in lonely spinsterhood. I shall marry you whenever you choose." And Lucian, taking advantage of this gracious permission, did choose to be married, and that speedily; so within two years after the final closing of the Vrain case they became man and wife. At the time they were seated in the garden, at the hour of sunset, they had only lately returned from their honeymoon, and were now talking over past experiences. Miss Priscilla, who had been left in charge of the Manor during their absence, had welcomed them back with much joy, as she looked upon the match as one of her own making. Now she had gone inside, on the understanding that two are company and three are none, and the young couple were left alone. Hand in hand, after the foolish fashion of lovers, they sat under a leafy oak tree, and the sunlight glowed redly on their happy faces. After a short silence Lucian looked at the face of his wife and laughed. "What is amusing you, dear?" said Mrs. Denzil, with a sympathetic smile. "My thoughts were rather pleasant than amusing," replied Lucian, giving the hand that lay in his a squeeze, "but I was thinking of Hans Andersen's tale of the Elder Mother Tree, and of the old couple who sat enjoying their golden wedding under the linden, with the red sunlight shining on their silver crowns." "We are under an oak and wear no crowns," replied Diana in her turn, "but we are quite as happy, I think, although it is not our golden wedding." "Perhaps that will come some day, Diana." "Fifty years, my dear; it's a long way off yet," said Mrs. Denzil dubiously. "I am glad it is, for I shall have (D.V.,) fifty years of happiness with you to look forward to. Upon my word, Diana, I think you deserve happiness, after all the trouble you have had." "With you I am sure to be happy, Lucian, but other people, poor souls, are not so well off." "What other people?" "Jabez Clyne, for one." "My dear," said Lucian, seriously, "I hope I am not a hard man, but I really cannot find it in my heart to pity Clyne. He was--and I dare say is--a scoundrel!" "I don't deny that he acted badly," sighed Diana, "but it was for his daughter's sake, you know." "There is a limit even to paternal affection, Diana. And putting aside the wickedness of the whole conspiracy, I cannot pardon a man who deliberately put a weapon in the way of a man almost insane with drink, in order that he might kill himself. The idea was diabolically wicked, my dear, and I think that Jabez Clyne, _alias_ Wrent, quite deserves the long imprisonment he received." "At all events, the Sirius Company got back their money, Lucian."