"He was generous to me after all," she went on. "The day before he died he sent for me, and I went and sat at his bedside. He knew his end was near, and after he had expressed deep regret that he had come between us--for he knew quite well that I loved you very dearly--he drew from beneath his pillow a large sealed envelope, making me promise to take it home, but not to open it until the day after his decease. Next day he died, and on the day following I broke the seals and discovered, to my amazement and joy, that he had presented me with the mortgage deeds of Wichenford. Some years before my father had mortgaged our old home to him, and those very deeds he had made my price as his wife." "Then for the great injustice he did you, Ella, the fellow endeavoured to atone," I said. "The mortgage, therefore, does not now exist." "Of course not. I gave the deeds at once to my father, and they were that day destroyed, much to the chagrin of the heirs of the estate, who had long been scheming to become possessors of Wichenford." "A most generous action," Lucie declared. "Yes, whatever I may have said of him, and however much I have hated him in the past, I cannot help acknowledging that before his death he rendered me the greatest service." "Yet you were prepared to perform a noble self-sacrifice, Ella," I said, in a low, serious voice. "You kept your secret, and before we parted told me what was untrue. But Lucie has revealed to me the astounding truth. Only to-night, for the first time, have I realised all that your self-martyrdom meant--only to-night have I discovered that, after all, you still loved me just as fondly and with a passion just as fierce as my own--that even though engaged to Blumenthal your dear heart was still my own." CHAPTER FOURTEEN. CRUEL DESTINY. James Harding Miller was seated alone in a long cane deck-chair on the terrace that ran the whole length of the beautiful old house. He had drawn it out through the French windows of the smoking-room, and was idly drawing out a cigar in the semi-darkness. "Father!" cried Lucie, rushing forward as we approached, "do you recognise our visitor?" Instantly he jumped up, exclaiming:-- "Why Ella--Ella after all this time! Minton told me that you had called and had gone in search of Lucie. And how is your father?" "He's very well, thanks," was my love's reply. "I left him at Swanage, and drove out to see if Lucie was at home." "And Mr Leaf," exclaimed Lucie. "I think you have met him before, father?" "Certainly," Miller said pleasantly, extending his hand to me. "You are staying here, in Studland?" "For a couple of days or so," I answered. "You mentioned that you had met my daughter," he remarked, and then after welcoming Ella and pressing her to remain there the night, he ordered Minton to bring us chairs, and pushed the cigars across to me.