^. 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 i .
 
 7? 
 
 r L
 
 MRS. L. T. MEADE
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. L. T. MEADE 
 
 AUTHOR 9F "GIRLS OF THE TRUE BLUE," "WILD KITTY,' 
 "A GIRL OF THE PEOPLE," ETC., ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HURST & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 Poily, a New- 
 
 Fashioned Girl. 
 
 I. T. MEAPE SERIES. 
 
 UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME. 
 
 BY MRS, L. T. MEADE. 
 
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 PUBMSHBRS, Niw YORK.
 
 PS 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE RICH CHARLOTTE. 
 
 THE room had three occupants, two were men, the third 
 a woman. The men were middle-aged and gray-haired, the 
 woman on the contrary was in the prime of youth ; she was 
 finely made, and well proportioned. Her face was perhaps 
 rather too pale, but the eyes and brow were noble, and the 
 sensitive mouth showed indications of heart as well as intel 
 lect. 
 
 The girl, or rather young woman, for she was past nve- 
 and twenty, sat by the fire, a book on her knee. The two 
 men had drawn chairs close to a table. The elder of these 
 men bore such an unmistakable likeness to the girl, that even 
 the most casual observer must have guessed the relationship 
 which existed between them. He was a handsome man, 
 handsomer even than his daughter, but the same individuali 
 ties marked both faces. While, however, in the woman all 
 was a profound serenity and calm, the man had some anx 
 ious lines round the mouth, and some expression, now com 
 ing, now going, in the fine gray eyes, which betokened a 
 long-felt anxiety. 
 
 The other and younger man was shrewd-looking anc 
 commonplace ; but a very close observer of human nature 
 might have said, " He may be commonplace, but do not feel 
 too certain ; he simply possesses one of those faces which 
 
 r *
 
 6 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 express nothing, from which not the cleverest detective in 
 land Yard could extract any secret." 
 
 He was a man with plenty to say, and much humor, and 
 at the moment this story opens he was laughing merrily and 
 in a heart-whole way, and his older and graver companion 
 listened with evident enjoyment. 
 
 The room in which the three sat bore evidence of wealth. 
 It was a library, and handsome books lay on the tables, and 
 rare old folios could have been found by those who cared to 
 look within the carefully locked bookcases. Some manu 
 scripts were scattered about, and by the girl's side, on a 
 small table, lay several carefully revised proofs, and even 
 now she was bending earnestly over a book of reference. 
 
 " Well, Jasper," said the elder man, when the younger 
 paused for an instant in his eager flow of words, " we have 
 talked long enough about that fine land you have just come 
 from, for even Australian adventures can keep I am inter 
 ested in something nearer home. What do you say to Char 
 lotte there ? She was but a baby when you saw her last." 
 
 "She was five years old," replied Jasper. "A saucy 
 little imp, bless you ! just the kind that would be sure to 
 grow into a fine woman. But to tell the truth I don't much 
 care to look at her, for she makes me feel uncommonly old 
 and shaky." 
 
 " You gave me twenty years to grow into a woman, uncle," 
 answered the pleasant voice of Charlotte Harman. " I 
 could not choose but make good use of the time." 
 
 " So you have, lass so you have ; I have been growing 
 old and you have been growing beautiful ; such is life ; but 
 never mind, your turn will come." 
 
 " But not for a long long time, Lottie my pet," inter 
 rupted the father. " You need not mind your uncle Jasper. 
 These little speeches were always his way. And I'll tell you 
 something else, Jasper ; that girl of mine has a head worth 
 owning on her shoulders, a head she knows how to use. You 
 will not believe me when I say that she writes in this magi- 
 zine and this, and she is getting a book ready for the press ; 
 ay, and there's another thing. Shall I tell it, Charlotte ? " 
 
 " Yes, father ; it is no secret," replied Charlotte. 
 
 " It is this, brother Jasper ; you have come home in time 
 for a wedding. My girl is going to leave me. I shall miss 
 her, for she is womanly in the best sense of the word, and 
 she is my only one ; but there is a comfort the man she is 
 to marry is worthy of her."
 
 H(. i-'' IT ALL CAME RO UND. j 
 
 " And there is another comfort, father," said Charlotte ; 
 " that though I hope to be married, yet I never mean to 
 leave you. You know that well, I have often told you so," 
 and here this grave young girl came over and kissed her 
 father's forehead. 
 
 He smiled back at her, all the care leaving his eyes as 
 he did so. Uncle Jasper had sprung impatiently to his feet, 
 
 " As to the lass being married," he said, " that's nothing ; 
 all women marry, or if they don't they ought to. But what 
 was that you said, John, about writing, writing in a printed 
 book ? You were joking surely, man ? " 
 
 " No, I was not," answered the father. " Go and show 
 your uncle Jasper that last article of yours, Charlotte." 
 
 " Oh, heaven preserve us ! no," sa.d uncle Jasper, back 
 ing a pace or two. " I'm willing with all my heart to be 
 lieve it, if you swear it, but not the article. Don't for heaven's 
 sake, confront me with the article." 
 
 " There's nothing uncommon in my writing for magazines, 
 Uncle Jasper ; " a great many girls do write now. I have 
 three friends myself who 
 
 Uncle Jasper's red face had grown positively pathetic in 
 its agitation. " What a place England must have become ! " 
 he interrupted with a groan. " Well, lass, I'll believe you, 
 but I have one request to make. Tell me what you like 
 about your wedding ; go into all the raptures you care for 
 over your wedding dress, and even over the lucky individual 
 for whom you will wear it ; tell me twenty times a day that 
 he's perfection, that you and you alone have found the eighth 
 wonder of the world, but for the love of heaven leave out 
 about the books ! The other will be hard to bear, but I'll 
 endeavor to swallow it but the books, oh ! heaven preserve 
 us leave out about the printed books. Don't mention the 
 unlucky magazines for which you write. Don't breathe to 
 me the thoughts with which you fill them. Oh, if there's 
 an awful creature under the sun 'tis a blue-stocking, and to 
 think I should have come back from England to find such a 
 horror in the person of my own niece ! "
 
 HGIT IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE POOR CHARLOTTE. 
 
 WHILE this light and playful scene was being enacted in 
 a wealthy house in Prince's Gate, and Charlotte Harman 
 and her father laughed merrily over the Australian uncle's 
 horror of authors and their works, another Charlotte was go 
 ing through a very different part, in a different place in the 
 great world's centre. 
 
 There could scarcely be a greater contrast than between 
 the small and very shabby house in Kentish Town and the 
 luxurious mansion in Kensington. The parlor of this house, 
 for the drawing-rooms were let to lodgers, was occupied by 
 one woman. She sat by a little shabbily covered table, writ 
 ing. The whole appearance of the room was shabby : the 
 furniture, the carpet, the dingy window panes, the tiny pre 
 tence of a fire in the grate. It was not exactly a dirty room, 
 but it lacked all brightness and freshness. The chimney did 
 not draw well, and now and then a great gust of smoke would 
 come down, causing the busy writer to start and rub her 
 smarting eyes. She was a young woman, as young as Char 
 lotte Harman, with a slight figure and very pale face. There 
 were possibilities of beauty in the face. But the possibilities 
 had come to nothing ; the features were too pinched, too un 
 derfed, the eyes, in themselves dark and heavily fringed, too 
 often dimmed by tears. It was a very cold day, and sleet 
 was beginning to fall, and the smoking chimney had a vin 
 dictive way of smoking more than ever, but the young wo 
 man wrote on rapidly, as though for bare life. Each page 
 as she finished it, was flung on one s'de ; some few fell on 
 the floor, but she did not stop even to pick them up. 
 
 The short winter daylight had quite faded, and she had stood 
 up to light the gas, when the room door was pushed slightly 
 ajar, and one of those little maids- of-all-work, so commonly 
 cen in London, put in her untidy head. 
 
 " Ef you please, 'em, Harold's been and hurt Daisy, and
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUtfD. 9 
 
 they is quarreling h'ever so, and I think as baby's a deal 
 worse, 'em." 
 
 " I will go up to them, Anne, and you may stay down 
 and lay the cloth for tea I expect your master in early to 
 night." 
 
 She put her writing materials hastily away, and with a 
 light, quick step ran upstairs She entered a room which 
 in its size and general shabbiness might better have been 
 called an attic, and found herself in the presence of three 
 small children. The two elder ran to meet her with out 
 stretched arms and glad cries. The baby sat up in his cot 
 and gazed hard at his mother with flushed cheeks and 
 round eyes. 
 
 She took the baby in her arms and sat down in a low 
 rocking-chair close to the fire. Harold and Daisy went on 
 their little knees in front of her. Now that mother had 
 come their quarrel was quite over, and the poor baby ceased 
 to fret. 
 
 Seated thus, with her little children about her there was 
 no doubt at all that Charlotte Home had a pleasant face ; 
 the care vanished from her eyes as she looked into the in 
 nocent eyes of her babies, and as she nursed the seven- 
 months-old infant she began crooning a sweet old song in a 
 true, delicious voice, to which the other two listened with 
 delight : 
 
 " In the days when we went gipsying, 
 A long time ago." 
 
 " What's gipsying, mother ? " asked Harold, aged six. 
 
 " Something like picnicking, darling. People who live 
 in the country, or who are rich," here Mrs. Home sighed 
 " often, in the bright summer weather, take their dinner or 
 their tea, and they go out into the woods or th/ green fields 
 and eat there. I have been to gypsy teas ; they are great 
 fun. We lit a fire and boiled the kettle ovetf it, and made 
 the tea ; it was just the same tea as we had at home, but 
 somehow it tasted much better out-of-doors." 
 
 " Was that some time ago, mother ? " asked little Daisy. 
 
 ' It would seem a long, long time to you, darling ; but it 
 was not so many years ago." ** 
 
 " Mother," asked Harold, " why aren't we rich, or why 
 don't we live in the country ? " 
 
 A dark cloud, caused by some deeper emotion than the 
 mere fact of beAng poor, passed over the mother's face.
 
 ro HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 * We cannot live in the country," she said, " because 
 your father has a curacy in this part of London. Your fa 
 ther is a brave man, and he must not desert his post." 
 
 " Then why arn't we rich ? " persisted the boy. 
 
 " Because because I cannot answer you that, Harold ; 
 and now I must run downstairs again. Father is coming in 
 earlier than usual to-night, and you and Daisy may come 
 down for a little bit after tea that is, if you promise to be 
 very good children now, and not to quarrel. See, baby has 
 dropped asleep ; who will sit by him and keep him from 
 waking until Anne comes back ? " 
 
 " I, mother," said Harold, and, " I, mother," said Daisy. 
 
 " That is best," said the gentle-voiced mother ; " you 
 both shall keep him very quiet and safe ; Harold shall sit 
 on this side of his little cot and Daisy at the other." 
 
 Both children placed themselves, mute as mice, by the 
 baby's side, with the proud look of being trusted on their 
 little faces. The mother kissed them and flew downstairs. 
 There was no time for quiet or leisurely movement in that 
 little house; in the dingy parlor, the gas had now been 
 lighted, and the fire burned better and brighter, and Anne 
 with most praisworthy efforts, was endeavoring to make some 
 toast, which, alas I she only succeeded in burning. Mrs. 
 Home took the toasting-fork out of her hands. 
 
 " There, Anne, that will do nicely : I will finish the 
 toast. Now please run away, and take Miss Mitchell's din 
 ner up to her ; she is to have a little pie to-night and some 
 baked potatoes ; they are all waiting, and hot in the oven, 
 and then please go back to the children." 
 
 Anne, a really good-tempered little maid-of-all-work, van 
 ished, and Mrs. Home made some fresh toast, which she set, 
 brown, hot, and crisp, in the china toast-rack. She then 
 boiled a new^aid egg, and had hardly finished these final 
 preparations before the rattle of the latch-key was heard in 
 the hall-door, and her husband came in. He was a tall 
 man, with a face so colorless that hers looked almost rosy 
 by contrast ; his voice, however, had a certain ring about it, 
 which betokened that most rare and happy gift to its posses 
 sor, a brave and courageous heart The way in which he 
 now said, " Ah, Lottie ! " and stooped down and kissed her, 
 had a good sound, and the wife's eyes sparkled as she sat 
 down by the tea-tray. 
 
 " Must you go out again to-night, \ngus ? " she said 
 presently.
 
 HO W IT ALL CAME ROUND. x f 
 
 " Yes, my dear. Poor Mrs. Swift is really dying at last. 
 I promised to look in on her again." 
 
 " Ah, poor soul 1 has it really come ? And what will 
 those four children do ? " 
 
 " We must get them into an Orphanage ; Petterick has 
 interest. I shall speak to him. Lottie ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 " Beat up that fresh egg I saw you putting into the cup 
 board when I came in ; beat it up, and add a little milk and 
 a teaspoonful of brandy. I want to take it round with me 
 to little Alice. That child has never left her mother's side 
 for two whole days and nights, and I believe has scarcely 
 tasted a morsel ; I fear she will sink when all is over." 
 
 Lottie rose at once and prepared the mixture, placing it, 
 when ready, in a little basket, which her husband seldom 
 went out without ; but as she put it in his hand she could not 
 refrain from saying 
 
 " I was keeping that egg for your breakfast, Angus ; I 
 do grudge it a little bit." 
 
 " And to eat it when little Alice wanted it so sorely 
 would choke me, wife," replied the husband ; and then but 
 toning his thin overcoat tightly about him, he went out into 
 the night 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE STORY. 
 
 THE children were at last in bed, the drawing-room lodger 
 had finished her dinner, the welcome time of lull in the day's 
 occupations had come, and Mrs. Home sat by the dining- 
 room fire. A large basket, filled with little garments ready 
 for mending, lay on the floor at her feet, and her working 
 materials were close by ; but, for a wonder, the busy fingers 
 were idle. In vain Daisy's frock pleaded for that great rent 
 made yesterday, and Harold's socks showed themselves most 
 disreputably out at heels. Charlotte Home neither put on 
 her thimble nor threaded her needle ; she sat gazing into the 
 fire, lost in reverie. It was not a very happy or peaceful 
 reverie, to judge from the many changes c*n her expressive
 
 , r HO W IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 lace! The words, " Shall I, or shall I not ? " came often to 
 her lips. Many things seemed to tear her judgment in di 
 vers ways ; most of all the look in her little son's eyes when 
 he asked that eager, impatient question, " mother, why aren't 
 we rich ? " but other and older voices than little Harold's 
 said to her, and they spoke pleadingly enough, " Leave this 
 thing alone ; God knows what is best for you. As you have 
 gone on all these years, so continue, not troubling about 
 what you cannot understand, but trusting to him." 
 
 " I cannot ; I am so tired sometimes," sighed the poor 
 young wife. 
 
 She was still undetermined when her husband returned. 
 There was a great contrast in their faces a greater almost 
 in their voices, in the tone of her dispirited, " Well, Angus,' 
 and his almost triumphant answer, 
 
 ' Well, Lottie, that hard fight has ended bravely. Thank 
 God!" 
 
 " Ah ! then the poor soul has gone," said the wife, mov 
 ing her husband's chair into the warmest corner. 
 
 " She has truly gone ; I saw her breathe her last. But 
 there is no need to apply the word ' poor ' to her ; she has 
 done with all that. You know what a weakly, troubled 
 creature she always was, how temptation and doubt seemed 
 to wrap her round like a mist, and prevent her seeing any of 
 the shining of the blue sky. Well, it all passed away at tht 
 last, and there was nothing but a steadfast looking into the 
 very face of her Lord. He came for her, and she just 
 stretched out her arms and went to Him. Thank God for 
 being privileged to witness such a death ; it makes life far 
 more easy." 
 
 A little weariness had crept perceptibly into the brave 
 voice of the minister as he said these last words. His wife 
 laid her hand sympathizingly on his. They sat silent for a 
 few moments, ,then he spoke on a different subject, 
 
 " How is baby to-night, Lottie ? " 
 
 " Better, I think ; his tooth is through at last. He will 
 have rest now for a bit, poor little darling." 
 
 " We must be careful to keep him from catching another 
 cold. And how is Anne getting on ? " 
 
 " As well as we can expect from such an ignorant little 
 mite. And oh ! Angus, the nursery is such a cold, draughty 
 room, and I do I do wish we were rich." 
 
 The last words were tumbled out with a great irrrpre*- 
 ible burst of tears.
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 13 
 
 ** Why, my Lottie, what has come to you ? " said her hus 
 band, touched and alarmed by this rare show of feeling 
 " What is it, dear ? You wish we were rich, so do not I ; I 
 am quite content. I go among so very much poorer people 
 than myself, Lottie, that it always seems to me I have far 
 more than my fair share of life's good things ; but, at any 
 late my Lottie, crying won't make us rich, so don't waste 
 your strength over it/ 
 
 " I can't help it sometimes, Angus ; it goes to my heart to 
 see you shivering in such a great-coat as you have just taken 
 off, and then I know you want better food, and wine ; you 
 are so tired this moment you can scarcely speak. What a 
 lot of good some port wine would do you ! " 
 
 " And what a lot of good, wishing for it will do me ! Come 
 Lottie, be sensible ; we must not begin to repine for what we 
 have not got, and cannot get. Let us think of our mercies." 
 
 "You make me ashamed of myself, Angus. But these 
 thoughts don't come to me for nothing ; the fact is yes, I 
 will tell you at last, I have long been making up my mind. 
 The truth is, Angus, I can't look at the children I can't 
 look at you and see you all suffering, and hold my peace any 
 longer. We are poor, very very -dreadfully poor, but we 
 ought to be rich." 
 
 " Lottie ! " 
 
 Such a speech, so uttered, would have called for reproof 
 from Angus Home, had it passed the lips of another. But 
 he knew the woman he had married too well not to believe 
 there was reason in her words. 
 
 " I am sorry you have kept a secret from me," he said. 
 " What is this mystery, Lottie ? " 
 
 " It was my mother, Angus. She begged of me to keep 
 it to myself, and she only told me when she was dying. But 
 may I just tell you all from the very beginning ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear. If it is a romance, it will just soothe me, for 
 though I am, I own, tired, I could not sleep for a long time 
 to come." 
 
 " First, Angus, I must confess to a little bit of deceit I 
 practised on you." 
 
 " Ah, Lottie ! " said her hushand playfully, " no wondci 
 you cried, with such a heavy burden on your soul ; but con 
 fess your sins, wife." 
 
 " You know how it has always fretted me, our being 
 poor," said Charlotte. " Your income is only just sufficient 
 to put bread into our mouths, and, indeed, we sometimes want
 
 14 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 that. I have often lain awake at night wondering ho* 
 I could make a little money, and this winter, when it set in 
 so very severe, set my thoughts harder to work on this great 
 problem than ever. The children did want so much, Angus 
 new boots, and little warm dresses and so and so one 
 day about a month ago, Mrs. Lisle, who reads and writes so 
 much, called, and I was very low, and she was kind and sym 
 pathizing ; somehow, at last out it all came, I did so wish to 
 earn money. She asked me if I could write a good clear 
 hand, a hand easily read. I showed her what I could do, 
 and she was good enough to call it excellent. She said no 
 more then, but the next day she came early. She brought 
 me a MS. written by a friend of hers ; very illegible it was. 
 She would not tell me the name of her friend, but she said 
 she was a lady very desirous of seeing herself in print. If I 
 would copy this illegible writing in my own good clear hand, the 
 lady would give me five pounds. I thought of the children's 
 boots and their winter dresses, and I toiled over it. I con 
 fess now that it was wear)' work, and tired me more than I 
 cared to own. I finished it to-day ; this evening, just before 
 you came home, that task was done ; but this morning I did 
 something else. You know Miss Mitchell is always kind 
 enough to let me see the Times. This morning Anne 
 brought it down as usual, and, as I ran my eyes over it I was 
 struck by an advertisement, ' A young lady living at Kensing 
 ton wished for the services of an amanuensis, for so many 
 hours daily. Remuneration good.' I could not help it, An 
 gus, my heart seemed to leap into my mouth. Then and 
 there I put on my bonnet, and with a specimen of my hand 
 writing in my pocket, went off to answer the advertisement in 
 person. The house was in Prince's Gate, Kensington : the 
 name of the young lady who had advertised for my services 
 was Harm an." 
 
 " Harman ! how strange, wife ! your own name before you 
 married." 
 
 " Yes, dear ; but such a different person from me, so rich, 
 while I am so poor ; so very, very beautiful, and graceful, and 
 gracious : she may have been a year or so younger than I, 
 she was not much. She had a thoughtful face, a noble face. 
 I could have drawn tears from her eyes had I described the 
 little children, but I did not. It was delightful to look upon 
 her calm. Not for worlds would I disturb it ; and, Angus, 
 I foMnd out another thing her name was not only Harman, 
 but Charlotte Harman."
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 15 
 
 There was no doubt at all that the otner Charlotte was 
 excited no -v, the color had come into her cheeks, her eyes 
 sparkled. Her husband watched her with undisguised sur 
 prise. 
 
 " I made a good thing of it Angus," she continued. " I 
 am to go to Prince's Gate every morning, I am to be there at 
 ten, and give my services till one o'clock. I am then to have 
 lunch with the young lady, and for all this, and the enjoy 
 ment of a good dinner into the bargain, I am to receive thirty 
 shillings a week. Does not it sound too good to be true ? " 
 
 " And that is how we are to be rich, Lottie. Well, go on 
 and prosper. I know what an active little woman you are 
 and how impossible it is for you to let the grass grow under 
 your feet. I do not object to your trying this thing, if it is 
 not too much for your strength, and if you can safely leave the 
 children." 
 
 " I have thought of the children, Angus ; this is so much 
 for their real interest, that it would be a pity to throw it 
 away. But, as you say, they must not be neglected. I shall 
 ask that little Alice Martin to come in to look after them un 
 til I am back every day ; she will be glad to earn half-a-crown 
 a week." 
 
 " As much in proportion, as your thirty shillings is to you 
 eh, Lottie ? See how rich we are in reality." 
 
 Mrs. Home sighed, and the bright look left her face. 
 her husband perceived the change. 
 
 " That is not all you have got to tell me," he said. 
 
 " No, it is only leading up to what I want to tell you. It 
 is what has set me thinking so hard all day that I can keep it 
 to myself no longer. Angus, prepare for a surprise ; that 
 beautiful young lady, who bears the same name I bore before 
 I was married is is she is my near relation." 
 
 " Your near relation, Charlotte ? But I never knew you 
 had any near relations " 
 
 " No, dear, I never told you ; my mother thought it best 
 that you should not know. She only spoke to me of them 
 when she was dying. She was sorry afterwards that she had 
 even done that ; she begged of me, unless great necessity 
 arose, not to say anything to you. ' It is only because it 
 seems to me the necessity has really come that I speak of 
 what gave my mother such pain to mention." 
 
 " Yes, dear, you have wealthy relations. I donH know 
 that it matters very greatly. But go on." 
 
 " There is more than that, Angus, but I will try to tell
 
 ,f /fOHT IT ALL CAME RC 'JND. 
 
 you all. You know how poor I was when you found me, and 
 gave me your love and yourself." 
 
 " We were both poor, Lottie ; so much so that we thought 
 two hundred a year, which was what we had to begin house 
 keeping 0*1, quite riches." 
 
 " Yes, Augus ; well, I had been poor all my life, I could 
 never do what rich girls did, I was so accustomed to wear 
 ing shabby dresses, and eating plain food, and doing without 
 the amusements which seem to come naturally into the lives 
 of most young girls, that I had ceased to miss them. I was 
 sent to a rather good school, and had lessons in music and 
 painting, and I sometimes wondered how my mother had 
 money even to give me these. Then I met you, and we were 
 married. It was just after our little Harold was born that 
 my mother died," 
 
 " Yes, you went down into Hertfordshire ; you were away 
 for six weeks." 
 
 " I took Harold with me ; mother was so proud of him. 
 Whenever she had an easy moment, she used to like to have 
 him placed on her knee. She told me then that she had a 
 little son older than I, who died, and that our Harold re 
 minded her of him. One night, I remember so well, I was 
 sitting up with her. She had been going through great pain, 
 but towards the morning she was easier. She was more in 
 clined, however, to talk than to sleep. She began again speak 
 ing about the likeness between our Harold and my little 
 brother who died. 
 
 " I shall give you little Edgar's christening robe for 
 Harold,' she said. ' I never could bear to part with it before 
 but I don't mind his having it. Open my wardrobe, Char 
 lotte, and you will find it folded away in a blue paper, in the 
 small wooden box.' 
 
 " I did so, and took out a costly thing, yellow, it is true, 
 witfc age, but half covered with most valuable lace. 
 
 " 'Why, mother,' I exclaimed, ' how did you ever get such 
 a valuable dress as this ? Why, this lace would be cheap at 
 a guinea a yard ! ' 
 
 " ' It cost a great deal more than that,' replied mother, 
 stoking down the soft lace and muslin with her thin fingers ; 
 'but we were rich then, Lottie.' 
 
 " ' Rich 1 " I said, ' rich ! I never, never thought that you 
 and I had anything to say to money, mother.' 
 
 " * You don't remember your father, child?"
 
 HOW IT. ALL CAME ROUND. 17 
 
 " ' No, mother,' I said / ' how could I ? I was only two 
 years old when he died.' 
 
 " Mother was silent after that, and I think she went into 
 a doze, but my curiosity and wonder were excited, and I could 
 not help seeking to know more. 
 
 " ' I never knew that we were rich,' I said again the next 
 day. ' Why did you never tell me before ? The next bes' 
 thing to enjoying riches would be to hear about them.' 
 
 " ' I did not want to make you discontented, Lottie. 1 
 thought what you had never known or thought of you would 
 never miss. I feared, my dear, to make you discontented.' 
 
 " ' But I have thought of money,' I owned, ' I have thought 
 of it lately a great deal. When I look at Angus I long to 
 get him every luxury, and I want my little Harold to grow 
 up surrounded by those things which held to develop a fine 
 and refined character. 
 
 " ' But they don't, Lottie ; they don't indeed,' answered 
 my dear dying mother. ' Riches bring a snare they debase 
 the character, they don't ennoble it.' 
 
 " ' Mother,' I said, ' I see plainly that you are well 
 acquainted with this subject. You will tell me, mother, 
 what you know ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes,' replied my mother ; ' it won't do you the least 
 good ; but as I have said so much to you I may as well tell 
 the rest.' 
 
 " Then, Augus, my mother told me the following story ; 
 it is not very long. 
 
 " She was an orphan and a governess when my father 
 found her and married her she was my father's second 
 wife. She was much younger than he he had grown-up 
 sons two grown-up sons at the time of his marriage ; and 
 they were very deeply offended at his thinking of a second 
 marriage. So indignant were they that my father and they 
 came to quite an open quarrel, and mother said that during 
 the five years that my father lived she never saw either of 
 her stepsons until just at the close. She was very happy as 
 my father's wife ; he loved her dearly, and as he had plenty 
 of money she wanted for nothing. My father was an old 
 man, as I have said, and he was tired of fuss, and also of 
 much society ; so though they were so rich mother lived 
 rather a lonely life in a large and beautiful place in 
 Hertfordshire. She said the place was called the Hermitage, 
 and was one of the largest and best in the neighborhood. 
 At last my father fell ill, very ill, and the doctors said he
 
 c g HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 must die. Then for the first time there came hastening 
 back to the Hermitage the two elder sons their names were 
 Johr and Jaiper the eldest John, my mother said, was 
 very handsome, and very kind and courteous to her. He 
 was a married man, and he told mother that he had a little 
 daughter much about my age, who was also called Charlotte. 
 My father and his two sons seemed quite reconciled in these 
 last days, and they spent most of their time with him. On 
 the evening, however, before he died, he had mother and me 
 with him alone. I sat on the bed, a little baby child of two, 
 and my father held mother's hand. He told mother how much 
 he loved her, and he spoke a very little about money 
 matters. 
 
 " ' John will make it all right for you, Daisy,' he said. 
 4 John knows all about my wishes with regard to you and 
 little Charlotte. I should like this little Charlotte and his to 
 be friends ; they are both called after my own mother, the 
 best woman I ever met. You will bring up little Charlotte 
 with every comfort and refinement, dear wife.' 
 
 " The next day my father died, and John and Jasper 
 went to London. They did not even wait for the funeral, 
 though Jasper came back for it. John, he told mother, was 
 kept by the sudden dangerous illness of his wife. Jasper 
 said that John felt our father's death most dreadfully. 
 Mother had liked John, who was always very civil to her, 
 but she could not bear Jasper : she said he seemed a 
 cleverer man than his brother, but she never could get over 
 a feeling of distrust towards him. The will was never read 
 to my mother, but Jasper came back again from London to 
 tell her of its contents, and then judge of her surprise her 
 name was not even mentioned, neither her name nor mine. 
 She had been married without settlements, and every farthing 
 of all my father's great wealth was left to his two sons, John 
 and Jasper. Jasper expressed great surprise; he even 
 said it was a monstrously unfair thing of his father to do, 
 and that certainly he and his brother would try to rectify it 
 in a measure. He then went back to London, and mother 
 was left alone in the great empty house. She said she felt 
 quite stunned, and was just then in such grief for my father 
 that she scarcely heeded the fact that she was left penniless. 
 Two days afterwards a lawyer from London came dx>wn to 
 see her. He came with a message from her .wo stepsons. 
 They were much concerned for her, and they were willing to 
 help her. They would allow her, between 'them, as long as
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 19 
 
 she lived the interest on three thousand pounds on one 
 condition. The condition was this : she was never to claim 
 the very least relationship with them ; she was to bring up 
 her daughter as a stranger to them. They had never ap 
 proved of their father's marrying her ; they would allow her 
 the money on condition that all connection between them 
 completely dropped. The day it was renewed by either 
 mother or daughter, on that day the interest on the three 
 thousand pounds would cease to be paid. My mother was 
 too young, too completely inexperienced, and too bowed 
 down with grief, to make the least objection. Only one faint 
 protest did she make. ' My husband said,' she faltered, 
 ' on the very last day of his life, he said that he wished my little 
 Charlotte and that other Charlotte in London to be friends.' 
 But the lawyer only shook his head. On this point his clients 
 were firm. ' All communication between the families must 
 cease.' 
 
 " That is the story, Augus," continued Charlotte Home, 
 suddenly changing her voice, and allowing her eyes, which 
 had been lowered during her brief recital, to rise to her 
 husband's face. " My dear mother died a day or two after 
 wards. She died regretting having to own even what she did, 
 and begging me not to think unkindly of my father, and 
 not to unsettle your mind by telling you what could do no 
 good whatever. 
 
 " * I do not think unkindly of my father, mother,' I an 
 swered, ' and I will not trouble my husband's mind, at least, 
 not yet, never, perhaps, unless fitting opportunity arises. 
 But I know what I think, mother what, indeed, I know. 
 That was not my father's real will ; my brothers John and 
 Jasper have cheated you. Of this I am very sure.' 
 
 " Mother, though she was so weak and dying, got quite a 
 color into her cheeks when I said this. ' No, no,' she said, 
 ' don't harbor such a thought in your heart my darling, my 
 darling. Indeed it is utterly impossible. It was a real, 
 real will. I heard it read, and your brothers, they were 
 gentlemen. Don't let so base a thought of them dwell 
 in your heart. It is, I know it is, impossible.' 
 
 " I said no more to trouble my dear mother na shortly 
 afterwards she died. That is six years ago."
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TWO WAYS OF LOOKING AT IT. 
 
 AFTER the story was finished the husband and wife sat 
 for a long time side by side, in absolute silence. Both pairs 
 of eyes were fixed on the glowing embers in the fire ; the 
 wife's reflected back both the lights and the shadows ; they 
 were troubled eyes, troubled with possible joy, troubled also 
 with the dark feelings of anger. The husband's, on the 
 contrary, were calm and steady. No strong hope was visit 
 ing them, but despair, even disquietude, seemed miles away. 
 Presently the wife's small nervous fingers were stretched out 
 to meet her husband's, his closed over them, he turned his 
 head, met her anxious face, smiled and spoke. 
 
 " So it seems on the cards that you might have been rich, 
 Lottie. Well, it was unjust of your father not to have made 
 some provision for your mother and you, but but he has 
 long been dead, the whole thing is over. Let it pass." 
 
 " Augus ! do you know what I should like ? " asked his 
 wife. 
 
 " No. What ? " 
 
 " I should like to meet those two men, John and Jasper 
 Harman, face to face, and ask them without the least pre 
 amble or preparation, what they have done with my father's 
 real will ? " 
 
 " Dear Lottie, you must get this strange idea out of your 
 head. It is not right of you to harbor such thoughts of any 
 men." 
 
 " I should like to look so hard at them," continued 
 Charlotte, scarcely heeding her husband's words. " I know 
 their eyes would flinch, they would be startled, they would 
 betray themselves. Angus, I can't help it, the conviction 
 that is over me is too strong to be silenced. For years, ever 
 since my mother told me that story, I have felt that we have 
 been wronged, nay, robbed of our own. But when I entered 
 that house to-day and found myself face with my half-brother's 
 ("aughter, when I found myself in the house that I had been 
 !den to enter, I felt I knew, that a great wrong had
 
 fOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 2 l 
 
 comtni't-pd. My father! Why should I think ill of my 
 rather, An^u.s ? Is it likely that he would have made no 
 provision for my mother whom he loved, or for me ? Is it 
 likely that he would have left everything he possessed to the 
 two sons with whom he had so bitterly quarrelled, that for 
 years they had not even met ? Is it likely ? Augus, you are a 
 just man, and you will own to the truth. Is it likely, that 
 with his almost dying breath, he should have assured my 
 neither that all was settled that she could bring me up well, 
 In comfort and luxury, that Charlotte Harman and I should 
 be friends ? No, Angus ! I believe my father ; he was a 
 good and just man always ; and, even if he was not, dying 
 men don't tell lies." 
 
 " I grant that it seems unlikely, Lottie ; but then, on the 
 other hand, what do you accuse these men of ? Why, of no 
 less a crime than forging a will, of suppressing the real will, 
 and bringing forward one of their own manufacture. Why, 
 my dear wife, such an act of villany would be not only 
 difficult, but, I should say, impossible." 
 
 " I don't know how it was done, Augus, but something 
 was done, of that I am sure, and what that thing was I shall 
 live, please God, to find out." 
 
 " Then you you, a clergyman's wife the wife of a man 
 who lives to proclaim peace on earth, good-will to men, you 
 go into your brother's house as a spy ! " 
 
 Mrs. Home colored. Her husband had risen from his 
 chair. 
 
 " You shall not do that," he said ; " I am your husband, 
 and I forbid it. You can only go to the Harmans, if they are 
 indeed the near relations you believe them to be, on one con 
 dition." 
 
 " And that ? " said Charlotte. 
 
 " That you see not only Mr. Harman's daughter, but Mr. 
 Harman himself ; that you tell him exactly who you are .... 
 If, after hearing your story, he allows you to work for his 
 daughter, you can do so without again alluding to the rela 
 tionship. If they wish it dropped, drop it, Lottie ; work for 
 them as you would for any other strangers, doing your best 
 work bravely and well. But begin openly. Above all things 
 thinking no evil in your heart of them.'" 
 
 " Then I cannot go on these conditions, Angus, for I can 
 not feel charity in my heart towards Mr. Harman. It seemed 
 such a good thing this morning. But I must give it up." 
 
 " And something else will come in it's place, never fear ;
 
 22 HOW IT ALL CAME 
 
 but I did not know until to-night that my Lottie so pined for 
 riches." 
 
 " Angus, I do I do I want Harold to go to a good 
 school, Daisy to be educated, little Angus to get what is 
 necessary for his health, and above all, you, my dearest, my 
 dearest, to have a warm overcoat, and port wine : the over 
 coat when you are cold, the port wine when you are tired. 
 Tlunk of having these luxuries, not only for yourself, but to 
 give away to your poor, Angus, and I am sure we ought to 
 have them." 
 
 " Ah, Lottie ! you are a witch, you try to tempt me, and 
 all these things sound very pleasant. But don't dream of 
 what we haven't, let us live for the many, many things we 
 have." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LOVE IN A DIAMOND 
 
 THE next day Angus Home went out early as usual, about 
 his many parish duties ; this was it was true, neither a feast 
 nor a fast day, nor had he to attend a morning service, but 
 he had long ago constituted himself chief visitor among the 
 sick and poorest of his flock, and such work occupied him from 
 morning to night. Perhaps in a nature naturally inclined to 
 asceticism, this daily mingling with the very poor and the 
 very suffering, had helped to keep down all ambitions for 
 earthly good things, whether those good things came in the 
 guise of riches or honors ; but though unambitious and very 
 humble, never pushing himself forward, doing always the 
 work that men who considered themselves more fastidious 
 would shun, never allowing his voice to be heard where he 
 believed wiser men than he might speak, Mr. Home ^as 
 neither morbid nr unhappy ; one of his greatest character 
 istics was an utter absence of all self-consciousness. 
 
 The fact was, the man, though he had a wife whom he 
 loved, and children very dear to him, had grown accustomed 
 to hold life lightly ; to him life was in very truth a pilgrim 
 age, a school, a morning which should usher in the great day 
 of the future. His mental and spiritual eyes were fixed expeo
 
 HOW JT ALL CAME ROUND. 23 
 
 tantly and longingly on that day ; and in connection with it, 
 it would be wiong to say that he was without ambition, for 
 be had a very earnest and burning desire, not only for rank 
 but for kingship by and by : he wanted to be crovwied with 
 the crown of righteousness. 
 
 A Home knew well that to wear that crown in all ts 
 lustre o future, it must begin to fit his head down here ; 
 and he ; o knew that those who put on such crowns on 
 earth, find them, as their great and blessed Master did before 
 them, made of thorns, 
 
 It is no wonder then that the man with so simple a faith, 
 so Christ-like a spirit, should not be greatly concerned by 
 his wife's story of the night before. He did not absolutely 
 forget it, for he pondered over it as he wended his way to the 
 attic where the orphan Swifts lived. He felt sorry for Lottie 
 as he thought of it, and he hoped she would soon cease to 
 have such uncharitable ideas of her half-brothers ; he himself 
 could not even entertain the notion that any fraud had been 
 committed ; he felt rather shocked that his Lottie should dwell 
 on so base a thing. 
 
 There is no doubt that this saint-like man could be a tiny 
 bit provoking ; and so his wife felt when he left her without 
 again alluding to their last night's talk. After all it is wives 
 and mothers who feel the sharpest stings of poverty. Char 
 lotte had known what to be poor meant all her life, as a 
 child, as a young girl, as a wife, as a mother, but she had 
 been brave enough about it, indifferent enough to it, until 
 the children came ; but from the day her mother's story was 
 told her, and she knew how close the wings of earthly com 
 fort had swept her by, discontent came into her heart. Dis 
 content came in and grew with the birth of each fresh little 
 one. She might have made her children so comfortable, she 
 could do so little with them; they were pretty children too. 
 It went to her heart to see their beauty disfigured in ugly 
 clothes ; she used to look the other way with a great jealous 
 pang, when she saw children not nearly so beautiful as hers, 
 yet looked at and admired because of their bright fresh 
 colors and dainty little surroundings. But poverty brought 
 worse stings than these. The small house in Kentish Town 
 was hot and stifling in the months of July and August ; the 
 children grew pale and pined for the fresh country air which 
 could not be given to them ; Lottie herself grew weak and 
 languid, and her husband's pale face seemed to grow more 
 etherial day by day. At all such times as these did Charlotte
 
 2 + HOIV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 Home's mind and thoughts refer back to her mother's story, 
 and again and again the idea returned that a great great wrong 
 had been done. 
 
 In the winter when this story opens, poverty came very 
 close to the little household. They were, it is true, quite out 
 of debt, but they were only so because the food was kept so 
 scanty, the fires so low, dress so very insufficient to keep at 
 a distance the winter's bitter cold ; they were only out of 
 debt because the mother slaved from morning to night, and 
 the father ate less and less, having, it is to be feared, less 
 and less appetite to eat 
 
 Then the wife and mother grew desperate, money must be 
 brought in how could it be done ? The doctor called and 
 said that baby Angus would die if he had not more milk he 
 must have what is called in London baby-milk, and plenty of 
 it. Such milk in Kentish Town meant money. Lottie re 
 solved that baby Angus should not die. In answering an 
 advertisement which she hoped would give her employment, 
 she accidentally found herself in her own half-brother's house. 
 There was the wealth which had belonged to her father ; 
 there were the riches to which she was surely born. How 
 delicious were those soft carpets ; how nice those cushioned 
 seats ; how pleasant those glowing fires ; what an air of re 
 finement breathed over everything ; how grand it was to be 
 served by those noiseless and well-trained servants; how 
 great a thing was wealth, after all ! 
 
 She thought all this before she saw Charlotte Harman. 
 Then the gracious face, the noble bearing, the kindly 
 and sweet manner of this girl of her own age, this girl who 
 might have been her dearest friend, who was so nearly re 
 lated to her, filled her with sudden bitterness ; she believed 
 herself immeasurably inferior to Miss Harman, and yet she 
 knew that she might have been such another. She left the 
 house with a mingled feeling of relief and bitterness. She 
 was earning present money. What might she not discover 
 to benefit her husband and children by and by ? 
 
 In the evening, unable to keep her thoughts to herself, 
 she told them and her story for the first time to her husband. 
 Instantly he tore the veil from her eyes. Was she, his 
 wife, to go to her own brother's house as a spy ? No ! a 
 thousand times no ! No wealth, however needed, would be 
 worth purchasing at such a price. If Charlotte could not 
 banish from her mind these unworthy thoughts, she must 
 give up so excellent a means of earning money.
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 35 
 
 Poor Charlotte ! The thoughts her husband considered 
 so mean, so untrue, so unworthy, had become by this time 
 part of her very being. Oh ! must the children suffer 
 because unrighteous men enjoyed what was rightfully 
 theirs ? 
 
 For the first time, the very first time in all her life, she 
 felt discontented with her Angus. If only he were a little 
 more everyday, a little more practical ; if only he would go 
 to the bottom of this mystery, and set her mind at rest ! 
 
 She went about her morning duties in a state of mental 
 friction and aggravation, and, as often happens, on this very 
 morning when she seemed least able to bear it, came the pro 
 verbial last straw. Anne, the little maid, put in her head at 
 the parlor door. 
 
 " Ef you please, 'em, is Harold to wear 'em shoes again ? 
 There's holes through and through of 'em, and it's most 
 desp'rate sloppy out of doors this mornin'." 
 
 Mrs. Home took the little worn-out shoes in her hand ; 
 she saw at a glance that they were quite past mending, 
 
 " Leave them here, Anne," she said. "You are right, 
 he cannot wear these again. I will go out at once and buy 
 him another pair." 
 
 The small maid disappeared, and Charlotte put her hand 
 into her pocket. She drew out her purse with a sinking 
 heart. Was there money enough in it to buy the necessary 
 food for the day's consumption, and also to get new shoes 
 for Harold ? A glance showed her but too swiftly there was 
 not. She never went on credit for anything the shoes must 
 wait, and Harold remain a prisoner in the house that day. 
 She went slowly up to the nursery : Daisy and baby could go 
 out and Harold should come down to the parlor to he . 
 
 But one glance at her boy's pale face caused her heart 
 to sink. He was a handsome boy she thought him aristo 
 cratic, fit to be the son of a prince but to-day he was deadly 
 pale, with that washy look which children who pine for fresh 
 air so often get. He was standing in rather a moping atti 
 tude by the tiny window ; but at sight of his mother he flew 
 to her. 
 
 " Mother, Anne says I'm to have new shoes. Have you 
 got them ? I am so glad." 
 
 No, she could not disappoint her boy. A sudden idea 
 darted through her brain. She would ask Miss Mitchell, 
 the drawing-room boarder, to lend her the three-and- six pence 
 which the little shoes would cost. T was the first time site
 
 ,6 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 had ever borrowed, and her pride rose in revolt at even nam 
 ing the paltry sum but, for the sake of her boy's pale face ? 
 
 " I am going out to buy the shoes," she said, stooping 
 down to kiss the sweet upturned brow ; and she flew down 
 stairs and tapped at the drawing-room door. 
 
 Miss Mitchell was a lady of about fifty ; she had been 
 with them now for nearly a year, and what she paid for the 
 drawing-room and best bedroom behind it, quite covered the 
 rent of the shabby little house. Miss Mitchell was Charlotte 
 Home's grand standby ; she was a very uninteresting person, 
 neither giving nor looking for sympathy, never concerning 
 herself about the family in whose house she lived. But then, 
 on the other hand, she was easily pleased ; she never grum 
 bled, she paid her rent like clockwork. She now startled 
 Lottie by coming instantly foward and telling her that it 
 was her intention to leave after the uusal notice ; she found the 
 baby's fretful cries too troublesome, for her room was under 
 the nursery; this was one reason. Another, perhaps the 
 most truthful one, was, that her favorite curate in St. Mar 
 tin's Church over the way, had received promotion to another 
 and more fashionable church, and she would like to move to 
 where she could still be under his ministry. Charlotte bowed ; 
 there was nothing for it but to accept the fact that her com 
 fortable lodger must go. Where could she find a second 
 Miss Mitchell, and how could she possibly now ask for the 
 loan of three and sixpence ? 
 
 She left the room. Where was the money to come from 
 to buy Harold's shoes ? for that little pleading face must not 
 be disappointed. This care was, for the moment, more press 
 ing than the loss of Miss Mitchell. How should she get the 
 money for her boy ? She pressed her hand to her brow to 
 think out this problem. As she did so, a ring she wore on 
 her wedding-finger flashed ; it was her engagement ring, 
 a plain gold band, only differing from the wedding-ring, which 
 it now guarded, in that it possessed one small, very small 
 diamond. The diamond was perhaps tht smallest that could 
 be purchased, but it was pure of its kind, and the tiny gem 
 now flashed a loving fire into her eys, as though it would 
 speak if it could in answer to her inquiry. Yes, if she sold 
 this ring, the money would be forthcoming. It was pre 
 cious, it symbolized much to her ; she had no other to act as 
 guard ; but it was not so precious as the blue eyes of her first 
 born. Her resolve was scarcely conceived before it was put 
 in practie. She hastened out with the ring ; a jeweller lived
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 2 7 
 
 not far away ; he gave her fifteen shillings, and Charlotte, 
 feeling quite rich, bought the little shoes and hurried home 
 
 As she almost flew along the sloppy streets a fresh 
 thought came to her. Yes ! she must certainly decline that 
 very excellent situation with Miss Harman. That sorely 
 wanted thirty shillings a week must be given up, there was 
 no question about that. Bitter were her pangs of heart as she 
 relinquished the precious money, but it would be impossible 
 for her to go to her brother's house in the only spirit in which 
 her husband would allow her to go. Yes ; she must give it 
 up. When the children were at last fairly started on their 
 walk she would sit down and write to Miss Harman. But 
 why should she write ? She stood still as the thought came 
 to her to go to Miss Harmon in person ; to tell her from 
 her own lips that she must not visit that house, or see her 
 daily. She might or might not tell her who she really was ; 
 she would leave that to circumstances ; but she would at 
 least once more see her brother's house and look into the 
 eyes of her brother's child. It would be a short, soon-lived- 
 through excitement. Still she was in that mood when to sit 
 still in inactivity was impossible ; the visit would lead to 
 nothing, but st'ill she would pay it ; afterwards would be time 
 enough to think of rinding some one to replace Miss Mitchell, 
 of trying to buy again her engagement ring, of purchasing 
 warm clothes for her little ones. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 IN PRINCE'S GATE. 
 
 HAVING arranged her household matters, been informed 
 of another pair of boots which could not last many days 
 longer, seen to the children's dinner, and finally started the 
 little group fairly off for their walk with Anne, Charlotte 
 ran upstairs, put on her neat though thin and worn black 
 silk, her best jacket and bonnet and set off to Kensington 
 to see Miss Harman. 
 
 She reached the grand house in Prince's Gate about 
 twelve o'clock. The day had indeed long begun for her, 
 but she reflected rather bitterly that most likely Miss Harmaa
 
 ,3 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 had but just concluded her breakfast. She found, however, 
 that she had much wronged this energetic young lady. Break 
 fast had been over with some hours ago, and when Mrs. Home 
 asked for her, the footman who answered her modest sum 
 mons said that Miss Harman was out, but had left directions 
 that if a lady called she was to be asked to wait. 
 
 Charlotte was taken up to Miss Harman's own private sit 
 ting room, where, after stirring the fire, and furnishing her with 
 that morning's Times, the servant left her alone. 
 
 Mrs. Home was glad of this. She drew her comfortable 
 easy chair to the fire, placed her feet upon the neat brass 
 rail, closed her eyes, and tried to fancy herself alone. Had 
 her father lived, such comforts as these would have been 
 matters of everyday occurrence to her. Common as the air 
 she breathed would this grateful warmth be then to her thin 
 limbs, this delicious easy chair to her aching back. Had her 
 father lived, or had justice been done, in either case would 
 soft ease have been her portion. She started from her re 
 clining position and looked round the room. A parrot swung 
 lazily on his perch in one of the windows. Two canaries sang 
 in a gilded cage in the other. How Harold and Daisy would 
 love these birds ! Just over her head was a very beautifully ex 
 ecuted portrait in oils of a little child, most likely Miss Har 
 man in her infancy. Ah, yes, but baby Angus at home was 
 more beautiful. A portrait of him would attract more admi 
 ration than did that of the proud daughter of all this wealth. 
 Tears started unbidden to the poor perplexed mother's eyes. 
 It was hard to sit quiet with this burning pain at her heart 
 Just then the door was opened and an elderly gentleman with 
 silver hair came in. He bowed, distantly to the stranger 
 sitting by his hearth, took up a book he had come to seek, 
 and withdrew. Mrs. Home had barely time to realize that 
 this elderly man must really be the brother who had sup 
 planted her, when a sound of feet, of voices, of pleasant 
 laughter, drew near. The room door was again opened, and 
 Charlotte Harman, accompanied by two gentlemen, came in. 
 The elder of the two men was short and rather stout, with 
 hair that had once been red, but was now sandy, keen, deep- 
 set eyes, and a shrewd, rather pleasant face. Miss Harman 
 addressed him as Uncle Jasper, and they continued firing 
 gay badinage at one another for a moment without perceiv 
 ing Mrs. Home's presence. The younger man was tall and 
 square-shouldered, with a rather rugged face of some power 
 He might have been about thirty. He entered the room b>
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 29 
 
 Miss Harman's side, and stood by her now with a certain air 
 of proprietorship. 
 
 " Ah ! Mrs Home," said the young lady, quickly dis 
 covering her visitor and coming forward and shaking hands 
 with her at once, " I expected you. I hope you have not 
 waited long, John," turning to the young man, " will you 
 come back at four ? Mrs. Home and I have some little 
 matters to talk over , and I daresay her time is precious. I 
 shall be quite ready to go out with you at four. Uncle 
 Jasper, my father is in the library ; will you take him this 
 book from me ? " 
 
 Uncle Jasper, who had been peering with all his might 
 out of his short-sighted eyes at the visitor, now answered 
 with a laugh, " We are politely dismissed, eh ? Hinton," and 
 taking the arm of the younger man the}' left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IT INTERESTS HER. 
 
 " AND now, Mrs Home, we will have some lunch to 
 gether up here, and then afterwards we can talk and quite 
 finish ajl our arrangements," said the rich Charlotte, looking 
 with her frank and pleasant eyes at the poor one. She rang 
 a bell as she spoke, and before Mrs Hope had time to reply, 
 a tempting little meal was ordered to be served without 
 delay. 
 
 " I have been with my publishers this morning," said 
 Miss Harman. " They are good enough to say they believe 
 my tale promises well, but they want it completed by the 
 first of March, to come out with the best spring books. Don't 
 you think we may get it done ? It is the middle of January 
 now." 
 
 " I daresay it may be done," answered Mrs. Home, ris 
 ing, and speaking in a tremulous voice. " I have no doubt 
 you will work hard and have it ready but but I regret 
 it much, I have come to-day to say I cannot take the situa 
 tion you have so kindly offered me." 
 
 " But why ? " said Miss Harman, " why ? " Some color 
 came into her cheeks as she added, " I don't understand you.
 
 3 o HOW IT ALL CAME ROPND. 
 
 I thought you had promised. I thought it was all arranged 
 yesterday." 
 
 Her tone was a little haughty, but how well she used it ; 
 how keenly Mrs. Home felt the loss of what she was resign 
 ing. 
 
 " I did promise you," she said ; " I feel you have a right 
 to blame me. It is a considerable loss to me resigning your 
 situation, but my husband has asked me to do so. I must 
 obey my husband, must I not ? " 
 
 " Oh ! yes, of course. But why should he object. He 
 is a clergyman, is he not ? Is he too proud I would tell 
 no one. All in this house should consider you simply as a 
 friend. Our writing would be just a secret between you and 
 me. Your husband will give in when you tell him that." 
 
 " He is not in the least proud, Miss Harman not proud 
 I mean in that false way." 
 
 " Then I am not giving you money enough of course 
 thirty shillings seems too little ; I will gladly raise it to two 
 pounds a week, and if this book succeeds, you shall have 
 more for helping me with the next." 
 
 Mrs. Home felt her heart beating. How much she 
 needed, how keenly she longed for that easily earned money, 
 " I must not think of it," she said, however, shaking her 
 head. " I confess I want money, but I must earn it else 
 where. I cannot come here. My husband will only 
 allow me to do so on a certain condition. I cannot even tell 
 you the condition certainly I cannot fulfil it, therefore I 
 cannot come." 
 
 " Oh ! but that is exciting. Do tell it to me." 
 
 " If I did you would be the first to say I must never come 
 to this house again." 
 
 " I am quite sure you wrong me there. I may as well 
 own that I have taken a fancy to you. I am a spoiled child, 
 and I always have my own way. My present way is to have 
 you here in this snug room for two or three hours daily you 
 and I working in secret over something grand. I always 
 get my way so your conditions must melt into air. Now, 
 what are they." 
 
 " Dare I tell her ? " thought Mrs. Home. Aloud she said, 
 " The conditions are these : I must tell you a story, a story 
 about myself and and others." 
 
 " And I love stories, especially when they happen in real 
 life.' 
 
 " Miss Harman, don't tempt me. I want to tell you, but
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 31 
 
 I had better not ; yon had better let me go away. You are 
 very happy now, are you not ? " 
 
 " What a strange woman you are, Mrs. Home ! Yes, I 
 am happy." 
 
 " You won't like my story. It is possible you may not 
 be happy after you have heard it." 
 
 " That is a very unlikely possibility. How can the tale 
 of an absolute stranger affect my happiness ? " These words 
 were said eagerly a little bit defiantly. 
 
 But Mrs. Home's face had now become so grave, and 
 there was such an eager, almost frightened look in her eyes, 
 that her companion's too changed. After all what was this 
 tale ? A myth, doubtless ; but she would hear it now. 
 
 " I accept the risk of my happiness being imperilled," 
 she said. " I choose to hear the tale I am ready." 
 
 " But I may not choose to tell," said the other Char 
 lotte. 
 
 " I would make you. You have begun begun in such a 
 way that you must finish." 
 
 " Is that so ? " replied Mrs. Home. The light was grow 
 ing more and more eager in her eyes. She said to herself, 
 " The die is cast," There rose up before her a vision of her 
 children of her husband's thin face. Her voice trembled. 
 
 " Miss Harman I will speak you won't interrupt me ? " 
 
 " No, but lunch is on the table. You must eat some 
 thing first." 
 
 " I am afraid I cannot with that story in prospect ; to 
 eat would choke me ! " 
 
 " What a queer tale it must be ! " said the other Char 
 lotte. " Well, so be it." She seated herself in a chair at a 
 little distance from Mrs. Home, fixed her gaze on the glow 
 ing fire, and said, " I am ready. I wont interrupt you." 
 
 The poor Charlotte, too, looked at the fire. During the 
 entire telling of the tale neither of these young women 
 glanced at the other. 
 
 "It is my own story," began Mrs. Horn : then she 
 paused, and continued, "My father died wh . I was two 
 years old. During my father's lifetime I, who am now so poor, 
 had all the comforts that you must have had, Miss Harman, 
 in your childhood. He died, leaving my mother, who was 
 both young and pretty, nothing. She was his second wife. 
 for five years she had enjoyed all that his wealth could pur 
 chase for her. He died, leaving her absolutely penniless. 
 my mother was, as I have said, a second wife. My father
 
 j, HOW TT ALL CAME ROUND 
 
 had two grown-up sons. These sons had quarrelled with him 
 at the time of his marrying my young mother ; they came to 
 see him and were reconciled on his deathbed. He left to 
 -hese sons every penny of his great wealth. The sons ex 
 pressed surprise when the will was read. They even blamed 
 my father for so completely forgetting his wife and youngest 
 child. They offered to make some attonement for him. 
 During my mother's lifetime they settled on her three thou 
 sand pounds ; I mean the interest, at five per cent., on that 
 sum. It was to return to them at her death, it was not to 
 descend to me, and my mother must only enjoy it on one 
 condition. The condition was, that all communication must 
 cease between my father's family and hers. On the day she 
 renewed it the money would cease to be paid. My mother 
 was young, a widow, and alone ; she accepted the condi 
 tions, and the money was faithfully paid to her until the 
 day of her death. I was too young to remember my father, 
 and I only heard this story about him on my mother's death 
 bed ; then for the first time I learned that we might have 
 been rich, that we were in a measure meant to enjoy the 
 good things which money can buy. My mother had educated 
 me well, and you may be quite sure that with an income of 
 one hundred and fifty pounds a year this could only be done 
 by practising the strictest economy. I was accustomed to 
 doing without the pretty dresses and nice things which came 
 as natural to other girls as the air they breathed. In my 
 girlhood, I did not miss these things ; but at the time of my 
 mother's death, at the time the story first reached my ears, I 
 was married, and my eldest child was born. A poor man 
 had made me, a poor girl his wife, and, Miss Harman, let 
 me tell you, that wives and mothers do long for money. The 
 longing with them is scarcely selfish, it is for the beings 
 dearer than themselves. There is a pain beyond words in 
 denying your little child what you know is for that child's 
 good, but yet which you cannot give because of your empty 
 purse ; there is a pain in seeing your husband shivering in 
 too thin a coat on bitter winter nights. You know nothing of 
 such things may you never know them ; but they have gone 
 quite through my heart, quite, quite through it. Well, that 
 is my story ; not much, you will say, after all. I might have 
 been rich, I am poor, that is my story." 
 
 " It interests me," said Miss Harman, drawing a long 
 breath ' it interests me greatly ; but you will pardon my ex-
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 33 
 
 pressing my real feelings : I think your father was a cruel 
 and unjust man." 
 
 " I think my brothers, my half-brothers, were cruel and 
 unjust. I don't believe that was my father's real will." 
 
 " What ! you believe there was foul play ? This is inter 
 esting if so, if you can prove it, you may be righted yet. 
 Are your half-brothers living ? " 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " And you think you have proof that you and your mothei 
 were unjustly treated ? " 
 
 " I have no proof, no prt>of whatever, Miss Harman, I 
 have only suspicions." 
 
 " Oh ! you will tell me what they are ? " 
 
 " Even they amount to very little, and yet I feel them to 
 be certainties. On the night before my father died he told 
 my mother that she and I would be comfortably off; he also 
 said that he wished that I and his son's little daughter, that 
 other Charlotte he called her, should grow up together as 
 sisters. My father was a good man, his mind was not 
 wandering at all, why should he on his deathbed have said 
 this if he knew that he had made such an unjust will, if he 
 knew that he had left my mother and her little child with 
 out a sixpence ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Harmen slowly and thoughtfully, " it 
 looks strange." 
 
 After this for a few moments both these young women 
 were silent. Mrs. Home's eyes again sought the fire, she 
 had told her story, the excitement was over, and a dull de 
 spair came back over her face. Charlotte Harman, on the 
 contrary, was deep in that fine speculation which seeks to 
 succor the oppressed, her grey eyes glowed, and a faint 
 color came in to her cheeks. After a time she said 
 
 " I should like to help you to get your rights. You saw 
 that gentleman who left the room just how, that younger 
 gentleman, I am to be his wife before long he is a lawyer, 
 may I tell him your tale ? " 
 
 ""No, no, not for worlds." Here Mrs. Home in her ex 
 citement rose to her feet. " I have told the story, forget it 
 now, let it die." 
 
 " What a very strange woman you are, Mrs. Home ! I 
 must say I cannot understand you." 
 
 " You will never understand me. But it does not matter, 
 we are not likely to meet again. I saw you for the first time 
 yesterday. I love you, I thank you. You are a rich and
 
 34 ffOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 prosperous young lady, you won't be too proud to accept my 
 thanks and my love. Now good-bye." 
 
 " No, you are not going in that fashion. I do not see 
 why you should go at all ; you have told me your story, it 
 only proves that you want money very much, there is nothing 
 at all to prevent your becoming my amanuensis." 
 
 " I cannot, I must not. Let me go." 
 
 "But why? I do not understand." 
 
 " You will never understand. I can only repeat that 1 
 must not come here." 
 
 Mrs. Home could look proud when she liked. It was 
 now Miss Harman's turn to become the suppliant ; with a 
 softness of manner which in so noble-looking a girl was 
 simply bewitching, she said gently 
 
 " You confess that you love me." 
 
 Mrs. Home's eyes filled with tears. 
 
 " Because I do I am going away," she said. 
 
 She had just revealed by this little speech a trifle too 
 much, the trifle reflected a light too vivid to Charlotte Har 
 man's mind, her face became crimson. 
 
 " I will know the truth," she said, " I will I must. This 
 story you say it is about you ; is it all about you ? has it 
 anything to say to me ? " 
 
 " No, no, don't ask me good-bye." 
 
 " I stand between you and the door until you speak. How 
 old are you, Mrs. Home ? " 
 
 " I am twenty-five." 
 
 " That is my age. Who was that Charlotte your dying 
 father wished you to be a sister to ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you." 
 
 " You cannot but you must. I will know. Was it 
 but impossible ! it cannot be am / that Charlotte ? " 
 
 Mrs. Home covered her face with two trembling hands 
 The other woman, with her superior intellect, had discovered 
 the secret she had feebly tried to guard. There was a pause 
 and a dead silence. That silence told all that was necessary 
 to Charlotte Harman. After a time she said gently, but all 
 the fibre and tune had left her voice, 
 
 " I must think over your story, it is a very, very strange 
 tale. You are right, you cannot come here ; good-bye."
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 35 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE WOMAN BY THE HEARTH. 
 
 MRS. HOME went back to the small house in Kentish 
 Town, 'and Miss Harman sat on by her comfortable fire. The 
 dainty lunch was brought in and laid on the table, the young 
 lady did not touch it. The soft-voiced, soft-footed servant 
 brought in some letters on a silver salver. They looked 
 tempting letters, thick and bulgy. Charlotte Harman turned 
 her head to glance at them but she left them unopened by 
 her side. She had come in very hungry, from her visit to 
 the publishers, and these letters which now lay so close had 
 been looked forward to with some impatience, but now she 
 could neither eat nor read. At last a pretty little timepiece 
 which stood on a shelf over her head struck four, and a 
 clock ^from a neighboring church re-echoed the sound. 
 Almost at the same instant there came a tap at her room 
 door. 
 
 " That is John," said Charlotte. She shivered a little. 
 Her face had changed a good deal, but she rose from her 
 seat and came forward to meet her lover. 
 
 " Ready, Charlotte ? " he said, laying his two hands on 
 her shoulders ; then looking into her face he started back in 
 some alarm. " My dear, my dearest, something has hap 
 pened ; what is the matter ? " 
 
 This young woman was the very embodiment of truth. 
 She did not dream of saying, " Nothing is the matter." She 
 looked up bravely into the eyes she loved best in the world 
 and answered, 
 
 " A good deal is the matter, John. I am very much 
 vexed and and troubled." 
 
 " You will tell me all about it ; you will let me help you ? " 
 said the lover, tenderly. 
 
 " Yes, John dear, but not to-night. I want to think to 
 night. I want to know more. To-morrow you shall hear ; 
 certainly to-morrow. No, I will not go out with you. Is my 
 father in ? Is Uncle Jasper in ? "
 
 3 6 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 " Your father is out, and your uncle is going. I left him 
 buttoning on his great-coat in the hall." 
 
 " Oh 1 I must see Uncle Jasper ; forgive me, I must see 
 him for a minute." 
 
 She flew downstairs, leaving John Hinton standing alone, 
 a little puzzled and a little vexed. Breathless she arrived in 
 the hall to find her uncle descending the steps ; she rushed 
 after him and laid her hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " Uncle Jasper, I want you. Where are you going ? ' 
 
 " Hoity-toity," said the old gentleman, turning round in 
 some surprise, and even dismay when he caught sight of her 
 face. " I am going to the club, child. What next. I sent 
 Hinton up to you. What more do you want." 
 
 " I want you. I have a story to tell you and a question 
 to ask you. You must come back." 
 
 " Lottie, I said I would have nothing to do with those 
 books of yours, and I won't. I hate novels, and I hate nov 
 elists. Forgive me, child. I don't hate you ; but if your 
 father and John Hinton between them mean to spoil a fine 
 woman by encouraging her to become that monster of nature, 
 a blue-stocking, I won't help them, and that's flat. There 
 now. Let me go." 
 
 " It is no fiction I want to ask you, Uncle Jasper. It is 
 a true tale, one I have just heard. It concerns me and you 
 and my father. It has pained me very much, but I believe 
 it can be cleared up. I would rather ask you than my father 
 about it, at least at first ; but either of you can answer what 
 I want to know ; so if you will not listen to me I can speak 
 to my father after dinner." 
 
 Uncle Jasper had one of those faces which reveal noth 
 ing, and it revealed nothing now. But the keen eyes looked 
 hard into the open gray eyes of the girl who stood by his 
 side. 
 
 " What thread out of that tangled skin has she got into 
 her head ? " he whispered to himself. Aloud he said, " I 
 will come back to dinner, Charlotte, and afterwards you shall 
 take me up to your little snuggery. If you are in trouble, 
 my dear, you had better confide in me than in your father. 
 He does not does not look very strong." 
 
 Then he walked down the street ; but when he reached 
 his club he did not enter it. He walked on and on. He 
 puzzling, not so much over his niece's strange words as over 
 something else. Who was that woman who sat by Char 
 lotte's hearth that day ?
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUffD. 
 
 S7 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 / 
 
 CHARLOTTE CANNOT BEAR THE DARK. 
 
 THE elder Mr. Harman had retired to his study, and 
 Charlotte and her uncle sat side by side in that young ady's 
 own private apartment. The room looked snug and shel 
 tered, and the subdued light from a Queen's reading-lamp, and 
 from the glowing embers of a half burned-out fire, were 
 very pleasant. Uncle Jasper was leaning back in an arm 
 chair, but Charlotte stood on the hearthrug. Soft and faint 
 as the light was, it revealed burning cheeks and shining 
 eyes ; but the old face these tokens of excitement appealed 
 to remained completely in shadow. 
 
 Charlotte had told the shory she had heard that day, and 
 during its whole recital her uncle had sat motionless, making 
 no comment either by word or exclamation. 
 
 Mrs. Home's tale had been put into skilful hands. It 
 was well told all the better because the speaker so earnest 
 ly hoped that its existence might turn out a myth that the 
 phantom so suddenly conjured up might depart as quickly 
 as it had arrived. At last the story came to a conclusion. 
 There was a pause, and Charlotte said, 
 
 "Well, Uncle Jasper?" 
 
 " Well, Lottie ? " he answered. And now he roused him 
 self, and bent a little forward. 
 
 ** Is the story true, Uncle Jasper ? " 
 
 " It is certainly true, Charlotte, that my father and your 
 grandfather married again." 
 
 " Yes, uncle." 
 
 " It is also highly probable that this yrang woman is the 
 daughter of that marriage. When I saw her in this room to 
 day I was puzzled by an intangible likeness in her. This 
 accounts for it" 
 
 " Then why " began Charlotte, and then she stopped. 
 
 There was a whole world of bitterness in her tone. 
 
 " Sit down, child," said her uncle. He pointed to a foot 
 stool at his feet. Whenever he came into this room Char 
 lotte had occupied this footstool, and he wanted her to take
 
 3 8 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 it now, but she would not; she still kept her place on the 
 hearth. 
 
 " I cannot sit " she said. " I am excited greatly ex 
 cited. This looks to me in the light of a wrong." 
 
 "Who do you think has commited the wrong, Char 
 lotte ? " 
 
 Before she answered, Charlotte Harman lit a pair of can 
 dles which stood on the mantelshelf. 
 
 " There, now," she said with a sigh of relief, " I can see 
 your face. It is dreadful to speak to any one in the dark. 
 Uncle Jasper, if I had so near a relation living all these 
 years why was I never told of it ? I have over and over 
 again longed for a sister, and it seems I had one. or one who 
 might have been to me a sister. Why was I kept in igno 
 rance of her very existence ? " 
 
 " You are like all women unreasonable, Lottie. I am 
 glad to find you so human, my dear ; so human, and and 
 womanly. You jump to conclusions without hearing reasons. 
 Now I will give you the reasons. But I do wish you would 
 sit down." 
 
 " I will sit here," said Charlotte, and she drew a chair 
 near the table. The room abounded in easy-chairs of all 
 sizes and descriptions, but she chose one hard and made ot 
 cane, and she sat upright upon it, her hands folded on her 
 lap. " flfow, Uncle Jasper," she said, " I am ready to hear 
 your reasons/' 
 
 " They go a good way back, my dear, and I am not clever 
 at telling a story ; but I will do my best. Your grandfather 
 made his money in trade ; he made a good business, and he put 
 your father and me both into it. It is unnecessary to go in 
 to particulars about our special business ; it was small at 
 first, but we extended it until it became the great firm of 
 which your father is the present head. We both, your father 
 and I, showed even more aptitude for this life of mercantile 
 success than our father did, and he, perceiving this, retired 
 while scarcely an old man. He made us over the entire 
 business he had made, taking, however, from it, for his own 
 private use, a large sum of money. On the interest of this 
 money he would live, promising, however, to return it to us 
 at his death. The money taken out of the business rather 
 crippled us, and we begged of him to allow us to pay him 
 the interest, and to let the capital remain at our disposal ; 
 but he wished to be completely his own master, and he. 
 bought a place in Hertfordshire out of part of the money.
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. , 39 
 
 { was a year or two afier, that he met his second wife and 
 married her. I don't pretend," continued Uncle Jasper, 
 " that \ve liked this marriage or our stepmother, We were 
 young fellows then, and we thought our father had done us 
 an injustice. The girl he had chosen was an insipid little 
 thing, with just a pretty face, and nothing whatever else. 
 She was not quite a lady. We saw her, and came to the 
 conclusion that she was common most unsuited to our father. 
 We also remembered our own mother ; and most young men 
 feel pain at seeing any one put into her place. 
 
 " We expostulated with our father. He was a fiery old 
 man, and hot words passed between us. I won't repeat what 
 we all said, my dear, or how bitter John and I felt when we 
 rode away from the old place our father had just purchased. 
 One thing he said as we were going off. 
 
 " My marrying again won't make any money difference 
 to you two fellows, and I suppose I may please myself.' " 
 
 " I think my grandfather was very unjust," said Charlotte, 
 but nevertheless a look of relief stole over her face. 
 
 " We went back to our business, my dear, and our father 
 married ; and when we wrote to him he did not answer our 
 letters.* After a time we heard a son had been born, and 
 then, shortly after the birth of this child, the news reached 
 us, that a lawyer had been summoned down to the manor- 
 house in Hertfordshire. We supposed that our father was 
 making provision for the child ; and it seemed to us fair 
 enough. Then we saw the child's death in the Times, and 
 shortly after the news also came to us that the same lawyer 
 had gone down again to see our father. 
 
 " After this, a few years went by, and we, busy with our 
 own life, gave little heed to the old man, who seemed to have 
 forgotten us. Suddenly we were summoned to his deathbed. 
 John, your father, my dear, had always been his favorite. 
 On his deathbed he seemed to have returned to the old 
 times, when John was a little fellow. He liked to have him 
 by his side ; in short, he could not bear to have him out of 
 his sight. He appeared to have forgotten the poor, common 
 little wife he had married, and to live his early days ovei 
 again. He died quite reconciled to us both, and we held 
 his hand as he breathed his last. 
 
 " To our surprise, my dear, we found that he had left us 
 every penny of his fortune. The wife and baby girl were left 
 totally unprovided for. We were amazed ! We thought it 
 unjust We instantly resolved to make provision for her
 
 4 o HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 and her baby. We did so. She never wanted to the day of 
 her death." ' 
 
 " She did not starve," interrupted Charlotte, " but you 
 shut her out, her and her child, from yourselves, and from 
 me. Why did you do this ? " 
 
 " My dear, you would scarcely speaxin that tone to your 
 father, and it was his wish as well as mine indeed, far 
 more his wish than mine. I was on the eve of going to Aus 
 tralia, to carry on a branch of our trade there ; but he was 
 remaining at home. He was not very long married. You 
 don't remember your mother, Charlotte. Ah ! what a fine 
 young creature she was, but proud proud of her high birth 
 of a thousand things, It would have been intolerable to 
 her to associate with one like my stepmother. Your father 
 was particular about his wife and child. He judged it best 
 to keep these undesirable relations apart. I, for one, can 
 scarcely blame him." 
 
 " I will not blame my father," said Charlotte. " Again 
 that look of relief had stolen over her face. The healthy 
 tint, which was scarcely color, had returned to her cheek ; 
 and the tension of her attitude was also withdrawn, for she 
 changed her seat, taking possession now of her favorite 
 easy-chair. " But I like Charlotte Home," she said after a 
 pause. " She is whatever her mother may have been 
 quite a lady. I think it is hard that when she is so nearly 
 related to me she should be so poor and I so rich. I will 
 speak to my father. He asked me only this morning what I 
 should like as a wedding present. I know what I shall like. 
 He will give that three thousand pounds to Charlotte Home. 
 The money her mother had for her life she shall have for 
 ever. I know my father won't refuse me." 
 
 Charlotte's eyes were on the ground, and she did not see 
 the dark expression which for a moment passed over Jasper 
 Harman's face. Before he answered her he poked the fire 
 into a vigorous flame. 
 
 " You are a generous girl, Lottie," he said then. " I ad 
 mire your spirit. But it is plain, my dear, that money has 
 come as easily to you as the very air you breathe, or you 
 would not speak of three thousand pounds in a manner so 
 light as almost to take one's breath away. But suppose 
 suppose the money could be given, there is another difficulty. 
 To get that money for Mrs. Home, who, by the way, has her 
 husband to provide for her, you must tell this tae to your 
 father you must not do that."
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 41 
 
 ' Why not ? " asked Charlotte, opening her eyes wide in 
 urprise. 
 
 " Simply because he is ill, and the doctors have forbidden 
 him to be in the least agitated." 
 
 " Uncle J asper I know he is not well, but I did not 
 hear this ; and why why should what I have to say agitate 
 him ? " 
 
 " Because he cannot bear any allusion to the past. H 
 loved his father ; he cannot dwell on those years when they 
 were estranged. My dear," continued old Uncle Jasper " I 
 am glad you came with this tale to me it would have done 
 your father harm. The doctors hope soon to make him 
 much better, but at present he must hear nothing likely to 
 give rise to gloomy thoughts ; wait until he is better, my 
 dear. And if you want help for this Mrs. Home, you must 
 appeal to me. Promise me that, Lottie." 
 
 " I will promise, certainly, not to injure my father, but I 
 confess you puzzle me." 
 
 " I am truly sorry, my dear. I will think over your tale, 
 but now I must go to John. Will you come with me ? " 
 
 " No, thanks ; I would rather stay here." 
 
 " Then we shall not meet again, for in an hour I am off 
 to my club. Good-night, my dear" 
 
 And Charlotte could not help noticing how soft and cat 
 like were the footsteps of the old Australian uncle as he 
 stole away. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 JOHN AND JASPER HARMAN. 
 
 JASPAR HARMAN was sixty years old at this time, but the 
 days of his pilgrimage had passed lightly over him, neither 
 impairing his frame nor his vigor. At sixty years of age he 
 could think as clearly, sleep as comfortably, eat as well 
 nay, even walk as far as he did thirty years ago. His life 
 in the Antipodes seemed to have agreed with him. It is 
 true his hair was turning gray, and his shrewd face had many 
 wrinkles on it, but these seemed more the effects of climate 
 than of years. He looked like a man whom no heart-trouble
 
 4 2 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 had ever touched and in this doubtless lay the secret of his 
 perpetual youth. Care might sweep him very close, but it 
 could not enter an unwelcome guest to sit on the hearth of 
 his holy of holies ; into the innermost shrine of his being it 
 could scarcely find room to enter. His was the kind of na 
 ture to whom remorse even for a sin committed must be al 
 most unknown. His affections were not his strong point. 
 Most decidedly his intellect overbalanced his heart. But 
 without an undue preponderance of heart he was good- 
 natured ; he would pat a chubby little cheek, if he passed it 
 in the street, and he would talk in a genial and hearty way 
 to those beneath him in life. In business matters he was 
 considered very shrewd and hard, but those who had no 
 such dealings with him pronounced him a kindly soul. His 
 smile was genial ; his manner frank and pleasant. He had 
 one trick, however, which no servant could bear his step 
 was as soft as a cat's ; he must be on your heels before you 
 had the faintest clue to his approach. 
 
 In this stealthy way he now left his niece's room, stole 
 down the thickly carpeted stairs, crept across a tiled hall, 
 and entered the apartment where his elder brother waited 
 for him. 
 
 John Harman was only one year Jasper's senior, but 
 there looked a much greater difference between them. 
 Jasper was young for his years ; John was old ; nay, more 
 he was very old. In youth he must have been a handsome 
 man ; in age for every one spoke of him as aged, he was 
 handsome still. He was tall, over six feet ; his hair was 
 silver-white ; his eyes very deep set, very dark. Their ex 
 pression was penetrating, kind, but sad. His mouth was 
 firm, but had some lines round it which puzzled you. His 
 smile, which was rare and seldom seen, was a wintry one. 
 You would rather John Harman did not smile at you ; you 
 felt miserable afterwards. All who knew him said instinc 
 tively that John Harman had known some great trouble. 
 Most people attributed it to the death of his wife, but, as 
 this happened twenty years ago, others shook their heads 
 and felt puzzled. Whatever the sorrow, however, which so 
 perpetually clouded the fine old face, the nature of the 
 man was so essentially noble that he was universally loved 
 and icspected. 
 
 John Harmon was writing a letter when his brother en 
 tered. He pushed aside his writing materials, however, and 
 raised his head with a sigh of relief. In Jasper's presence
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 43 
 
 there was always one element of comfort. He need cover 
 over no anxieties ; his old face looked almost sharp as he 
 wheeled his chair round to the fire. 
 
 " No, you are not interrupting me," he began. " This 
 letter can keep ; it is not a business one. I never transact 
 business at home." Then he added, as Jasper sank into 
 the opposite chair, " You have been having a long chat with 
 the child. I am glad she is getting fond of you." 
 
 " She is a fine girl," said Jasper ; " a fine, generous girl. 
 I like her, even though she does dabble in literature ; and I 
 like Hinton too. When are they to be married, John ? " 
 
 " When Hinton gets his first brief not before," answered 
 John Harman. 
 
 " Well, well, he's a clever chap ; I don't see why you 
 should wait for that he's safe to get on. If I were you, I'd 
 like to see my girl comfortably settled. One can never tell 
 what may happen ! " 
 
 " What may happen ! " repeated the elder Harman. 
 " Do you allude now to the doctor's verdict on myself. I 
 did not wish Charlotte acquainted with it." 
 
 " Pooh ! my dear fellow, there's nothing to alarm our 
 girl in that quarter. I'd lay my own life you have many 
 long years before you. No, Charlotte knows you are not 
 well, and that is all she need ever know. I was not alluding 
 to your health, but to the fact that that fine young woman 
 upstairs is, just to use a vulgar phrase, eating her own head 
 off for want of something better to do. She is dabbling in 
 print. Of course, her book must fail. She is full of all 
 kinds of chimerical expedients. Why, this very evening she 
 was propounding the most preposterous scheme to me, as 
 generous as it was nonsensical. No, no, my dear fellow, 
 even to you I won't betray confidence. The girl is an 
 enthusiast. Now enthusiasts are always morbid and unhappy 
 unless they can find vent for their energies. Why don't you give 
 her the natural and healthy vents supplied by wifehood and 
 motherhood ? Why do you wait for Hinton's first brief to make 
 them happy ? You have money enough to make them happy 
 at once." 
 
 " Yes, yes, Jasper it is not that. It is just that I want 
 the young man not to be altogether dependent on his wife. 
 I am fonder of Hinton than of any other creature in the 
 world except my own child. For his sake I ask for his short 
 delay to their marriage. On the day he brings me news of 
 that brief I take the first steps to settle on Charlotte a
 
 44 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 thousand a year during my lifetime. I make arrangements 
 that her eldest son inherits the business, and I make further 
 provision for any other children she may have." 
 
 " Well, my dear fellow, all that sounds very nice ; and if 
 Hinton was not quite the man he is I should say, ' Wait for 
 the brief.' But I believe that having a wife will only make 
 him seek that said brief all the harder. I see success 
 before that future son-in-law of yours." 
 
 " And you are a shrewd observer of character, Jasper," 
 answered his brother. 
 
 Neither of the men spoke for some time after this, and 
 presently Jasper rose to go. He had all but reached the 
 door when he turned back. 
 
 " You will be in good time in the city to-morrow, John." 
 
 " Yes, of course. Not that there is anything very special 
 going on. Why do you ask ? " 
 
 " Only that we must give an answer to that question of 
 the trusteeship to the Rutherford orphans. I know you 
 object to the charge, still it seems a pity for the sake of a 
 sentiment." 
 
 Instantly John Harman, who had been crouching over 
 the fire, rose to his full height. His deep-set eyes flashed, 
 his voice trembled with some hardly suppressed anguish. 
 
 "Jasper ! " he said suddenly and sharply ; then he added, 
 " you have but one answer to that question from me never, 
 never, as long as I live, shall our firm become trustees for even 
 sixpence worth. You know my feelings on that point, 
 Jasper, and they shall never change." 
 
 " You are a fool for your pains, then," muttered Jasper, 
 but he closed the door rather hastily behind him. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 " A nrr DAT." 
 
 AT breakfast the next morning Charlotte Harman was in 
 almost wild spirits. Her movements were generally rather 
 sedate, as befitted one so tall, so finely proportioned, so 
 dignified. To-day her step seemed set to some hidden rhyth 
 mic measure ; her eyes laughed her gracious, kindly mouth
 
 HOW IT ALZ, &xJf ROUND. 45 
 
 was wreathed ir. perpetual sautes. Her father, on the con 
 trary, looked more bent, more careworn, more aged even 
 than usual. Looking, however, into her eyes for light, his 
 own brightened. As he ate bis frugal breakfast of coffee 
 and dry toast he spoke : 
 
 " Charlotte, your Uncle Jasper came to me last night 
 irith a proposal on your behalf." 
 
 " Yes, father," answered Charlotte. She looked up ex 
 pectantly. She thought of Mrs. Home. Her uncle had 
 told the tale after all, and her dear and generous father, would 
 refuse her nothing. She should have the great joy of giving 
 three thousand pounds to that poor mother for the use of 
 her little children. 
 
 The next words, however, uttered by Mr. Harman caused 
 these dreams to be dispelled by others more golden. The 
 most generous woman must at times think first of herself. 
 Charlotte was very generous; but her father's next words 
 brought dimples into very prominent play in each cheek. 
 
 " My darling, Jasper thinks me very cruel to postpone 
 your marriage. I will not postpone it. You and Hinton 
 may fix the day. I will take that brief of his on trust." 
 
 No woman likes an indefinite engagement, and Charlotte 
 was not the exception to prove this rule. 
 
 " Dearest father," she said, " I am very happy at this. I 
 will tell John. He is coming over this morning. But you 
 know my conditions ? No wedding day for me unless my 
 father agrees to live with me afterwards." 
 
 " Settle it as you please, dear child. I don't think there 
 would be much sunshine left for me if you were away from 
 me. And now I suppose you will be very busy. You have 
 carte blanche for the trousseau, but your book ? will you have 
 time to write it, Charlotte ? And that young woman whom I 
 saw in your room yesterday, is she the amanuensis whom 
 you told me about ? " 
 
 " She is the lady whom I hoped to have secured, father, 
 but she is not coming." 
 
 " Not coming ! I rather liked her look, she seemed 
 quite a lady. Did you offer her too small remuneration ? 
 not that that would be your way, buf you do not perhaps 
 know what such labor is worth." 
 
 " It was not that, dear father. I offered her what she 
 herself considered a very handsome sum. It was not that. 
 She is very poor i very very poor and she has three little 
 children. I never saw such a hungry look in any eyes as she
 
 46 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 had, when she spoke of what money would be to her. But 
 she gave me a reason a reason which I am not at liberty to 
 tell to you, whichmakes it impossible for her to come here." 
 
 Charlotte's cheeks were burning now, and something in 
 her tone caused her father to gaze at her attentively. It was 
 not his way, however, to press for any confidence not volun 
 tarily offered. He rose from his seat with a slight sigh. 
 
 " Well, dear," he said, " you must look for some one else. 
 We can't talk over matters to-night. Ask Hinton to stay 
 and dine. There ; I must be off, 1 am very late as it is." 
 
 Mr. Harman kissed his daughter and she went out as 
 usual to button on his great-coat and see him down the street 
 She had performed this office for him ever since a little 
 mite of four years old she had tried to take her dead mother's 
 place. The child, the growing girl, the young woman, had 
 all in turns stood on those steps, and watched that figure 
 walking away. But never until to-day had she noticed how 
 aged and bent it had grown. For the first time the possi 
 bility visited her heart that there might be such a thing 
 for her in the future as life without her father. 
 
 Uncle Jasper had said he was not well ; no, he did not 
 look well. Her eyes filled with tears as she closed the hall 
 door and re-entered the house. But her own prospects were 
 too golden just now to permit her to dwell as long, or as 
 anxiously, as she otherwise would have done, on so gloomy an 
 aspect of her father's case. 
 
 Charlotte Harman was twenty-five years of age ; but, ex 
 cept when her mother died, death had never come near her 
 young life. She could scarcely remember her mother, and, with 
 this one exception, death and sickness were things unknown. 
 She has heard of them of course ; but the grim practical 
 knowledge, the standing face to face with the foe, were not her 
 experience. She was the kind of woman who could develop 
 into the most tender nurse, into the wisest, best, and most 
 helpful guide, through those same dark roads of sickness 
 and death, but the training for this was all to come, No 
 wonder that in her inexperience she should soon cease to 
 dwell on her father's bent figure and drawn, white face. A 
 reaction was over her, and she must yield to it. 
 
 As she returned to the comfortable breakfast-room, her 
 eyes shone brighter through their momentary tears. She 
 went over and stood by the hearth. She was a most industri 
 ous creature, having trained herself not to waste an instant ; 
 but to-day she must indulge in a happy reverie.
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROV^D. 47 
 
 How dark had been those few hours ifter Mrs. Home 
 had left her yesterday ; how undefined, how dim, and yet how 
 dark had been her suspicions ! She did not know what to 
 think, or whom to suspect ; but she felt that, cost her what 
 it might, she must fathom thetruth, and that having once 
 fathomed it, something might be revealed to her that would 
 embitter and darken her whole life. 
 
 And behold ! she had done so. She had bravely grasped 
 the phanton in both hands, and it had vanished into thin air. 
 What she dreamed was not. There was no disgrace any 
 where. A morbid young woman had conjured up a possible 
 tale of wrong. There was no wrong. She, Mrs. Home; 
 was to be pitied, and Charlotte would help her ; but beyoud 
 this no dark or evil thing had come into her Me. 
 
 And now, what a great further good was in store for her ! 
 Her father had most unexpectedly withdrawn his opposi 
 tion over the slight delay he had insisted upon to her mar 
 riage. Charlotte did not know until now how she had 
 chafed at this delay ; how she had longed to be the wife of 
 the man she loved. She said, " Thank God ! " under her 
 breath, then ran upstairs to her own room. 
 
 Charlotte's maid had the special care of this room. It 
 was a sunshiny morning, and the warm spring air came in 
 through the open window. 
 
 " Yes, leave it open," she said to the girl ; " it seems as 
 if spring had really come to-day." 
 
 " But it is winter still, madam, February is not yet over," 
 replied the lady's maid. " Better let me shut it, Miss Har- 
 man, this is only a pet day." 
 
 " I will enjoy it then, Ward," answered Miss Harman. 
 " And now leave me, for I am very busy." 
 
 The maid withdrew, and Charlotte seated herself by her 
 writing table. She was engaged over a novel which Messrs. 
 
 M , of Street, had pronounced really good ; they 
 
 would purchase the copyright, and they wanted the MS. by 
 a given date. How eager she had felt about this yesterday ; 
 how determined not to let anything interfere with its com 
 pletion ! But to-day, she took up her pen as usual, read 
 over the last page she had written, then sat quiet, waiting 
 for inspiration. 
 
 What was the matter with her ? No thought came. As 
 a rule thoughts flowed freely, proceeding fast from the brain 
 to the pen, from the pen to the paper. But to-day ? What 
 ailed her to-day ? The fact was, the most natural thing in
 
 48 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 the world had come to stop the flow of fiction. It was put 
 out by a greater fire. The moon could shine brilliantly at 
 night but how sombre it looked beside the sun ! The great 
 sunshi ne of her own personal joy was flooding Charlotte's 
 heart to-day, and the griefs and delights of the most attrac 
 tive heroine in the world must sink into insignificance beside 
 it. She sat waiting for about a quarter of an hour, then 
 threw down her pen in disgust. She pulled out her watch. 
 Hinton could not be with her before the afternoon. The 
 morning was glorious. What had Ward, her maid, called the 
 day ? " a pet day." Well, she would enjoy it ; she would 
 go out. She ran to her room, enveloped herself in some rich 
 and becoming furs, and went into the street. She walked on 
 a little way, rather undecided where to turn her steps. In 
 an instant she could have found herself in Kensington Gar 
 dens or Hyde Park ; but, just because they were so easy of 
 access, they proved unattractive. She must wander farther 
 afield. She beckoned to a passing hansom. 
 
 " I want to go somewhere where I shall have green grass 
 and trees," she said to the cabby. " No, it must not be 
 Hyde Park, somewhere farther off." 
 
 " There's the Regent's," replied the man. " I'll drive 
 yer there and back wid pleasure, my lady." 
 
 " I will go to Regent's Park," said Charlotte. She made 
 up her mind, as she was swiftly bowled along, that she would 
 walk back. She was just in that condition of suppressed ex 
 citement, when a walk would be the most delightful safety- 
 valve in the world. 
 
 In half an hour she found herself in Regent's Park and, 
 having dismissed her cab, wandered about amongst the trees. 
 The whole place was flooded with sunshine. There were no 
 flowers visible ; the season had been too bad, and the year 
 was yet too young ; but for all that, nature seemed to be 
 awake and listening. 
 
 Charlotte walked about until she felt tired, then she sat 
 down on one of the many seats to rest until it was time to 
 return home. Children were running about everywhere. 
 Charlotte loved children. Many an afternoon had she gone 
 into Kensington Gardens for the mere and sole purpose of 
 watching them. Here were children, too, as many as there, 
 but of a different class. Not quite so aristrocratic, not quite 
 so exclusively belonging to the world of rank and fashion. 
 The children in Regent's Park were certainly quite as well 
 dressed ; but there was just some little indescribable thing
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 49 
 
 missing in them, which the little creatures, whom Charlotte 
 Harman was most accustomed to notice, possessed. 
 
 She was commenting on this, in that vague and slight 
 way one does when all their deepest thoughts are elsewhere, 
 when a man came near and shared her seat. He was a tall 
 man, very slight, very thin. Charlotte, just glancing at him 
 took in this much also, that he was a clergyman. He sat 
 down to rest, evidently doing so from great fatigue. Selfish 
 in her happiness, Charlotte presently returned to her golden 
 dreams. The children came on fast, group after group ; 
 some pale and thin, some rosy and healthy ; a few scantily 
 clothed, a few overladen with finery. They laughed and 
 scampered past her. For, be the circumstances what they 
 might, all the little hearts seemed full of mirth and sweet 
 content. At last a very small nurse appeared, wheeling a 
 perambulator, while two children ran by her side. These 
 children were dressed neatly, but with no attempt at fashion. 
 The baby in the shabby perambulator was very beautiful. 
 The little group were walking past rather more slowly than 
 most of the other groups, for the older boy and girl looked 
 decidedly tired, when suddenly they all stopped ; the servant 
 girl opened her mouth until it remained fixed in the form of a 
 round O; the baby raised its arms and crowed ; the elder boy 
 and girl uttered a glad shout and ran forward. 
 
 " Father, father, you here ? said the boy. " You here ? " 
 echoed the girl, and the whole cavalcade drew up in front of 
 Charlotte and the thin clergyman. The boy in an instant 
 was on his father's knee, and the girl, helping herself might 
 ily by Charlotte's dress, had got on the bench. 
 
 The baby seeing this began to cry. The small nurse 
 seemed incapable of action, and Charlotte herself had to come 
 to the rescue. She lifted the little seven months old crea 
 ture out of its carriage, and placed it in its father's arms. 
 
 He raised his eyes gratefully to her face and placed his 
 arm round the baby. 
 
 " Oh ! I'm falling," said the girl. * This seat is so slip 
 py, may I sit on your knee ? " 
 
 It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Char 
 lotte to take this strange, shabbily dressed little girl into her 
 embrace. 
 
 The child began to stroke down and admire her soft 
 furs. 
 
 " Aren't they lovely ? " she said. " Oh, Harold, look I 
 Feel 'em, Harold ; they're like pussies.''
 
 5 o HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 Harold, absorbed with his father, turned his full blue eyes 
 round gravely and fixed them not on the furs, but on the 
 strange lady's face. 
 
 " Father," he said in a slow, solemn tone, " may I kiss 
 that pretty lady?" 
 
 " My dear boy, no, no. I am ashamed of you. Now run 
 away, children ; go on with your walk. Nurse, take baby." 
 
 The children were evidently accustomed to implicit obedi 
 ence. They went without a word. 
 
 " But I will kiss Harold first," said Charlotte Harman, 
 and she stooped down and pressed her lips to the soft round 
 cheek. 
 
 " Thank you," said the clergyman. Again he looked 
 into her face and smiled. 
 
 The smile on his careworn face reminded Charlotte of 
 the smile on St. Stephen's face, when he was dying. It 
 was unearthly, angelic ; but it was also very fleeting. Pres 
 ently he added in a grave tone, 
 
 " You have evidently the great gift o/ attracting the 
 heart of a little child. Pardon me if I add a hope that 
 you may never lose it." 
 
 " Is that possible ? " asked Charlotte. 
 
 " Yes ; when you lose the child spirit, the power will 
 
 go." 
 
 " Oh 1 then I hope it never will," she replied. 
 
 " It never will if you keep the Christ bright within you," 
 he answered. Then he raised his hat to her, smiled again, 
 and walked away. 
 
 He was a strange man, and Charlotte felt attracted as 
 well as repelled. She was proud, and at another time and 
 from other lips such words would have been received with 
 disdain. But this queer, shadowy-looking clergyman looked 
 like an unearthly visitant. She watched his rather weak 
 footsteps, as he walked quietly away in the northern di 
 rection through the park. Then she got up and prepared 
 to return home. But this little incident had sobered her. 
 She was not unhappy ; but she now felt very grave. The 
 child spirit ! She must keep it alive, and the Christ must 
 dwell bright within her. 
 
 Charlotte's temperament was naturally religious. Her 
 nature was so frank and noble that she could not but 
 drink in the good as readily as the flower receives the 
 dew ; but she had come to this present fulness of her youth-
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 5! 
 
 tul vigor without one trial being sent to test the gold. She 
 entered the house after her long walk to find Hinton waiting 
 or her. 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 FOUR MONTHS HENCK. 
 
 HINTON had gone away the day before rather disturbed 
 by Charlotte's manner. He had found her, for the first time 
 since their betrothal, in trouble. Wishing to comfort, she 
 had repelled him. He was a strong man, as strong in 
 his own way as Charlotte was in hers, and this power of stand 
 ing alone scarcely pleased him in her. His was the kind of 
 nature which would be supposed to take for its other half 
 one soft and clinging. Contrary to the established rule, 
 however, he had won this proud and stately Charlotte. She 
 thought him perfection : he was anything but that. But 
 he had good points, there was nothing mean or base about 
 him. There were no secrets hidden away in his life. His 
 was an honorable and manly nature. But he had one 
 little fault, running like a canker through the otherwise 
 healthy fruit of his heart. While Charlotte was frank 
 and open as the day, he was reserved ; not only reserved, 
 but suspicious. All the men who knew Hinton said what a 
 capital lawyer he would make, he had all the qualities neces 
 sary to insure success in his profession. Above all things 
 in the world secrets oppressed, irritated, and yet interested 
 him. Once having heard of any little possible mystery, he 
 could not rest until it was solved. 
 
 This had been his character from a boy. His own 
 brothers and sisters had confided in him, not because they 
 found him particularly sympathetic, or particularly clever , 
 not because they loved him so much, but simply because 
 they could not help themselves. John would have found out 
 all the small childish matter without their aid ; it was better, 
 safer to take him into confidence. Then, to do him justice, 
 he was true as steel ; for though he must discover, he would 
 scorn to betray. 
 
 On the white, untroubled sheet of Charlotte Harmon's
 
 5 , HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 heart no secrets yet had been written. Consequently, 
 though she had been engaged for many months to John Hin- 
 ton, she had never found out this peculiarity about him. 
 Those qualities of openness and frankness, so impossible to 
 his own nature, had attracted him most of all to this beauti 
 ful young woman. Never until yesterday had there been 
 breath or thought of concealment about her. But then then 
 he had found her in trouble. Full of sympathy he had drawn 
 near to comfort, and she had repelled him. She had heard 
 of something which troubled her, which troubled her to such 
 an extent that the very expression of her bright face had 
 changed, and yet this something was to be a secret from him 
 true, only until the following day, but a whole twenty-four 
 hours seemed like for ever to Hinton in his tmpatience. Be 
 fore hecould even expostulate with her she had run off, 
 doubtless to confide her care to another. Perhaps the best 
 way to express John Hinton's feelings would be to say that 
 he was very cross as he returned to his chambers in Lincoln's 
 Inn. 
 
 All that evening, through his dreams all that night, all 
 the following morning as he tried to engage himself over his 
 law books, he pondered on Charlotte's secret. Such ponder 
 ing must in a nature like his excite apprehension. He ar 
 rived on the next day at the house in Prince's Gate with his 
 mind full of gloomy forebodings. His face was so grave that 
 it scarcely cleared up at the sight of the bright one raised to 
 meet it. He was full of the secret of yesterday ; Charlotte, 
 in all the joy of the secret of to-day, had already forgotten it. 
 
 " Oh, I have had such a walk ! " she exclaimed ; " and a 
 little bit of an adventure a pretty adventure ; and now I am 
 starving. Come into the dining-room and have some lunch." 
 
 " You look very well," answered her lover, " and I left 
 you so miserable yesterday ! " 
 
 *' Yesterday ! repeated Charlotte ; she had forgotten 
 yesterday. " Oh, yes, I had heard something very disagree- 
 abl: : but when I looked into the matter, it turned out to be 
 nothing." 
 
 " You will tell me all about it, dear ? " 
 
 " Well, I don't know, John. I would of course if there 
 was anything to tell ; but do come and have some lunch, I 
 cannot even mention something lse much more important 
 until I have had some lunch." 
 
 John Hinton frowned. Even that allusion to something 
 much more important di^ not satisfy him. He must know
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 53 
 
 this other thing. What ! spend twenty-four hours of misery, 
 and not learn what it was all about in the end ! Charlotte's 
 happiness, however, could not but prove infectious, and the 
 two made merry over their meal, and not until they found 
 themselves in Charlotte's own special sanctum did Hinton 
 resume his grave manner. Then he began at once. 
 
 " Now, Charlotte, you will tell me why you looked so 
 grave and scared yesterday. I have been miserable enough 
 thinking of it ever since. I don't understand why you did 
 not confide in me at once/' 
 
 " Dear John," she said she saw now that he had been 
 really hurt " I would not give you pain for worlds, my dearest. 
 Yes, I was much perplexed, I was even very unhappy for the 
 time. A horrid doubt had been put into my head, but it 
 turned out nothing, nothing whatever. Let us forget it, dear 
 John ; I have something much more important to tell you." 
 
 " Yes, afterwards, but you will tell me this, even though 
 it did turn out of no consequence." 
 
 " Please, John dear, I would rather not. I was assailed 
 by a most unworthy suspicion. It turned out nothing, nothing 
 at all. I would rather, seeing it was all a myth, you never 
 knew of it." 
 
 " And I would rather know, Charlotte ; the myth shall be 
 dismissed from mind, too, but I would rather be in your full 
 confidence." 
 
 " My full confidence ? " she repeated ; the expression 
 pained her. She looked hard at Hinton ; his words were 
 very quietly spoken, but there was a cloud on his brow. " You 
 shall certainly have my full confidence," she said after that 
 brief pause ; " which will you hear first, what gave me pain 
 yesterday, or what brings me joy to-day ? " 
 
 " What gave you pain yesterday." 
 
 There is no doubt she had hoped he would have made the 
 latter choice, but seeing he did not she submitted at once, 
 sitting, not as was her wont close to his side, but on a chair 
 opposite. Hinton sat with his back to the light, but it fell 
 full on Charlotte, and he could see every line of her innocent 
 and noble face as she told her tale. Having got to tell it, 
 she did so in few but simple words ; Mrs. Home's story com 
 ing of a necessity first, her Uncle Jasper's explanation last. 
 When the whole tale was told, she paused, then said, 
 
 " You see there was nothing in it." 
 
 " I see," answered Hinton. This was his first remark. He 
 had not interrupted the progress of the narrative by a singk
 
 54 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 observation ; then he added, "But I think, if even youi 
 father does not feel disposed to help her, that we, you and I, 
 Charlotte, ought to do something for Mrs. Home." 
 
 " Oh, John dear, how you delight me ! How good and 
 noble you are ! Yes, my heart aches for that poor mother ; 
 yes, we will help her. You and I, how very delightful it will 
 bel" 
 
 Now she came close to her lover and kissed him, and he 
 returned her embrace. 
 
 " You will never have a secret again from me, my dar 
 ling ? " he said. 
 
 " I never, never had one," she answered, for it was im 
 possible for her to understand that this brief delay in her 
 confidence could be considered a secret. " Now for my 
 other news," she said. 
 
 " Now for your other news," he repeated. 
 
 " John, what is the thing you desire most in the world ? " 
 
 Of course this young man being sincerely attached to 
 this young woman, answered, 
 
 "You, Charlotte." 
 
 "John, you always said you did not like Uncle Jasper, 
 but see what a good turn he has done us he has persuaded 
 my father to allow us to marry at once." 
 
 " What, without my brief ? " 
 
 " Yes, without your brief ; my dear father told me this 
 morning that we may fix the day whenever we like. He 
 says he will stand in the way no longer. He is quite sure of 
 that brief, we need not wait to be happy for it, we may fix 
 our wedding-day, John, and you are to dine here this evening 
 and have a talk with my father afterwards." 
 
 Hinton's face had grown red. He was a lover, and an 
 attached one ; but so diverse were the feelings stirred within 
 him, tnat for the moment he felt more excited than elated. 
 
 " Your father is very good," he said, " he gives us leave 
 to fix the day. Very well, that is your province, my Lottie ; 
 when shall it be ? " 
 
 " This is the twentieth of February, our wedding-day 
 shall be on the twentieth of June," she replied. 
 
 " That is four months hence," he said. In spite of him 
 self there was a sound of relief in his tone. " Very well, 
 Charlotte ; yes, I will come and dine this evening. But now 
 I am late for an appointment ; we will have a long talk after 
 dinner."
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 HIS FIRST BRIEF. 
 
 HINTON, when he left Charlotte, went straight back to his 
 chambers. He had no particular work to hurry him there ; 
 indeed, when he left that morning he had done so with the 
 full intention of spending the entire afternoon with his be 
 trothed. He was, as has been said, although a clever, yet 
 certainly at present a briefless young barrister. Neverthe 
 less, had twenty briefs awaited his immediate attention, he 
 could not have more rapidly hurried back as he now did. 
 When he entered his rooms he locked the outer door. Then 
 he threw himself on a chair, drew the chair to his writing- 
 ing table, pushed his hands through his thick hair, and star 
 ing hard at a blank sheet of paper which lay before him be 
 gan to think out a problem. His might scarcely have been 
 called a passionate nature, but it was one capable of a very 
 deep, very real attachment. This attachment had been 
 formed for Charlotte Harmon. Their engagement had al 
 ready lasted nearly a year, and now with her own lips she 
 had told him that it might end, that the end, the one happy 
 end to all engagements, was in sight. With comfort, nay, 
 with affluence, with the full consent all her friends, they 
 might become man and wife. John Hinton most undoubted 
 ly loved this woman, and yet now as he reviewed the whole 
 position the one pleasure he could deduct for his own reflec 
 tion was in the fact that there was four months' reprieve. 
 Charlotte had herself postponed their wedding-day for four 
 months. 
 
 Hinton was a proud man. When, a year ago, he h&i 
 gone to Mr. Harman and asked him for his daughter, Mr. 
 Harman had responded with the very natural question, 
 " What means have you to support her with ? " 
 
 Hinton had answered that he had two hundred a year 
 and his profession. 
 
 " What are you making In your profession ? " asked the 
 father. 
 
 " Not anything yet," answered the young man.
 
 56 ffOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 " There was a tone of defiance and withal of hope thrown 
 into that " yet " which might have repelled some men, but 
 pleased Mr. Harman. He paused to consider. He might 
 have got a much, much better match for Charlotte from a 
 temporal standpoint. Hinton was of no family in particular ; 
 he had no money worthy of the name. He was simply an 
 honest fellow, fairly good-looking, and with the heart of a 
 gentleman. 
 
 * You are doubtless aware," replied Mr. Harman, " that 
 my daughter will inherit a very large fortune. She has been 
 sought for in marriage before now, and by men who could 
 give something to meet what she brings, both with regard to 
 money and position." 
 
 " I have heard of Mr. S'.s proposal," answered Hinton. 
 
 " I know he is rich, and the son of Lord ; but that is 
 
 nothing, for she does not love him." 
 
 " And you believe she loves you ? " 
 
 " Most certainly she loves me." 
 
 In spite of himself Mr. Harman smiled, then after a little 
 more thought, for he was much taken with Hinton, he came 
 to terms. 
 
 He must not have Charlotte while he had nothing to sup 
 port her with. Pooh ! that two hundred a year was nothing 
 to a girl brought up like his daughter. For Hinton's own 
 sake it would not be good for him to live on his wife's money ; 
 but when he obtained his first brief then they might marry. 
 
 Hinton was profuse in thanks. He only made on his 
 part one stipulation that brief, which was to obtain for him 
 his bride, was in no way to come to him through Mr. Har- 
 man's influence. He must win it by his own individual ex 
 ertion. 
 
 Mr Harman smiled and grew a trifle red. In his busi 
 ness capacity he could have put twenty briefs in this young 
 fellow's way, and in his inmost heart he had resolved to do 
 so ; but he liked him all the better for this one proviso, and 
 promised readily enough. 
 
 Hinton had no business connections of his own. He had 
 no influential personal friends, and his future father-in-law 
 felt bound in honor to leave him altogether to his own re 
 sources. A year had nearly passed since the engagement, 
 and the brief which was to win him Charlotte was as far 
 away as ever. But now she told him that this one embargo 
 to their happiness had been withdrawn. They might marry, 
 and the brief would follow after. Hinton knew well what it
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 57 
 
 all meant. The rich city merchant could then put work in 
 his way. Work would quickly pour in to the man so closely 
 connected with rich John Harman. Yes. As he sat by his 
 table in his small shabbily furnished room, he knew that his 
 fortune was made. He would obtain Charlotte and Charlotte's 
 wealth ; and if he but chose to use his golden opportunities, 
 fame too might be his portion. He was a keen and ardent poli 
 tician, and a seat in the House might easily follow all the other 
 good things which seemed following in his track. Yes ; but 
 he was a proud man, and he did not like it. He had not the 
 heart to tell Charlotte to-day, as she looked at him with 
 all the love she had so freely given shining in her sweet 
 and tender face, that he would not accept such terms, that 
 the original bargain must yet abide in force. He could not 
 say to this young woman when she came to him, " I do not 
 want you." But none the less, as he now sat by his writing- 
 table, was he resolved that unless his brief was won before 
 the twentieth of June it should bring no wedding-day to him. 
 This was why he rejoiced in the four months' reprieve. But 
 this was by no means his only perplexity. Had it been, so 
 stung to renewed action was his sense of pride and indepen 
 dence, that he would have gone at once to seek, perhaps to 
 obtain work ; but something else was lying like wormwood 
 against his heart. That story of Mrs. Home's ! That ex 
 planation of Jasper Harman's ! The story was a queer one ; 
 the explanation, while satisfying the inexperienced girl, failed 
 to meet the requirements of the acute lawyer. Hinton saw 
 flaws in Jasper's narrative, where Charlotte saw none. The 
 one great talent of his life, if it could be called a talent, was 
 coming fiercely into play as he sat now and thought about it 
 all. He had pre-eminently the gift of discovering secrets. 
 He was rooting up many things from the deep grave of the 
 hidden past now. That look of care on Mr. Harman's face, 
 how often it had puzzled him ! He had never liked Jasper ; 
 indefinite had been his antipathy hitherto, but it was taking 
 definite form now. There was a secret in the past of that 
 most respectable firm, and he, John Hinton, would give him 
 self no rest until he had laid it bare. No wedding-day could 
 come to him and Charlotte until his mind was at rest on this 
 point. It was against his interest to ferret out this hidden 
 thing, but that fact weighed as nothing with him. It would 
 bring pain to the woman he loved ; it might ruin her father ; 
 but the pain and the ruin would be inflicted unsparingly by
 
 $8 HOW IT ALL CAM ROUND. 
 
 his righteous young hand, which knew nothing yet cf mercy 
 but was all for justice, and justice untempered with mercy if 
 a terrible weapon. This Hinton was yet to learn. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 LODGINGS IN KENTISH TOWN. 
 
 AFTER a time, restless from the complexity of his mus 
 ings, Hinton went out. He had promised to return to the 
 Harmans for dinner, but their hour for dinner was eight 
 o'clock, and it still wanted nearly three hours of that time. 
 As Charlotte had done before that day, he found himself in 
 the close neighborhood of Regent's Park. He would have 
 gone into the park, but that he knew that the hour of closing 
 the gates at this early period of the year must be close at 
 hand ; he walked, therefore, by the side of the park, rather 
 aimlessly it is true, not greatly caring, provided he kept mov 
 ing, in what direction his footsteps took him. 
 
 At last he found himself on the broad tram line which 
 leads to the suburb of Kentish Town. It was by no means 
 an interesting neighborhood. But Hinton, soon lost in his 
 private and anxious musings, went on. At last he left the 
 public thoroughfare and turned down a private road. There 
 were no shops here, nor much traffic. He felt a sense of re 
 lief at leaving the roar and bustle behind him. TKis road 
 on which he had now entered was flanked at each side by a 
 small class of dwelling-houses, some shabby and dirty, some 
 bright and neat ; all, however, were poor-looking. It was 
 quite dusk by this time, and the gas had been already lit. 
 This fact, perhaps, was the reason which drew Hinton's 
 much-preoccupied attention to a trivial circumstance. 
 
 In one of these small houses a young woman, who had 
 previously lit the gas, stepped to the window and proceeded 
 to paste a card to the pane. There was a gas lamp also di 
 rectly underneath, and Hinton, raising his eyes, saw very dis 
 tinct^, not only the little act, but also the words on the card, 
 They were the very common words 
 
 APARTMENTS TO LKT 
 INQUIRE WITHIN."
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 Sf 
 
 Hiuton suddenly drew up short on the pavement. He 
 did not live in his chambers, and it occurred to him that here 
 he would be within a walk of Regent's Park. In short, that 
 these shabby-looking little lodgings might suit him for the 
 next few uncertain months. As suddenly as he had stopped, 
 and the thought had come to him, he ran up the steps and rang 
 the bell. In a moment or two a little servant-maid opened 
 the door. She was neither a clean nor a tidy-looking ma d, 
 and Hinton, fastidious on such matters, took in this fact at a 
 glance. Nevertheless the desire to find for himselr a habi 
 tation in this shabby little house did not leave him. 
 
 " I saw a card up in your window. You have rooms to 
 let," he said to the little maid. 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed, please, sir," answered the servant with 
 a broad and delighted grin. " 'Tis h'our drawing-rooms, 
 please, sir ; and ef you'll please jest come inter the 'all I'll 
 run and tell missis." 
 
 Hinton did so ; and in another moment the maid, return 
 ing, asked him to step this way. 
 
 This way led him into a dingy little parlor, and face to 
 face with a young woman who, pale, self-possessed, and lady 
 like, rose to meet him. Hinton felt the color rising to his 
 face at sight of her. He also experienced a curious and sud 
 den constriction of his heart, and an overawed sense of some 
 special Providence leading him here. For he had seen this 
 young woman before. She was Charlotte Home. In his 
 swift glance, however, he saw that she did not recognize 
 him. His resolve was taken on the instant. However un 
 comfortable the rooms she had to offer, they should be his 
 His interest in this Mrs. Home became intensified to a de 
 gree that was painful. He knew that he was about to pursuo 
 a course which would be to his own detriment, but he felt it 
 impossible now to turn aside. In a quiet voice, and utterly 
 unconscious of this tumult in his breast, she asked him to be 
 seated, and they began to discuss the accommodation she 
 could offer. 
 
 Her back and front drawing-rooms would be vacant in a 
 week. Yes, certainly ; Mr. Hinton could see them. She 
 rang the bell as she spoke, and the maid appearing, took 
 Hinton up stairs. The rooms were even smaller and 
 shabbier than he had believed possible. Nevertheless, when 
 he came downstairs he found no fault with anything, and 
 agreed to the terms asked, namely, one guinea a week. He 
 noticed a tremor in the young, brave voice which asked foi
 
 go ITOVr IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 this remuneration, and he longed to make the one guiiea 
 two, but this was impossible. Before he left he had taken 
 Mrs. Home's drawing-rooms for a month, and had arranged 
 to come into possession of his new quarters that day week. 
 
 Looking at his watch when he left the house, he found 
 that time had gone faster than he had any idea of. He had 
 now barely an hour to jump into a cab, go to his present 
 most comfortable lodgings, change his morning dress, and 
 reach the Harmans in time for eight o'clock dinner. Little 
 more than these sixty minutes elapsed from the time he left 
 the shabby house in Kentish Town before he found himself 
 in the luxurious abode of wealth, and every refinement, in 
 Prince's Gate. He ran up to the drawing-room, to find Char 
 lotte waiting for him alone. 
 
 " Uncle Jasper will dine with us, John," she said, " but 
 my father is not well." 
 
 " Not well ! " echoed Hinton. Her face only expressed 
 slight concern, and his reflected it in a lesser degree. 
 
 " He is very tired," she said, " and he looks badly. But 
 I hope there is not much the matter. He will see you after 
 dinner. But he could not eat, so I have begged of him to lie 
 down ; he will be all right after a little rest." 
 
 Hinton made no further remark, and Uncle Jasper then 
 coming in, and dinner being announced, they all went down 
 stairs. 
 
 Uncle Jasper and Charlotte were merry enough, but Hin 
 ton could not get over a sense of depression, which not even 
 the presence of the woman he loved could disperse. He was 
 not sorry when the message came for him to go to Mr. Har- 
 man. Charlotte smiled as he rose. 
 
 " You will find me in the drawing-room whenever you like 
 to come there," she said to him. 
 
 He left the room suppressing the sigh. Charlotte, how 
 ever, did not hear or notice it. Still, with that light of love 
 and happiness crowning her bright face, she turned to the old 
 Australian uncle. 
 
 " I will pour you out your next glass of port, and stay 
 with you for a few moments, for I have something to tell 
 you." 
 
 " What is that, my dear ? " asked the old man. 
 
 " Some thing you have had to do with, dear old uncle. My 
 wedding-day is fixed." 
 
 Uncle Jasper chuckled. 
 
 " Ah ! my dear," he said, " there's nothing like having the
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUNL (Jj 
 
 day clear in one's head. And when is it to be, my pretty 
 lass ? " 
 
 " The twentieth of June, Uncle Jasper. Just four months 
 from to-day." 
 
 " Four months off ! " repeated Uncle Jasper. " Well, I 
 don't call that very close at hand. When I spoke to your 
 father last night for you know I did speak to him, Charlotte 
 he seemed quite inclined to put no obstacle in the way of 
 your speedy marriage." 
 
 " Nor did he, Uncle Jasper. You don't understand. He 
 said we might marry at once if we liked. It was I who said 
 the twentieth of June." 
 
 " You, child ! and and did Hinton, knowing your father 
 had withdrawn all opposition, did Hinton allow you to put off 
 his happiness for four whole months ? " 
 
 " It was my own choice," said Charlotte. " Four months 
 do not seem to me too long to prepare." 
 
 " They would seem a very long time to me if I were the 
 man who was to marry you, my dear." 
 
 Charlotte looked grave at this. Her uncle seemed to 
 impute blame to her lover. Being absolutely certain of his 
 devotion, she scorned to defend it. She rose from the table. 
 
 " You will find me in the drawing-room, Uncle Jasper." 
 
 " One word, Charlotte, before you go," said her uncle. 
 " No, child, I am not going to the drawing-room. You two 
 lovers may have it to yourselves. But but you remember 
 our talk of last night ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Charlotte, pausing, and coming back a 
 little way into the room. " Did you say anything to my 
 father ? Will he help Mrs. Home ? " 
 
 " I have no doubt he will, my dear. Your father and I 
 will both do something. He is a rery just man, is your 
 father. He was a good deal upset by this reference to his 
 early days, and to his quarrel with his own father. I believe, 
 between you and me, that it was that which made him ill this 
 evening. But, Charlotte, you leave Mrs. Home to us. I will 
 mention her case again when your father is more fit to bear 
 the subject. What I wanted to say now, my dear, is this, 
 that I think it would best please the dear old man if if you 
 told nothing of this strange tale, not even to Hinton, my 
 dear." 
 
 "Why, Uncle Jasper ?" 
 
 " Why, my dear child ? The reason seems to me obvious 
 enough. It is a story of the past. It relates to an old and
 
 6 2 HOW IT ALL CAMK R3UND, 
 
 painful quarrel. It is all over years ago. And then you 
 could not tell one side of the tale without the other. Mrs. 
 Home, poor thing, not personally knowing your father as one 
 of the best and noblest of men, imputes very grave blame to 
 him. Don't you think such a tale, so false, so wrong, had 
 better be buried in oblivion ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Home was most unjust in her ignorance," repeated 
 Charlotte. " But, uncle, you are too late in your warning, for I 
 told John the whole story already to-day." 
 
 Not a muscle of Uncle Jasper's face changed. 
 
 " Well, child, I should have said that to you last night. 
 After all, it is natural. Hinton won't let it go farther, and no 
 harm is done." 
 
 " Certainly, John does not speak of my most sacred things," 
 answered Charlotte proudly. 
 
 " No, no, of course he doesn't. I am sorry you tokl him ; 
 but as you say, he is one with yourself. No harm is done. 
 No, thank you, my dear, no more wine now. I am going off 
 to my club." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 MR. HARMAN'S CONFIDENCE. 
 
 ALL through dinner, Hinton had felt that strange sense 
 of depression stealing upon him. He was a man capable of 
 putting a very great restraint upon his feelings, and he so be 
 haved during the long and weary meal as to rouse no sus 
 picions, either in Charlotte's breast or in the far sharper one 
 of the Australian uncle. But, nevertheless, so distressing was 
 the growing sense of coming calamity, that he felt the gay- 
 laugh of his betrothed almost distressing, and was truly re 
 lieved when he had to change it for the gravity of her father. 
 As he went from the dining-room to Mr. Harman's study, he 
 reflected with pleasure that his future father-in-law was 
 always grave, that never in all the mcnths of their rather fre 
 quent intercourse had he seen him even once indulge in what 
 could be called real gayety of heart. Though this fact rather 
 coupled with his own suspicions, still he felt a momen-
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 63 
 
 tary relief in having to deal to-night with one who treated life 
 from its sombre standpoint. 
 
 He entered the comfortable study. Mr. Harman was 
 sunk down in an armchair, a cup of untasted coffee stood by 
 his side ; the moment he heard Hinton's step, however, he 
 rose and going forward, took the young man's hand and 
 wrung it warmly. 
 
 The room was lit by candles, but there were plenty of 
 them, and Hinton almost started when he perceived how ill 
 the old man looked. 
 
 ** Charlotte has told you what I want you for to-night, eh, 
 Hinton ? " said Mr. Harman. 
 
 " Yes ; Charlotte has told me," answered John Hinton. 
 Then he sat down opposite his future father-in-law, who had 
 resumed his armchair by the fire. Standing up, Mr. Har 
 man looked ill, but sunk into his chair, with his bent, white 
 '-"^d, and drawn, anxious face, and hands worn to emaciation, 
 oked twenty times worse. There seemed nearly a life- 
 miic between him and that blithe-looking Jasper, whom Hin 
 ton had left with Charlotte in the dining-room. Mr. Harman, 
 sitting by his fire, with firelight and candlelight shining full 
 upon him, looked a very old man indeed. 
 
 " I am sorry to see you so unwell, sir. You certainly 
 don't look at all the thing," began Hinton. 
 
 " I am not well not at all well. I don't want Charlotte 
 to know. But there need be no disguises between you and 
 me ; of course I show it ; but we will come to that presently. 
 First, about your own affairs. Lottie has told you what I 
 want you for to-night ? " 
 
 " She has, Mr. Harman. She says that you have been 
 good and generous enough to say you will take a\vay the one 
 slight embargo you made to our marriage that we may be 
 come man and wife before I bring you news of that brief." 
 
 " Yes, Hinton : that is what I said to her this morning : I 
 repeat the same to you to-night. You may fix your wedding- 
 day when you like I dare say you have fixed it." 
 
 * : Charlotte has named the twentieth of next June, sir ; 
 but " 
 
 " The twentieth of June ! that is four months away. I 
 did not want her to put it off as far as that. However, 
 women, even the most sensible, have such an idea of the 
 time it takes to get a trousseau. The twentieth of June I 
 You can make it sooner, can't you ? " 
 
 " Four months is not such a long time, sir. We have a
 
 54 ffOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 house to get, and furniture to buy. Four months will b 
 necessary to make these arrangements." 
 
 " No, they won't ; for you have no such arrangements to 
 make. You are to come and live here when you marry. 
 This will be your house when you marry, and I shall be your 
 guest. I can give you Charlotte Hinton ; but I cannot do 
 without her myself. 
 
 " But this house means a very, very large income, Mr. 
 Harman. Is it prudent that we should begin like this? 
 For my part I should much rather do on less." 
 
 " You may sell the house if you fancy, and take a smaller 
 one ; or go more into the country. I only make one proviso 
 that while I live, I live with my only daughter." 
 
 " And with your son, too, Mr. Harman," said Hinton, 
 just letting his hand touch for an instant the wrinkled hand 
 which lay on Mr. Harman's knee. 
 
 The old man smiled one of those queer, sad smiles which 
 Hinton had often in vain tried to fathom. Responding to 
 the touch of the vigorous young hand, he said 
 
 " I have always liked you, Hinton. I believe, in giving 
 you my dear child, I give her to one who will make her happy." 
 " Happy ! yes, I shall certainly try to make her happy," 
 answered Hinton, with a sparkle in his eyes. 
 
 "And that is the main thing; better than wealth, or 
 position, or anything else on God's earth. Happiness comes 
 with goodness, you know, my dear fellow ; no bad man was 
 ever happy. If you and Charlotte get this precious thing 
 into your lives you must both be good. Don't let the evil 
 touch you ever so slightly. If you do, happiness flies." 
 " I quite believe you," answered Hinton. 
 " Well, about money matters. I am, as you know, very 
 rich. I shall settle plenty of means upon my daughter ; but 
 it will be better for you to enter into all these matters with 
 my solicitor. When can you meet him ? " 
 
 " Whenever convenient to you and to him, sir." 
 " I will arrange it for you, and let you know." 
 " Mr. Hannan, may I say a word for myself ? " suddenly 
 asked the young man. 
 
 " Most certainly. Have I been so garrulous as to keep 
 you from speaking ? " 
 
 " Not at all, sir ; you have been more than generous. You 
 have been showing me the rose-color from your point of view. 
 Now it is not all rose-color."
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 65 
 
 " I was coming to that ; it is by no means all rose-color. 
 Well, say your say first." 
 
 " You are a very rich man, and you are giving me your 
 daughter ; so endowing her, that any man in the world would 
 say I had drawn a prize in money, if in nothing else." 
 
 Mr. Harman smiled. 
 
 " I fear you must bear that," he said. " I do not see 
 that you can support Charlotte without some assistence from 
 me." 
 
 " I certainly could not do so. I have exactly two hundred 
 a year, and that, as you were pleased to observed before, 
 would be, to one brought up as Charlotte has been, little 
 short of beggary." 
 
 " To Charlotte it certainly would be almost beggary." 
 
 " Mr. Harman, I have some pride in me. I am a bar 
 rister by profession. Some barristers get high in their pro 
 fession." 
 
 " Undoubtedly some do." 
 
 "Those who are brilliant do," continued Hinton. "I 
 have abilities, whether they are brilliant or not, time will 
 show. Mr. Harman, I should like to bring you news of that 
 brief before we are married." 
 
 " I can throw you in the way of getting plenty of briefs 
 when you are my son-in-law. I promise you, you will no 
 longer be a barrister with nothing to do." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; but I want this before my marriage." 
 
 " My influence can give it to you before." 
 
 " But that was against our agreement, Mr. Harman. I 
 want to find that brief which is to do so muc 1 ..or me without, 
 your help." 
 
 "Very well. Find it before the twentieii of June." 
 
 After this the two men were silent for several moments. 
 John Hinton, though in no measure comforted, felt it im 
 possible to say more just then, and Mr. Harman, with a face 
 full of care, kept gazing into the fire. John Hinton might 
 have watched that face with interest, had he not been other 
 wise occupied. After this short silence Mr. Harman spoke 
 again. 
 
 " You think me very unselfish in all this ; perhaps even 
 my conduct surprises you." 
 
 " I confess it rather does," answered Hinton. 
 
 * Will you oblige me by saying how ? " 
 
 " For one thing, you give so much and expect so little." 
 
 44 Ay, so it appears at first sight ; but I told you it was
 
 66 ffOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 not all rose-color ; I am coming to that part. Your prid* 
 has been roused I can soothe it." 
 
 " I love Charlotte too much to feel any pride in the 
 matter," replied Hinton, with some heat 
 
 " I don't doubt your affection, my good fellow ; and I put 
 against it an equal amount on Charlotte's part ; also a noble 
 and beautiful woman, and plenty of money, with money's 
 attendant mercies. I fear even your affection is outweighed 
 in that balance." 
 
 " Nothing can outweigh affection," replied Hinton 
 boldly. 
 
 Mr. Harman smiled, and this time stretching out his 
 own hand he touched the young man's. 
 
 " You are right, my dear boy ; and because I am so well 
 aware of this, I give my one girl to a man who is a gentle 
 man, and who loves her. I ask for nothing else in Char 
 lotte's husband, but I am anxious for you to be her husband 
 at once." 
 
 " And that is what puzzles me," said Hinton : "you have 
 a sudden reason for this hurry. We are both young ; we 
 can wait ; there is no hardship in waiting." 
 
 " There would be a hardship to me in your waiting longer 
 now. You are quite right in saying I have a sudden reason ; 
 this time last night I had no special thought of hurrying on 
 Charlotte's marriage. Her uncle proposed it ; I considered 
 his reasoning good so good, that I gave Charlotte permis 
 sion this morning to fix with you the time for the wedding. 
 But even then delay would have troubled me but little ; now 
 it does ; now even these four short months trouble me 
 orely." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Hinton. 
 
 " Why ? You mentioned my health, and observed that I 
 looked ill ; I said I would come to that presently. I am ill ; 
 I look very ill. I have seen physicians. To-day I went to 
 see Sir George Anderson ; he told me, without any preamble, 
 the truth. My dear fellow, I want you to be my child's pro 
 tector in a time of trouble, for I am a dying man." 
 
 Hinton had never come face to face with death in his lift 
 before. He started forward now and clasped his hands. 
 
 " Dying ! " he repeated, in a tone of unbelief and con 
 sternation. 
 
 " Yes ; you dtfn't see it, for I an going about. I shall go 
 about much as usual to the very last. Your idea of dying 
 men is that they stay in bed and get weak, and have a living
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 6) 
 
 death long before the last great mercy comes. That will 
 not be my case. I shall be as you see me now to the very 
 last moment ; then some day, or perhaps some night, you 
 will come into this room, or into another room, it does not a 
 bit matter where, and find me dead." 
 
 " And must this come soon ? " repeated Hinton. 
 
 " It may not come for some months ; it may stay away 
 for a year ; but again it may come to-night or to-morrow." 
 
 " Good God ! " repeated Hinton. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Hinton, you are right, in the contemplation 
 of such a solemn and terrible event, to mention the name of 
 your Creator. He is a good God, but His very goodness 
 makes Him ternble. He is a God who will see justice done ; 
 who will by no means cleanse the guilty. I am going into 
 His presence a sinful old man. Well, I bow to His de 
 cree. But enough of this ; you see my reasons for wishing 
 for an early marriage for my child." 
 
 " Mr. Harman, I am deeply, deeply pained and shocked. 
 May I know the nature of your malady ? " 
 
 " It is unnecessary to discuss it, and does no good ; suffice 
 it to know that I carry a disease within me which by its 
 very nature must end both soon and suddenly ; also that 
 there is no cure for the disease." 
 
 " Are you telling me all this as a secret ? " 
 
 " As a most solemn and sacred secret. My brother suspects 
 something of it, but no one, no one in all the world knows 
 the full and solemn truth but yourself." 
 
 " Then Charlotte is not to be told ? " 
 
 " Charlotte ! Charlotte ! It is for her sake I have con 
 fided to you all this, that you may guard her from such a 
 knowledge." 
 
 " John Hinton was silent for a moment or two ; if he 
 disliked Charlotte having a secret from him much more did 
 he protest against the knowledge which now was forced upon 
 him being kept from her. He saw that Mr. Harman was 
 firmly set on keeping his child in the dark; he disapproved, 
 but he hardly dared, so much did he fear to agitate the old 
 inai?, to make any vigorous stand against a decree which 
 seemed to him both cruel and unjust. He must say some 
 thing, however, so he began gently 
 
 " I will respect your most sacred confidence, Mr. Har 
 man ; without your leave no word from me shall convey this 
 knowledge to Charlotte ; but pardon me if I say a word. 
 You know your own child very well, but I also know Char
 
 68 HVVT IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 lotte ; she has lived, for all her talent and her five and twenty 
 years, the sheltered life of a child hitherto but that is noth 
 ing ; she is a noble woman, she has a noble woman's heart ; 
 in trouble, such a nature as hers could rise and prove itself 
 great. Don't you suppose, when by and by the end really 
 comes, she will blame me, and even perhaps, you, sir, for 
 keeping this knowledge from her." 
 
 " She will never blame her old father. She will see, blesa 
 her, that I did it in love ; you will tell her that, be sure 
 you tell her that, when the time comes ; please God, you will 
 be her husband then, and you will have the right to comfort 
 her." 
 
 " I hope to have the right to comfort her, I hope to be 
 her husband ; still, I think you are mistaken, though I can 
 urge the matter no further." 
 
 " No, for you cannot see it with my eyes ; that child 
 and I have lived the most unbroken life of peace and hap 
 piness together ; neither storm nor cloud has visited us in 
 one another. The shadow of death must not embitter our 
 last few months ; she must be my bright girl to the very last. 
 Some day, if you and she ever have a daughter, you will 
 understand my feelings at least in part you will understand 
 it." 
 
 " I cannot understand it now, but I can at least respect 
 it," answered the young man. 
 
 CHAPTER JCVI. 
 "VENGEANCE is MINX." 
 
 WMKN Hinton at last left him, Mr. Harman sat on for a 
 .ong time by his study fire. The fire burnt low but he did 
 not replenish it, neither did he touch the cold coffee which 
 still remained on his table. After an hour or so of musings, 
 during which the old face seemed each moment to grow more 
 sad and careworn, he stretched out his hand to ring his bell. 
 
 Almost instantly was the summons answered a tall foot 
 man stood before him. 
 
 " Dennis, has Mr. Jasper left ? "
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 69 
 
 " Yes, sir. He said he was going to his club. I can 
 have him fetched, sir." 
 
 " Do not do so. After Mr. Hinton leaves, ask Miss Har 
 man to come here." 
 
 The footman answered softly in the affirmative and with 
 drew, and Mr. Harman still sat on alone. He had enough 
 to think about. For the first time to-day death had come 
 and stared him in the face ; very close indeed his own death 
 was looking at him. He was a brave man, but the sight of 
 the cold, grim thing, brought so close, so inevitably near, was 
 scarcely to be endured with equanimity. After a time, rising 
 from his seat, he went to a bookcase and took down, not a 
 treatise on medicine or philosophy, but an old Bible. 
 
 " Dying men are said to find comfort here," he said faintly 
 to himself. He put one of the candles on the table and 
 opened the book. It was an old Bible, but John Harman 
 was not very well acquainted with its contents. 
 
 "They tell me there is much comfort here," he said to 
 himself. He turned the old and yellow leaves. 
 
 " Vengeance is mine. I will repay?' These were the words 
 on which his eyes fell. 
 
 Comfort ! He closed the book with a groan and returned 
 it to the bookshelf. But in returning it he chose the highest 
 shelf of all and pushed it far back and well out of sight. 
 
 He had scarcely done so before a light quick step was 
 heard at the door, and Charlotte, her eyes and cheeks both 
 bright, entered. 
 
 " My dearest, my darling," he said. He came to meet 
 her, and folded her in his arms. He was a dying man, and 
 a sin-laden one, but not the less sweet was that young em 
 brace, that smooth cheek, those bright, happy eyes. 
 
 " You are better, father ; you look better," said his 
 daughter. 
 
 " I have been rather weak and low all the evening, Lottie ; 
 but I am much better for seeing you. Come here and sit at 
 my feet, my dear love." 
 
 " I am very happy this evening," said Charlotte, seating 
 herself on her father's footstool, and laying her hand on his 
 knee. 
 
 " I can guess the reason, my child ; your wedding-day is 
 fixed." 
 
 " This morning, father, I said it should be the twentieth 
 of June ; John seemed quite satisfied, and four months were
 
 7 HOW IT ALL CAMR ROUND. 
 
 not a bit too long for our preparations ; but to-night he has 
 changed his mind ; he wants our wedding to be in April. I 
 have not given in not yet. Two months seem so short." 
 
 "You will have plenty of time to prepare in two months, 
 dear ; and April is a nice time of year. If I were you, I 
 would not oppose Hinton." 
 
 Charlotte smiled. She knew in her heart of hearts she 
 ihouid not oppose him. But being a true woman, she laid 
 hold of a futile excuse. 
 
 " My book will not be finished. I like to do well what I 
 do at all." 
 
 Her father was very proud of this coming book ; but now, 
 patting her hand, he said softly, 
 
 " The book can keep. Put it out ' of your head for the 
 present ; you can get it done later." 
 
 " Then I shall leave you two months sooner, father ; does 
 that not weigh with you at all ? " 
 
 " You are only going for your honeymoon, darling ; and 
 the sooner you go the sooner you will return." 
 
 " Vanquished on all points," said Charlotte, smiling radi 
 antly, and then she sat still, looking into the fire. 
 
 Long, long afterwards, through much of sorrow nay, 
 even of tribulation did her thoughts wander back to that 
 golden evening of her life. 
 
 " You remind me of my own mother to-night," said her 
 father presently. 
 
 Charlotte and her father had many times spoken of this 
 dead mother. Now she said softly, 
 
 " I want, I pray, I long to make as good a wife as you 
 tell me she did." 
 
 " With praying, longing, and striving, it will come Char 
 lotte. That was how she succeeded." 
 
 " And there is another thing," continued Charlotte, sud 
 denly changing her position and raising her bright eyes to 
 her old father's face. " You had a good wife and I had a 
 good mother. If ever I die, as my own mother died, and 
 leave behind me a little child, as she did, I pray thit my 
 John may be as good a father to it as you have been to me.'' 
 
 But in answer to this little burst of daughterly love, a 
 strange thing happened. Mr. Harman grew very white, so 
 white that he gasped for breath. 
 
 " Water, a little water,* he said, feebly ; and when Char 
 lotte had brought it to him and he raised it to his lips, and
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. ji 
 
 the color and power to breathe had come back again, he 
 said slowly and with great pain, 
 
 " Never, never pray that your husband may be like me, 
 Charlotte. To be worthy of you at all, he must be a much 
 better and a very diff erent man." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 HAPPINESS NOT JUSTICE. 
 
 HINTON left Mr. Harman's house in a very perplexed 
 frame of mind. It seemed to him that in that one short day 
 as much had happened to him as in all the course of his pre 
 vious life, but the very force of the thoughts, the emotions, 
 the hopes, the fears, which had visited him, made him, strong, 
 young and vigorous as he was, so utterly weary, that when he 
 reached his rooms he felt that he must let tired-out nature 
 have its way he threw himself on his bed and slept the 
 sleep of the young and healthy until the morning. 
 
 It was February we ather, February unusually mild and 
 genial, and the pet day of yesterday was followed by anothei 
 as soft and sweet and mild. When Hinton awoke from his 
 refreshing slumbers, the day was so well and thoroughly 
 risen that a gleam of sunshine lay across his bed. He started 
 up to discover a corresponding glow in his heart. What was 
 causing this glow ? In a moment he remembered, and the 
 gleam of heart sunshine grew brighter with the knowledge. 
 The fact was, happiness was standing by the young man's 
 side, holding out two radiant hands, and saying, " Take me, 
 take me to your heart of hearts, for I have come to dwell with 
 you." Hinton rose, dressed hastily, and went into his sitting- 
 room. All the gloom which had so oppressed him yesterday 
 had vanished. He could not resist the outward sunshine, 
 nor the heart-glow which had come to him. He stepped 
 lightly, and whistled some gay airs. He ate his breakfast 
 with appetite, then threw himself into an easy-chair which 
 stood near the window ; he need not go to his chambers foi 
 at least an hour, he might give himself this time to think. 
 
 Again happiness stepped up close and showed her beau 
 tiful face. Should he take her ; should he receive the rare
 
 ja HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 and lovely thing and shut out that stern sense of justice, of 
 relieving the oppressed, of seeing the wronged righted, which 
 had been as his sheet-anchor yesterday, which had been more 
 or less the sheet-anchor of his life t Here was his position. 
 He was engaged to marry Charlotte Harman ; he loved her 
 with his whole heart ; she loved him with her whole heart ; 
 she was a beautiful woman, a noble woman, a wealthy woman. 
 With her as his wife, love, riches, power might all be his. 
 What more could the warm, warm feelings of youth desire ? 
 what more could the ambitions of youth aspire to ? Yester 
 day, it is true, he had felt some rising of that noble pride 
 which scorns to receive so much and give so little. He had 
 formed a wild, almost passionate determination to obtain his 
 brief before he obtained his bride, but Mr. Harman had 
 soothed that pride to sleep. There was indeed a grave and 
 sad reason why this beautiful and innocent woman whom he 
 had won should receive all the full comfort his love and pro 
 tection could give her as quickly as possible. Her father 
 was dying, and she must not know of his approaching death. 
 Her father wished to see her Hinton's wife as soon as pos 
 sible. Hinton felt that this was reasonable, this was fair ; 
 for the sake of no pride, true or false, no hoped-for brief, 
 could he any longer put off their wedding. Nay, far from 
 this. Last night he had urged its being completed two 
 months sooner than Charlotte herself had proposed. He saw 
 by the brightness in Charlotte's eyes that, though she did not 
 at once agree to this, her love for him was such that she 
 would marry him in a week if he so willed it. He rejoiced 
 in these symptoms of her great love, and the rejoicings of 
 last night had risen m a fuller tide this morning. Yes, it 
 was the rule of life, the one everlasting law, the old must 
 suffer and die, the young must live and rejoice. Yes ; Hinton 
 felt very deep sympathy for Mr. Harman last night, but this 
 morning, his happiness making him more self-absorbed than 
 really selfish, he knew that the old man's dying and suffering 
 state could not take one iota from his present delight. 
 
 What then perplexed him ? What made him stand aloof 
 from the radiant guest, Happiness, for a brief half hour ? 
 That story of Charlotte's ; it would come back to him ; he 
 wished now he had never heard it. For having heard he 
 could not forget : he could not exorcise this grim Thing 
 which stood side by side with Happ ness in his sunny room 
 The fact wa% his acute mind took in the true bearings of 
 tl.t- case far more clearly than Charlotte had done. He felt
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 73 
 
 sure that Mrs. Home had been wronged. He felt equally 
 sure thai; if he looked into the case, it lay in his power to 
 right her. Over and over he saw her pale, sad face, and he 
 hoped it was not going to haunt him. The tale in his mind 
 lay all in Mrs. Home's favor, all against John and Jasper 
 Harman. Was it likely that their wealthy father would do 
 anything so monstrously unjust as to leave all his money 
 to his two eldest sons with whom he had previously quar 
 relled, and nothing, nothing at all to his young wife and in 
 fant daughter ? It would be a meaningless piece of in 
 justice, un.ike all that he had gleaned of the previous char 
 acter of the old man. As to John and Jasper, and their con 
 duct in the affair, that too was difficult to fathom. Jasper had 
 spent the greater portion of his life in Australia. Of his 
 character Hinton knew little ; that little he felt was repug 
 nant to him. But John Harman no man in the City bore a 
 higher character for uprightness, for integrity, for honor. 
 John Harman was respected and loved by all who knew him. 
 
 Yes, yes : Hinton felt that all this was possible, but also 
 he knew that never in their close intercourse had he been 
 able to fathom John Harman. A shadow rested over the 
 wealthy and prosperous merchant. Never until now had Hin 
 ton even approached the cause ; but now, now it seemed to 
 him that he was grappling with the impenetrable mystery, 
 that face to face he was looking at the long and success 
 fully hidden sin. Strong man as he was, he trembled as this 
 fear came over him. Whatever the cause, whatever the 
 sudden and swift temptation, he felt an evergrowing convic 
 tion that long ago John and Jasper Harman had robbed 
 the widow and fatherless. Feeling this, being almost sure 
 of this, how then should he act ? He knew very well what 
 he could do. He could go to Somerset House and see the 
 will of old Mr. Harman. It was very unlikely that a forged 
 will had been attempted. It was, he felt sure, far far more 
 probable that the real will was left untampered with, that 
 the deed of injustice had been done in the hope that no one 
 who knew anything about such matters would ever inquire 
 into it. 
 
 Hinton could go that very day and set his mind at rest. 
 Why then did he hesitate ? Ah ! he knew but too well. 
 Never and nearer came that shining form of Happiness. If 
 he did this thing, and found his suspicions correct, as he 
 feared much he should, if he then acted upon this knowl 
 edge and gave Mrs. Home her own again, happiness would
 
 74 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND 
 
 fly from him, it might be for ever. To give Mrs. Home her 
 rights he must cruelly expose a dying old man. Such a 
 shock, coming now, would most probably kill John Harman. 
 After bringing her father to such shame and dishonor, would 
 Charlotte ever consent to be his wife ? would she not indeed in 
 very horror fly from his presence ? What was Mrs. Home to 
 him, that he should ruin his whole life for her sake, that he 
 should give up wife, wealth, and fame ? Nothing a com 
 plete stranger. Why should he, for her sake, pain and make 
 miserable those he loved, above all break the heart of the 
 woman who was more precious to him than all the rest of the 
 world ? He felt he could not do this thing. He must take 
 that bright winged happiness and let justice have her day 
 when she could. Some other hand must inflict the blow, it 
 could not be his hand. He was sorry now that he had taken 
 Mrs. Home's lodgings. But after all what did it signify ? He 
 had taken them for a month, he could go there for that short 
 period. His quickly approaching marriage would make it 
 necessary for him to leave very soon after, and he would try 
 amongst his many friends to find her a more permanent ten 
 ant, for though he had now quite made up his mind to let 
 matters alone, his heart ached for this woman. Yes, he 
 would, if possible, help her in little ways, though it would be 
 impossible for his hand to be the one to give her her own 
 again. Having come to this determination he went out. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 M SUGAR AND SPICE AND ALL THAT'S KICK." 
 
 k 
 
 PERHAPS for one day Charlotte Harman was selfish in 
 her happiness. But when she awoke on the morning after 
 her interview with her father, her finely balanced nature had 
 quite recovered its equilibrium. She was a woman whom 
 circumstances could make very noble ; all her leanings were 
 towards the good, she had hitherto been unassailed by tempta 
 tion, untouched by care. All her life the beautiful and bright 
 things of this world had been showered at her feet. She had 
 H-o friends whom rich, nmiable, and handsome girls usually
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 73 
 
 make. She had the devotion of a most loving father. John 
 Hinton met her and loved her. She responded to his love 
 with her full heart. Another father might have objected to 
 her giving herself to this man, who in the fashionable world's 
 opinion was nothing. But Harman only insisted on a slight 
 delay to their marriage, none whatever to their engagement, 
 and now, after scarcely a year of waiting, the embargo was 
 withdrawn, their wedding-day was fixed, was close at hand 
 The twentieth of April (Charlotte knew she should not oppose 
 the twentieth of April) was not quite two months away. Very 
 light was her heart when she awoke to this happy fact. 
 Happiness, too, was standing by her bedside, and she made 
 no scruple to press the radiant creature to her heart of hearts. 
 But Charlotte's was too fine a nature to be spoiled by prosperity 
 Independent of her wealth, she must always have been a 
 favorite. Her heart was frank and generous; she was 
 thoughtful for others, she was most truly unselfish. Char 
 lotte was a favorite with the servants ; her maid worshipped 
 her. She was a just creature, and had read too much on 
 social reform to give away vndiscriminately and without 
 thought ; but where her sense of justice was really satisfied, 
 she could give with a royal hand, and there were many poor 
 whom Ward, her maid, knew, who, rising up, called Miss 
 Harmon blessed. 
 
 Charlotte had taken a great interest in Mrs. Home. Her 
 face attracted, her manner won, before ever her story touched 
 the heart of this young woman. The greatest pain Charlotte 
 had ever gone through in her life had followed the recital of 
 Mrs. Home's tale, a terrible foreboding the awful shadow 
 which points to wrong done, to sin committed by her best 
 and dearest, had come near and touched her. Uncle Jasper, 
 with his clever and experienced hand, had driven that shadow 
 away, and in her first feeling of intense thankfulness and re 
 lief, she had almost disliked the woman who had come to her 
 with so cruel a tale. All yesterday, in the midst of her own 
 hapiness, she had endeavored to shut Mrs. Home from her 
 thoughts; but this morning, more calm herself, the re 
 membrance of the poor, pale, and struggling mother rose up 
 again fresh and vivid within her heart. It is true Mrs. 
 Home believed a lie, a cruel and dreadful lie ; but none the 
 less for this was she to be pitied, none the less for this must 
 she be helped. Mrs. Home was Charlotte's near relation, 
 phe could not suffer her to want. As she lay in bed, she re 
 flected with great thankfulness that John Hinton had said, on
 
 76 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 hearing the tale, how manifestly it would be his and her duty 
 to help this poor mother. Yes, by and by they would give 
 her enough to raise her above all want, but Charlotte felt she 
 could not wait for that distant time. She must succor Mrs. 
 ( Home at once. Her father had said last night that, if she 
 married in two months, there would be no time for her to 
 finish her book. He was right ; she must give up the book ; 
 she would devote this morning to Mrs. Home. 
 
 She rose with her determination formed and went down 
 stairs. As usual her father was waiting for her, as usual he 
 came up and kissed her ; and as they had done every morn 
 ing for so many years, they sat down opposite each other to 
 breakfast. Charlotte longed to speak to her father about 
 Mrs. Home, but he looked, even to her inexperienced, eyes 
 very ill and haggard, and she remembered her uncle's words 
 and refrained from the subject. 
 
 " You seem so feeble, father, had you not better go into 
 town in the carriage this morning ? " she asked, as he rose 
 from his chair. 
 
 To her surprise he assented, even confessed that he had 
 already ordered the carriage. He had never to her knowl 
 edge done such a thing before, and little as she knew of 
 real illness, nothing as she knew of danger and death, she 
 felt a sharp pain at her heart as she watched him driving 
 away. The pain, however, was but momentary, lost in the 
 pressing interests of other thoughts. Before eleven o'clock 
 she had started off to see Mrs. Home. 
 
 Now it was by no means her intention to go to this newly 
 found relation empty handed. Mrs. Home might or might 
 not be willing to receive a gift of money, but Charlotte hoped 
 so to be able to convey it to her as to save her pride from 
 being too greatly hurt. 
 
 Charlotte had a small banking account of her own. She 
 drove now straight to her bank in the city, and drawing 
 fifty pounds 'n one note slipped it into her purse. From the 
 bank she went to a children's West End shop. She there 
 chose a lovely velvet frock for the fair-haired little Daisy, 
 two embroidered white dresses for the baby; and going a 
 little farther she bought a smart tailor suit for the eldest 
 ooy. After buying the pretty clothes she visited a toy shop, 
 *vhere she loaded herself with toys ; then a cake shop to pur 
 chase cakes and other goodies ; and having at last exhausted 
 her resources; she desired the coachman to drive to Mrs. 
 Home's address in Kentish Town. She arrived, after a drive
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME RO UND. 7 7 
 
 of a little over half an hour, to find the lady whom she had 
 come to seek, out. The dirty little maid stared with full 
 round eyes at the beautiful young lady and at the handsome 
 carriage, and declared she did not know when her missis 
 would be in. 
 
 For a moment Charlotte felt foiled ; but she was excited 
 now she could not go away, laden as she was with fairy 
 gifts, without making some effort to dispense these blessings. 
 
 " I am a relation of Mrs. Home's and I want to see the 
 children. Are the children in ? " she asked of the little 
 maid. 
 
 Rounder and rounder grew that small domestic's eyes. 
 
 " They can't be hout without me," she volunteered ; 
 " ain't I the nuss and maid-of-all work ? Yes, the children 
 is hin." 
 
 Then she opened the dining-room door, and Charlotte, 
 first flying to the carriage and returning laden with brown 
 paper parcels, followed her into the little parlor. 
 
 The maid, on the swift wings of excitement, flew upstairs. 
 There was the quick patter of eager little feet, and in a very 
 few moments the door was pushed open and a boy and girl 
 entered. Charlotte recognized them at a glance. They 
 were the very handsome little pair whose acquaintance she 
 had made yesterday in Regent's Park. The girl hung back 
 a trifle shyly, but the boy, just saying to his sister, " The 
 pretty lady," came up, and raised his lips for a kiss. 
 
 " You don't think me rude ? " he said ; " you don't mind 
 kissing me, do you." 
 
 " I love to kiss you ; I am your own cousin," said Char 
 lotte. 
 
 " My own cousin ! Then I may sit on your knee. Daisy, 
 come here the pretty lady is our own cousin." 
 
 On hearing this, Daisy too advanced. Neither child had 
 any idea what the word cousin meant, but it seemed to in 
 clude proprietorship. They stroked Charlotte's furs, and 
 both pairs of lips were raised again and again for many 
 kisses. In the midst of this scene entered the little maid 
 with the baby. Pretty as Daisy and Harold were, they were 
 nothing to the baby ; this baby of eight months had a most 
 ethereal and lovely face. 
 
 " Oh, you beauty ! you darling ! " said Charlotte, as she 
 clasped the little creature in her arms, and the baby, too 
 young to be shy, allowed her to kiss him repeatedly.
 
 ;8 MOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 ** What a lot of 1 amber i " said Daisy, touching the brown- 
 paper parcels. 
 
 This little child's speech brought Charlotte back to the 
 fact of her ckaes and toys. Giving baby to his small nurse, 
 she opened her treasures. Daisy received her doll with a 
 kind of awed rapture, Harold rattled his drum and blew his 
 trumpet in a way most distracting to any weak nerves within 
 reasonable distance, and the baby sucked some rather un 
 wholesome sweets. No child thought of thanking their bene 
 factor, but flushed cheeks, bright eyes, eager little voices, 
 were thanks louder and more eloquent than words. 
 
 " I want to see your mother ; when will she be in ? " 
 asked Charlotte, after a little quiet had been restored. 
 
 " Not all day," answered Harold. " Mother has gone 
 with father to nurse a poor sick lady ; she won't be back till 
 quite night." 
 
 " She said we were to be very good ; we are, aren't we ? " 
 said Daisy. 
 
 " Yes, darling ; you are quite perfect," replied the in 
 experienced Charlotte. 
 
 u Did our mother ask you to come and play with us and 
 give us lovely things ? " demanded Harold. 
 
 " She does not know I am here, my dear little boy ; but 
 now, if you will show me where I can get a sheet of paper, I 
 will just write your mother a little note." 
 
 The paper was quickly found, and Charlotte sat down, 
 a boy and girl on each side. It was not easy to say much 
 under such circumstances, so the words in the little note 
 were few. 
 
 " You will give this to your mother when she comes in. 
 Sec I I will put it on the mantelpiece," she said to Harold ; 
 " and you must not touch these parcels until mother opens 
 them herself. Yes; I will come again. Now, good-by." Her 
 bonnet was decidedly crooked as she stepped into the car 
 riage, her jacket was also much crumpled ; but there was 
 a very sweet feel of little arms still round her neck, and she 
 touched her hair and cheeks with satisfaction, for they had 
 been honored by many child kisses. 
 
 " I believe she's just a fairy godmother," said Harold, 
 as he watched the carriage rolling away. 
 
 " I never seed the like in hall my born days," remarked 
 Ae small maid-of-all-work.
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 79 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 " THE PRETTY LADY." 
 
 ** MOTHER, mother, mother ! " 
 
 " And look ! oh, do look at what I have got !" were ttte 
 words that greeted Mrs. Home, when, very tired, after a day 
 of hard nuresing with one of her husband's sick parishioners, 
 she came back. 
 
 The children ought to have been in bed, the baby fast 
 asleep, the little parlor-table tidily laid for tea : instead of 
 which, the baby wailed unceasingly up in the distant nursery, 
 and Harold and Daisy, having nearly finished Charlotte's 
 sweeties, and made themselves very uncomfortable by re 
 peated attacks on the rich plum-cake, were now, with very 
 flushed cheeks, alternately playing with their toys and poking 
 their small fingers into the still unopened brown-paper par- 
 cles. They had positively refused to go up to the nursery, 
 and, though the gas was lit and the blinds were pulled down, 
 the spirit of disorder had most manifestly got into the little 
 parlor. 
 
 " Oh, mother ! what do you think ? The lovely lady ! 
 the lady we met in the park yesterday ! she has been, and 
 she brought us lots of things toys, and sweeties, and cakes, 
 and oh, mother, do look !" 
 
 Daisy presented her doll, and Harold blew some very shrill 
 blasts from his trumpet right up into his mother's eyes. 
 
 " My dear children," said Mrs. Home, " whom do you 
 mean ? where did you get all these things? who has come here? 
 Why aren't you both in bed ? It is long past your usual 
 hour." 
 
 This string of questions met with an unintelligible chorus 
 of replies, in which the words " pretty lady," " Regent's 
 Park," " father knew her," " we had to sit up," so completely 
 puzzled Mrs. Home, that had not her eyes suddenly rested 
 on the little note waiting for her on the mantelpiece she would 
 have been afraid her children had taken leave of their 
 senses. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; she told us to give you that," said Harold 
 when he saw his mother take it up.
 
 So HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 I h*ve said the note was very short. Charlotte Home 
 read it m a moment. 
 
 *' Mother, mother 1 what does she tell you, and what are 
 in the other parcels ? She said we weren't to open them 
 until you came home. Oh, do tell us what she said, and let 
 us see the rest of the pretty things 1 " 
 
 " Do, do mother ; we have been so patient 'bout it ! " re 
 peated little Daisy. 
 
 Harold now ran for the largest of the parcels, and raised 
 it for his mother to take. Both children clung to her skirts. 
 Mrs. Home put the large parcel on a shelf out of reach, then 
 she put aside the hot and eager little hands. At last she 
 spoke. 
 
 " My little children must have some more patience, for 
 mother can tell them nothing more to-night. Yes, yes, the 
 lady is very pretty and very kind, but we can talk no more 
 about anything until the morning. Now, Harold and Daisy, 
 come upstairs at once." 
 
 They were an obedient, well-trained little pair. They 
 just looked at one another, and from each dimpled mouth 
 came a short, impatient sigh ; then they gave their hands to 
 mother, and went gravely up to the nursery. Charlotte 
 stayed with her children until they were undressed. She 
 saw them comfortably washed, their baby prayers said, and 
 each little head at rest on its pillow, then kissing the baby, 
 who was also by this time fast asleep, she went softly down 
 stairs. 
 
 Anne, the little maid, was flying about, trying to get the 
 tea ready and some order restored, but when she saw her 
 mistress she could not refrain from standing still to pour out 
 her excited tale. 
 
 " Ef you please, 'em, it come on me hall on a 'cap. She 
 come in that free and that bounteous, and seemed as if she 
 could eat all the children up wid love ; and she give 'em a 
 lot, and left a lot more fur you, 'em. And when she wor 
 goin' away she put half-a-crown in my hand. I never seed 
 the like never, 'em never ! She wor dressed as grand as 
 Queen Victory herself, and she come in a carriage and two 
 spanking hosseses ; and, please, 'em, I heard of her telling 
 the children as she wos own cousin to you, 'em." 
 
 "Yes, I know the young lady," replied Mrs. Home. 
 " She is, as you say, very nice and kind. But now, Anne, 
 we must not talk any more. Your master won't be in for an 
 hour, but I shan't wait tea for him ; we w ill have some fresh
 
 HOW IT A^LL CAME ROUND. Si 
 
 made latar. Please bring me in a cup at once, for I an> 
 very tired." 
 
 Anne gazed at her mistress in open-eyed astonishment. 
 Any one/ any one as poor as she well knew missis to be' 
 who could take the fact of being cousin to so beautiful 
 and rich a young lady with such coolness and apparent in 
 difference quite passed Anne's powers of comprehension. 
 
 " It beats me holler that it do ! " she said to herself ; 
 then, with a start, she ran off to her kitchen. 
 
 Mrs. Home had taken her first cup of tea, and had even 
 eaten a piece of bread and butter, before she again drew 
 Charlotte Harman's little note out of her pocket. This is 
 what her eyes had already briefly glanced over : 
 
 " DEAR FRIEND AND SISTER for you must let me call 
 you so I have come to see you, and finding you out asked 
 to see your children I have lost my heart to your beautiful 
 and lovely children. They are very sweet ! Your baby is 
 more like an angel than any earthly creature my eyes have 
 ever rested on. Charlotte, I brought your children a few toys, 
 and one or two other little things. You won't be too proud 
 to accept them. When I bought them I did not love your 
 children, but I loved you. You are my near kinswoman. You 
 won't take away the pleasure I felt when I bought those 
 things. Dear Sister Charlotte, when shall we meet again ? 
 Send me a line, and I will come to you at any time. Yours, 
 
 " CHARLOTTE HARMAN." 
 
 It is to be regretted that Charlotte Home by no means 
 received this sweet and loving little note in the spirit in which 
 it was written. Her pale, thin face flushed, and her eyes burnt 
 with an angry light. This burst of excited feeling was but 
 the outcome of all she had undergone mentally since she had 
 left Miss Harman's house a few days ago. She had said 
 then, and truly, that she loved this young lady. The pride, 
 the stately bearing, the very look of open frankness in 
 Charlotte's eyes had warmed and touched her heart. She 
 had not meant to tell to those ears, so unaccustomed to sin 
 and shame, this tale of long-past wrong. It had been in a 
 manner forced from her, and she had seen a flush of per 
 plexity, then of horror, color the cheeks and fill the fine 
 brave eyes. She had come away with her heart sympathies 
 so moved by this girl, so touched, so shocked with what she 
 herself had revealed, that she would almost rather, could her
 
 8 2 nOW IT ALL CA^'f- AOI T A T D. 
 
 father's money now be hers, relinquish it, than cause anj 
 furl her pain or shame to Charlotte Harman. 
 
 She came home and confided what she had done to her 
 husband. It is not too much to say that he was dis 
 pleased that he was much hurt. The Charlotte who rn her too 
 eagerness for money couid so act was scarcely the Charlotte 
 he had pictured to himself as his wife. Charlotte was 
 lowered in the eyes of the unworldly man. But just because 
 her husband was so unworldly, so unpractical, Charlotte's 
 own more everyday nature began to reassert itself. She 
 had really done no harm. She had but told a tale of wrong. 
 Those who committed the wrong were the ones to blame. 
 She, the sufferer who could put sin at her door ? Her 
 sympathy for Charlotte grew less, her sorrow for herself and 
 her children more. She felt more sure than ever that injus 
 tice had been committed that she and her mother had been 
 robbed ; she seemed to read the fact in Charlotte 
 Harman's innocent eyes, Charlotte, in spite of herself, even 
 though her own father was the one accused, believed her 
 agreed with her. 
 
 All that night she spent in a sort of feverish dream, in 
 which she saw herself Wealthy, her husband happy, her chil 
 dren cared for as they ought to be. The ugly ugly poverty of 
 her life and her surroundings had all passed away like a dream 
 that is told. 
 
 She got up in a state of excitement and expectation, for 
 what might not Charlotte Harman do for her ? She would 
 tell the tale to her father, and that father, seeing that his sin 
 was found out, would restore her to her rights. Of course, 
 this must be the natural consequence Charlotte was not 
 low and mean ; she would see that she had her own again. 
 Mrs. Home made no allowance for any subsequent event 
 for any influence other than her own being brought to bear 
 on the young lady. All that day she watched the post ; she 
 watched for the possibility of a visit. Neither letter nor 
 visit came, but Mrs. Home was not discouraged. That day 
 was too soon to hear ; she must wait with patience for the 
 morrow. 
 
 On the morrow her husband, who had almost forgotten 
 her story, asked her to come and help him in the care of a 
 sick woman at some distance away. Charlotte was a capi 
 tal sick-nurse, and had often before given similar aid to Mr. 
 Home in parish work. 
 
 She went, spent her day away, and returned to find
 
 HO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 83 
 
 that Charlotte had come that so far her dream was true. 
 Yes, but only so far, for Charlotte had come,not in shame, 
 bi: 1 ; in the plenitude of a generous benefactor. She had 
 come laden with gifts, and had gone away with the hearts 
 of the children and the little maid. Charlotte Home felt a 
 great wave of anger and pain stealing over her heart. In 
 her pain and disappointment she was unjust. 
 
 " She is a coward after all. She dare not tell her father. 
 She believes my tale, but she is not brave enough to see 
 justice done to me and mine : so she tries to make up for 
 it ; she tries to salve her conscience and bribe me v.ith gifts 
 gifts and flattery. I will have none of it. My rights my 
 true and just rights, or nothing ! These parcels shall go 
 back unopened to-morrow." She rose from her seat, and 
 put them all tidily away on a side-table. She had scarcely 
 done so before her husband's latch-key was heard in the 
 hall-door. He came in with the weary look which was 
 habitual to his thin face. " Oh, Angus, how badly you do 
 want your tea ! " said the poor wife. She was almost alarmed 
 at her husband's pallor, and forgot Charlotte while attending 
 to his comfort. 
 
 " What are those parcels, Lottie ? " he said, noticing the 
 heaped-up things on the side-table. 
 
 " Never mind. Eat your supper first," she said to him. 
 
 " I can eat, and yet know what is in them. They give 
 quite a Christmas and festive character to the place. And 
 what is that I see lying on that chair a new doll for Daisy? 
 Why, has my careful little woman been so extravagant as to 
 buy the child another doll ? " 
 
 Mr. Home smiled as he spoke. His wife looked at him 
 gravely. She picked up the very pretty doll and laid it with 
 the other parcels on the side-table. 
 
 " I will tell you about the parcels and the doll if you wish 
 it," she answered. " Miss Harman called when I was out. 
 and brought cakes, and sweeties, and toys to the children. 
 She also brought those parcels. I do not know what they 
 contain, for I have not opened them. And she left a note 
 for me. I cannot help the sweeties and cakes, for Harold 
 and Daisy have eaten them ; but the toys and those parcels 
 shall go back to-morrow." 
 
 Mrs. Home looked very proud and defiant as she spoke. 
 Her husband glanced at her face ; then, with a slight sigh, 
 he pushed his supper aside.
 
 84 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 "No, I am not hungry, dear. I am just a little overtired. 
 May I see Miss Harman's note ? " 
 
 Charlotte put it at once into his hand. 
 
 He read it carefully once twice. His own spirit was 
 very loving and Christ-like ; consequently the real love and 
 true human feeling in the little note touched him. 
 
 " Lottie," he said, as he gave it back to his wife, " why do 
 you want to pain that sweet creature ? " 
 
 Mrs. Home took the note, and flung it into the fire. 
 
 " There ! " she said, an angry spot on each cheek. " She 
 and hers have injured me and mine. I don't want gifts from 
 her. I want my rights ! " 
 
 To this burst of excited feeling Mr. Home answered 
 noihmg. After a moment or two of silence he rang the bell, 
 and when Anne appeared asked her to take away the tea- 
 things. After this followed an hour of perfect quiet. Mrs. 
 Home took out her great basket of mending. Mr. Home 
 sat still, and apparently idle, by the fire. After a time he 
 left the room to go for a moment to his own. Passing the 
 nursery, he heard a little movement, and, entering softly, 
 saw Harold sitting up in his little cot. 
 
 "Father, is that you ? " he called through the semi-light. 
 
 " Yes, my boy. Is anything the matter ? Why are you 
 not asleep ? " 
 
 "I couldn't, father dear; I'm so longing for to-morrow. 
 1 want to blow my new trumpet again, and to see the rest of 
 the brown-paper parcels. Father, do come over to me for a 
 moment." 
 
 Mr. Home came, and put his arm round the little neck. 
 
 " Did mother tell you that our pretty lady came to-day, 
 and brought such a spendid lot of things ? " 
 
 " Whose pretty lady, my boy ? " 
 
 " Ours, father the lady you, and I, and Daisy, and baby 
 met in the park yesterday. You said it was rude to kiss her, 
 and she did not mind. She gave me dozens and dozens of 
 kisses to-day." 
 
 " She was very kind to you," said Mr. Home. Then, 
 bidding the child lie down and sleep, he left him and went 
 on to his own room. He was going to his room with a 
 purpose. That purpose was quickened into intensity by 
 little Harold's words. 
 
 That frank, fearless, sweet-looking girl was Miss Harman ! 
 That letter was, therefore, not to be wondered at. It was
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. S$ 
 
 the kind of letter he would have expected such a woman to 
 write. What was the matter with his Lottie ? 
 
 " In his perplexity he knelt down ; he remained upon his 
 knees for about ten minutes, then he returned to the little 
 parlor. The answer to his earnest prayer was given to him 
 almost directly. His wife was no longer proud and cold. She 
 looked up the moment he entered, and said, 
 
 " You are angry with me, Angus." 
 
 "No, my darling," he answered, "not angry, but very 
 sorry for you." 
 
 " You must not be sorry for me. You have anxieties 
 enough. I must not add to them. Not all the Miss Harmans 
 that ever breathe shall bring a cloud between you and me. 
 Angus, may I put out the gas and then sit close to you ? 
 You shall talk me out of this feeling, for I do feel bad." 
 
 " I will talk all night if it makes you better, my own 
 Lottie. Now, what is troubling you ? " 
 
 " In the first instance, you don't seem to believe this 
 story about our money." 
 
 " I neither believe it, nor the reverse I simply don't 
 let it trouble me." 
 
 " But, Angus, that seems a little hard ; for if the money 
 was left to me by my father I ought to have it. Think 
 what a difference it would make to us all you, and me, and 
 the children ? " 
 
 " We should be rich instead of poor. It would make 
 that difference, certainly." 
 
 " Angus, you talk as if this difference was nothing." 
 
 " Nothing ! It is not quite nothing ; but I confess it does 
 not weigh much with me." 
 
 " If not for yourself, it might for the children's sakes; 
 think what a difference money would make to our darlings." 
 
 " My dear wife, you quite forgot when speaking so, that 
 they are God's little children as well as ours. He has said 
 that not a sparrow falls without His loving knowledge. Is 
 it likely when that is so, that He will see His children and 
 ours either gain or suffer from such a paltry thing as 
 money ? " 
 
 " Then you will do nothing to get back our own ? " 
 
 " If you mean that I will go to law on the chance of our 
 receiving some money which may have been left to us, certainly 
 I will not. The fact is, Lottie you may think me very 
 eccentric but I cannot move in this matter. It seems to me
 
 86 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 to be entirely God's matter, not purs. If Mr. Harman has 
 committed the dreadful sin you impute to him, God must 
 bring it home to him. Before that poor man who for years 
 has hidden such a sin in his heart, and lived such a life before 
 his fellow-men, is fit to go back to the arms of His father, he 
 must suffer dreadfully. I pray, from my heart I pray, that 
 if he committed the sin he may have the suffering, for there 
 is no other road to the Father; but I cannot pray that this 
 awful suffering may be sent to give us a better house, and 
 our children finer clothes, and that richer food may be put 
 on our table." 
 
 Mrs. Home was silent for a moment, then she salt!, 
 " Angus, forgive me, I did not look at it in that Ik 
 "No, my dearest, and because I so pity her, if her 
 father really is guilty, I do not want you unnecessarily to pain 
 Miss Harman. You remember my telling you of that fine 
 girl I met in Regent's Park yesterday, the girl who was so 
 kind and nice to our children. I have just been up with 
 Harold, and he tells me that your Miss Harman and his 
 pretty lady are one and the same." 
 
 " Is that really so ? " answered Mrs. Home. " Yes. I 
 know that Charlotte Harman is very attractive. Did I not 
 tell you, Angus, that she had won my, own heart ? But I confess 
 when I saw those gifts and read her note I felt angry. ! 
 thought after hearing my tale she should have done more. 
 These presents seemed to me in the light of a bribe." 
 " Charlotte ! " 
 
 " Ah ! I know you are shocked. You cannot see the 
 thing with my eyes ; that is how they really looked to me." 
 *' Then, my dear wife, may I give you a piece of advice ? " 
 "That is what I am hungering for Angus." 
 " Tell the whole story, as frankly more frankly than 
 you have told it to me, to God to-night. Lay the whole 
 matter in the loving hands of your Father, then, Charlotte ; 
 after so praying, if in the morning you still think Miss, 
 Harman was actuated by so mean a spirit, treat her as she 
 deserves. With your own hands deal the punishment to her, 
 send everything back." 
 
 Mrs. Home's face flushed very brightly, and she lowered 
 her eyes to prevent her husband seeing the look of shame 
 which filled them. The result of this conversation was the 
 following note written the next morning to Miss Harman. 
 
 ' I could net have thanked yu last night for what you
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 87 
 
 have done, but I can to-day. You have won my children's 
 little hearts. Be thankful that you have made my dear little 
 ones so happy. You ask to see me again, Miss Harman. I 
 do not think I can come to you, and I don't ask you to 
 come here. Still I will see you; name some afternoon to 
 meet me in Regent's Park and I will be there. 
 
 " Yours, 
 " CHARLOTTE HOME. 
 
 Thus the gifts were kept, and the mother tried to pray 
 away a certain soreness which would remain notwithstanding 
 all her husband's words. She was human after all, however, 
 and Charlotte Harman might have been rewarded had she 
 seen her face the following Sunday morning when she brought 
 her pretty children down to their father to inspect them in 
 their new clothes. 
 
 Harold went to church that morning, with his mother, in a 
 very picturesque hat ; but no one suspected quite how much it 
 was worth, not even those jealous mothers who saw it and 
 remarked upon it, and wondered who had left Mrs. Home a 
 legacy, for stowed carefully away under the lining was" Char 
 lotte Harman's bright, crisp, fifty-pound note. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 TWO CHARLOTTES. 
 
 IT vras a week after ; the very day, in fact, ou which Hin- 
 ton was to give up his present most comfortable quarters for 
 the chances and changes of Mrs. Home's poor little dwelling. 
 That anxious young wife and mother, having completed her 
 usual morning duties, set off to Regent's Park to meet Miss 
 Harman. It was nearly March now, and the days, even in 
 the afternoon, were stretching, and though it was turning cold 
 the feeling of coming spring was more decidedly getting into 
 the air. 
 
 Mrs. Home had told her children that she was going to 
 meet their pretty lady, and Harold had begged hard to come 
 too. His mother would have taken him, but he had a cold,
 
 88 HOW IT ALL CAVE ROUND. 
 
 and looked heavy, so she started off for her long walk alone. 
 Won by her husband's gentler and more Christ-like spirit, 
 Mrs. Home had written to Miss Harman to propose this 
 meeting; but in agreeing to an interview with her kinswoman 
 she had effected a compromise with her own foelings. She 
 would neither go to her nor ask her to come to the little 
 house in Kentish Town. The fact was she wanted to nu-ct 
 this young woman on some neutral ground. There were 
 certain unwritten, but still most stringent, laws of courtesy 
 which each must observe in her own home to the o:her. 
 Charlotte Home intended, as she went f> meet Miss Harman 
 on this clay of early spring, that very plain words indeed 
 should pass between them. 
 
 By this it will be seen that she was still very far behind 
 her husband, and that much of a sore and angry sensation 
 was still lingering in her heart. 
 
 " Miss Harman will, of course, keep me waiting," she said 
 to herself, as she entered the park, and walked quickly to 
 wards the certain part where they had agreed to meet. She 
 gave a slight start therefore, when she saw that young wo 
 man slowly pacing up and down, with the very quiet and 
 meditative air of one who had been doing so for some little 
 time. Miss Harman was dressed with almost studied plain 
 ness and simplicity. All the rich furs which the children had 
 admired were put away. When she saw Mrs. Home she 
 quickened her slow steps into almost a run of welcome, and 
 clasped her toil-worn and badly gloved hands in both her 
 own. 
 
 " How glad I am to see you ! You did not hurry, I hope. 
 You are quite out of breath. Why did you walk so fast ? " 
 
 " I did not walk fast until I saw you under the trees, Miss 
 Harman. I thought I should have time enough, for I im 
 agined I should have to wait for you." 
 
 " W T hat an unreasonable thing to suppose of me ! I am 
 the idle one, you the busy. No : I respect wives and mothers 
 too much to treat them in that fashion." Miss Harman 
 smiled as she spoke. 
 
 Mrs. Home did not outwardly respond to the smile, though 
 the gracious bearing, the loving, sweet face were beginning 
 very slowly to effect a thaw, for some hard little ice lumps in 
 her heart were melting. The immediate effect of this was, 
 however, so strong a desire to cry that, to steel herself against 
 these untimely tears, she became in manner harder than 
 ever.
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 89 
 
 'And now what shall we do?" said Charlotte Harman. 
 " The carriage is waiting for us at the next gate ; shall we go 
 for a drive, or shall we walk about here ? " 
 
 " I would rather walk here," said Mrs. Home. 
 
 " Very well. Charlotte, I am glad to see you. And how 
 are your children ? " 
 
 " Harold has a cold. The other two are very well." 
 
 " I never saw sweeter children in my life. And do -you 
 know I met your husband ? He and your children both spoke 
 to me in the park. It was the day before I came to your 
 house. Mr. Home gave me a very short sermon to think 
 over. I shall never forget it." 
 
 " He saw you and liked you," answered Mrs. Home. 
 " He told me of that meeting." 
 
 " And I want another meeting. Such a man as that has 
 never come into my life before. I want to see more of him. 
 Charlotte, why did you propose that we should meet here ? 
 Why not in my house, or in yours ? I wanted to come to you 
 again. I was much disappointed when I got your note." 
 
 " I am sorry to have disappointed you ; but I thought it 
 best that we should meet here." 
 
 " But why ? I don't understand." 
 
 " They say that rich people are obtuse. I did not want 
 to see your riches, nor for you to behold the poverty of my 
 land." 
 
 " Charlotte ! " 
 
 " Please don't think me very hard, but I would rather you 
 did not say Charlotte." 
 
 " You would rather I did not say Charlotte ? " 
 
 Two large tears of surprise and pain filled Miss Harman's 
 gray eyes. But such a great flood of weeping was so near the 
 surface with the other woman that she dared not look at her. 
 
 " I would rather you did not say Charlotte," she repeated, 
 "for we call those whom we love and are friendly with by 
 their Christian names." 
 
 " I thought you loved me. You said so. You can't take 
 back your own words." 
 
 " I don't want to. I do love you in my heart. I feel I 
 could love you devotedly ; but for all that we can never be 
 friends." 
 
 Miss Harman was silent for a moment or two, then she 
 said slowly, but with growing passion in her voice, "Ah! you 
 are thinking of that wretched money. I thought love ranked 
 higher than gold all the world over."
 
 go HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 " So it does, or appears to do, for those who all their 
 lives have had plenty ; but it is just possible, just possible, I 
 say, that those who are poor, poor enough to know what 
 hunger and cold mean, and have seen their dearest want 
 ing the comforts that money can buy, it is possible that such 
 people may prefer their money rights to the profession of 
 empty love." 
 
 " Empty love ! " repeated Miss Harman. The words 
 stung her. She was growing angry, and the anger became 
 this stately creature well. With cheeks and eyes both glow 
 ing she turned to her companion. " If you and I are not tn 
 part at once, and never meet again, there must be very plain 
 words between us. Shall I speak those words ? " she asked. 
 " I came here that our words might be very plain," ans 
 wered Mrs. Home. 
 
 "They shall be," said Charlotte Harman. 
 They were in a very quiet part of the park. Even the 
 nurses and children were out of sight. Now they ceased 
 walking, and turned and faced each other. 
 
 They were both tall, and both the poor and the rich young 
 woman had considerable dignity of bearing ; but Charlotte 
 Home was now the composed one. Charlotte Harman felt 
 herself quivering with suppressed anger. Injustice was be 
 ing dealt out to her, and injustice to the child of affluence 
 and luxury was a new sensation. 
 
 " You came to me the other day," she began, " I had 
 never seen you before, never before in all my life ever heard 
 your name. You, however, knew me, and you told me a story. 
 It was a painful and very strange story. It made you not 
 only my very nearest kin, but also made you :he victim of a 
 great wrong. The wrong was a large one, and the victim 
 was to be pitied ; but the sting of it all lay, to me, not in either 
 of the facts, but in this, that you gave me to understand that 
 he who had dealt you such a blow was my father. My 
 father, one of the most noble, upright, and righteous of men, 
 you made out to me, to me, his only child, to be no better than 
 a common thief. I did not turn you from my doors for your 
 base words. I pitied you. In spite of myself I liked you ; 
 in spite of myself I believed you. You went away, and in the 
 agony of mind which followed during the next few hours I 
 could have gladly fled for ever from the sight of all the wide 
 world. I had been the very happiest of women. You 
 came. You went. I was one of the most miserable. I am 
 engaged to be married, and the man I am engaged to came
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 91 
 
 into the room. I felt guilty before him. I could not raise 
 my eyes to his, for, again I tell you, I believed your tale, and 
 my father's bitter shame was mine. I could not rest. Hap 
 pen what would I must learn the truth at once. I have an 
 uncle my father's brother ; he must know all. I sent my lover 
 away and went to this uncle. I asked to have an interview 
 with him, and in that interview I told him all you had told to 
 me. He was not surprised. He acknowledged at once the 
 true and real relationship between us ; but he also explained 
 away the base doubts you had put into rny head. My father, 
 my own beloved father, is all, and more than all, I have ever 
 thought him. He would scorn to be unjust, to rob any one. 
 You have been unfortunate ; you have been treated cruelly ; 
 but the injustice, the cruelty have been penetrated by one 
 long years now in his grave. In short, your father has been 
 the wicked man, hot mine." 
 
 Here Mrs. Home tried to speak, but Miss Harman held 
 up her hand. 
 
 "You must hear me out," she said. "I am convinced, 
 but I do not expect you to be. After my uncle had done 
 speaking, and 1 had time to realize all the relief those words 
 of his had given me, I said, still an injustice has been done. 
 We have no right to our wealth while she suffers from such 
 poverty. Be my grandfather's will what it may, we must 
 alter it. We must so act as if he had left money to his 
 youngest child. My uncle agreed with me ; perhaps not so 
 fully as I could wish, still he did agree ; but he made one 
 proviso. My father is ill, I fear. I fear he is very ill. The 
 one dark cloud hanging over his whole life lay in those years 
 when he v, r as estranged from his own father. To speak of 
 you I must bring back those years to his memory. Any ex 
 citement is bad for him now. My uncle said, 'Wait until 
 your father is better, then we will do something for Mrs. 
 Home.' To this I agreed. Was I very unreasonable to agree 
 to this delay for my father's sake? " 
 
 Here Charlotte Harman paused and looked straight at 
 her companion. Mrs. Home's full gaze met hers. Again, 
 the innocent candor of the one pair of eyes appealed straight 
 to the heart lying beneath the other. Unconvinced she was 
 still. Still to her, her own story held gocd : but she was 
 softened, and she held out her hand. 
 
 " There is no unreasonableness in you, Charlotte," she 
 said.
 
 02 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 " Ah ! then you will call me Charlotte ? " said the other, 
 her face glowing with delight. 
 
 " I call you so now. I won't answer for the future." 
 
 " We will accept the pleasant present. I don't fear the 
 future. I shall win your whole heart yet. Now let us drop 
 all disagreeables and talk about those we both love. Char 
 lotte, what a baby you have got ! Your baby must be an 
 angel to you." 
 
 " All my children are that to me. When I look at them 
 I think God has sen to me three angels to dwell with me." 
 
 " Ah ! what a happy thought, and what a happv woman. 
 Then your husband, he must be like the archangel Gabriel, 
 so just, so righteous, so noble. I love him already : but I 
 think I should be a little afraid of him. He is so so very 
 unearthly. Now you, Mrs. Home, let me tell you, are very 
 earthly, very human indeed." 
 
 Mrs. Home smiled, for this praise of her best beloved 
 could not but be pleasant to her. She told Miss Harman a 
 little more about her husband and her children, and Miss 
 Harman listened with that appreciation which is the sweet 
 est flattery in the world. After a time she said, 
 
 " I am not going to marry any one the least bit unearthly , 
 but I see you are a model wife, and I want to be likewise. For 
 did I not tell you ? I am to be married in exactly two 
 months from now." 
 
 " Are you really ? Are you indeed ? " 
 
 Was it possible after this piece of confidence for these 
 two young women not to be friends ? 
 
 Charlotte Home, though so poor, felt suddenly, in experi 
 ence, in all true womanly knowledge, rich beside her com 
 panion. Charlotte Harman, for all her five and twenty years, 
 was but a child beside this earnest wife and mother. 
 
 They talked; the one relating her happy experience, the 
 other listening, as though on her wedding-day she was cer 
 tainly to step into the land of Beulah. It was the old, old 
 story, repeated again, as those two paced up and down in 
 the gray March afternoon. When at last they parted there 
 was no need to say that they were friends. 
 
 And yet as she hurried home the poor Charlotte could 
 not help reflecting that whatever her cause she had done 
 nothing for it. Charlotte Harman might be very sweet. It 
 might be impossible not to admire her, to love her, to take 
 her to her heart of hearts. But would that love bring back 
 her just rights ? would that help her children by :.ml 1 -\ '
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 93 
 
 She reached her hall door to find her husband standing 
 there. 
 
 " Lottie, where have you been ? I waited for you, for I 
 did not like to go out and leave him. Harold is ill, and the 
 doctor has just left." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 FOR many days after that interview in Regent's Park, it 
 seemed that one of the three, who made the little house in 
 Kentish Town so truly like heaven, was to be an angel in 
 deed. Harold's supposed cold had turned to scarlet fever, 
 and the doctor feared that Harold would die. 
 
 Immediately after her interview with Charlotte Harman, 
 Mrs. Home went upstairs to learn from the grave lips of the 
 medical man what ailed her boy, and what a hard fight for 
 life or death he had before him. She was a brave woman, 
 and whatever anguish might lie underneath, no tears filled 
 her eyes as she looked at his flushed face. When the doc 
 tor had gone, she stole softly from the sick-room, and going 
 to the drawing-room where Hinton was already in possession, 
 she tapped at the door. 
 
 To his " Come in," she entered at once, and said abruptly 
 without preface, 
 
 " I hope you have unpacked nothing. I must ask you to 
 go away at once.' J 
 
 She had her bonnet still on, and, but for the pallor of her 
 face, she looked cold, even unmoved. 
 
 <: I have everything unpacked, and I don't want to go. 
 Why should I ? " demanded Hinton, in some surprise. 
 
 " My eldest boy has scarlet fever. The other two will 
 probably take it. You must on no account stay here ; you 
 must leave to-night if you wish to escape infection." 
 
 In an instant Hinton was by her side. 
 
 " Your boy has scarlet fever?" he repeated. " I know 
 something of scarlet fever. He must instantly be moved to 
 an airy bedroom. The best bedroom in the house is mine. 
 Your boy must sleep in my bedroom to-night. ' 
 
 " It is a good thought," said Mrs. Home. '* Thank you 
 for suggesting it I will move him down at once ; the bed is
 
 94 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 well aired, and the sheets are fresh and clean. I will have 
 him moved whenever you can go." 
 
 She was leaving the room when Hinton followed her. 
 
 " I said nothing about going. I don't mean to I can 
 have a blanket and sleep on the sofa. I am not going away, 
 Mrs. Home." 
 
 " Mr. Hinton, have you nc one you care for ? Why do 
 you run this risk." 
 
 " I have some one I care for very much indeed; but I 
 run no risk. I had scarlet fever long ago. In any case I 
 have no fear of infection. Now I know your husband is out; 
 let me go upstairs and help you bring down the little fellow." 
 
 " God bless you," said the wife and mother. Her eyes 
 were beautiful as she raised them to the face of this good 
 
 Samaritan. 
 
 * * * # # 
 
 The little patient was moved to the large and comfortable 
 room, and Hinton found himself in the position of good an 
 gel to this poor family. He had never supposed himself 
 capable of taking such a post with regard to any one ; but 
 the thing seemed thrust upon him. An obvious duty had 
 come into his life, and he never even for the briefest instant 
 dreamed of shirking it. He was a man without physical 
 fear. The hardships of life, the roughing of poverty were 
 not worth a passing thought of annoyance ; but there was 
 one little act of sell-denial which he must now exercise ; and 
 it is to be owned that he felt it with a heart-pang. He had 
 never told Charlotte that he was going to live in the house with 
 Mrs. Home. He had not meant to keep this fact a secret from 
 her, but there was still a soreness over him when he thought 
 of this young woman which prevented her name coming 
 readily to his lips. On this first night in his new abode he 
 sat down to write to his promised wife ; but neither now did 
 l.j g : ve his address, nor tell his landlady : s name. He had 
 an obvious reason, however, now for his conduct. 
 
 This was v, ha'. Charlotte received from her lover on the 
 following morning, 
 
 " MY DARLING, Such a strange thing has happened ; 
 but one which, thank God, as far as I am concerned, need 
 not cause you the least alarm. I moved from my old 
 lodgings to-day and v.cnt a little further into the country. 
 I had just unpacked my belongings and was expecting 
 some tea, for I was hot and thirsty, when n<y landlady
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 95 
 
 came in and told me that .her eldest child is taken very ill 
 with scarlet fever. She has ofcher children, and fears the 
 infection will spread. She is a very poor woman, but 
 is one of those who in their bearing and manner, you, Char 
 lotte, would call noble. She wanted me to leave at once, but 
 this, Charlotte, I could not do. I am staying here, and will 
 give her what little help lies in my power. You know there 
 is no fear for me, for I had the complaint long ago. But, 
 dearest, there is just one thing that is hard. Until this little 
 child is better, I must not see you. You have not had this 
 fever, Charlotte, and for you, for my own sake, and your 
 father's sake, I must run no risk. I will write to you every 
 day, or as much oftener as you wish, for I can disenfect my 
 paper ; but I will not go to Prince's Gate at present. 
 " Ever, my own true love, 
 
 " Yours most faithfully, 
 
 "John Hinton." 
 
 This letter was posted that very night, but Hinton did 
 not put his new address on it ; he meant Charlotte now for 
 prudential reasons to write to his chambers. He returned 
 to his lodgings, and for many weary and anxious nights to 
 come shared their watch with Mr. and Mrs. Home. So quiet 
 ly, so absolutely had this young man stepped into his office, 
 that the father and mother did not think of refusing his ser 
 vices. He was a good nurse, as truly tender-hearted and 
 brave men almost always are. The sick child liked his 
 touch. The knowledge of his presence was pleasant. When 
 nothing else soothed him, he would lie quiet if Hinton held 
 his little hot hand in his. 
 
 One evening, opening his bright feverish eyes, he fixed 
 them full on Hinton's face and said slowly and earnestly, 
 
 " I did kiss that pretty lady." 
 
 " He means a lady whom he met in the Park ; a Miss 
 Harman, who came here and brought him toys," explained 
 Mrs. Home. 
 
 " Yes, isn't she a pretty lady ? " repeated little Harold. 
 
 " Very pretty," answered Hinton, bending low over him. 
 
 The child smiled. It was a link between them. He 
 again stole his hand into that cf the young man. But as 
 days wore on and the fever did not abate, the little life in 
 that small frame began to grow feeble. From being an im 
 possibility, it grew to be probable, then almost certain, that
 
 9 6 HOW IT ALL CAME RUUXD. 
 
 the little lad must die. Neither father nor mother seemed 
 alive to the coming danger; but Hinton, loving less than 
 they did, was not blinded. He had seen scarlet fever before, 
 he knew something of its treatment ; he doubted the proper 
 course having ever been pursued here. One evening he fol 
 lowed the doctor from the sick-room. 
 
 " The child is very ill," he said. 
 
 " The child is so ill," answered the medical man, " that 
 humanly speaking there is very little hope of his life." 
 
 " Good sir ! " exclaimed Hinton, shocked at his fears be 
 ing put into such plain language. " Don't you see that those 
 parents' lives are bound up in the child's, and they know 
 nothing ? Why have you told them nothing ? Only to-night 
 his mother thought him better." 
 
 " The fever is nearly over, and in consequence the real 
 danger beginning ; but I dare not tell the mother, she would 
 break down. The father is of different stuff, he would bear 
 it. But there is time enough for the mother to know when 
 all is over." 
 
 " I call that cruel. Why don't you get in other advice ? " 
 
 " My dear sir, they are very poor people. Think of the 
 expense, and it would be of no use, no use whatever." 
 
 " Leave the expense to me, and also the chance of its 
 doing any good. I should never have an easy moment if I 
 let that little lad die without having done all in my power. 
 Two heads are better than one. Do you object to consulting 
 with Dr. H ? " 
 
 " By no means, Mr. Hinton. He is a noted authority on 
 such cases." 
 
 " Then be here in an hour from now, doctor, and you 
 shall meet him." 
 
 Away flew Hinton, and within the specified time the 
 great authority on such cases was standing by litlle Harold's 
 bedside. 
 
 " The fever is over, but the child is sinking from exhaus 
 tion. Give him a glass of champagne instantly," were the 
 first directions given by the great man. 
 
 Hinton returned with a bottle of the best his money 
 could purchase in ten minutes. 
 
 A tablespoonful was given to the child. He opened his 
 eyes and seemed revived. 
 
 " Ah 1 that is good. I will stay with the little fellow to 
 night," said Dr. H . "You, madam," he added, look-
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND, 
 
 97 
 
 ing at Mrs. Home, " are to go to bed. On no other condi 
 tion do I stay." 
 
 Hinton and Dr. H shared that night's watch between 
 
 them, and in the morning the little life was pronounced safe. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 EMPTY PURSES. 
 
 IT was not until Harold's life was really safe that his 
 mother realized how very nearly he had been taken from her. 
 But for Hinton's timely interposition, and the arrival of Doc 
 tor H at the critical moment, the face she so loved 
 
 might have been cold and still now, and the spirit have re 
 turned to God who gave it. 
 
 Looking at the little sleeper breathing in renewed health 
 and life with each gentle inspiration, such a rush of gratitude 
 and over-powering emotion came over Mrs. Home that she 
 was obliged to follow Hinton into his sitting-room. There 
 she suddenly went down on her knees. 
 
 " God bless you," she said. " God most abundantly 
 bless you for what you have done for me and mine. You 
 are, except my husband, the most truly Christian man I ever 
 met." 
 
 " Don't," said Hinton, moved and even shocked at her 
 position. "I loved I love the little lad. It is nothing, 
 what we do for those we love." 
 
 " No ; it is, as you express it, nothing to save a mother's 
 heart from worse than breaking," answered Charlotte Home. 
 " If ever you marry and have a son of your own, you will be 
 gin to understand what you have done for me. You will be 
 thankful then to think of this day." 
 
 Then with a smile which an angel might have given him, 
 the mother went away, and Hinton sat down to write to 
 Charlotte. But he was much moved and excited by those 
 earnest words of love and approval. He felt as though a 
 laurel wreath had been placed on his head, and he wondered 
 would his first brief, his first sense of legal triumph, be 
 sweeter to him than the look in that mother's face this morn 
 ing.
 
 9 8 HOW 12' ALL CAME ROUXD. 
 
 " And it was so easily won," he said to himself. " For 
 who but a brute under the circumstances could have acted 
 otherwise?" 
 
 In writing to Charlotte he told her all. It \vas a relief to 
 pour out his heart to her, though of course he carefully kept 
 back names. 
 
 By return of post he received her answer. 
 
 " I must do something for that mother. You will not 
 let me come to her. But if I cannot and must not come, I 
 can at least help with money. How much money shall I send 
 you ? " 
 
 To this Hinton answered, 
 
 "None. She is a proud woman. She would not accept 
 it." 
 
 As he put this second letter in the post, he felt that any 
 money gift between these two Charlottes would be impossible. 
 During little Harold's illness, he had put away all thoughts 
 of the possibility of Mrs. Home being entitled to any of his 
 Charlotte's wealth. The near and likely approach of death 
 had put far from his mind all ideas of money. But now, 
 with the return of the usual routine of life in this small and 
 humble house, came back to Hin ton's mind the thoughts 
 which had so sorely troubled him on the night on which 
 Charlotte had told him Mrs. Home's story. For his own 
 personal convenience and benefit he had put away these 
 thoughts. He had decided that he could not move hand or 
 foot in the matter. But in the very house with this woman, 
 though he might so resolve not to act, he could not put the 
 sense of the injustice done to her away from his heart. He 
 pondered on it and grew uneasy as to the righteousness of 
 his own conduct. As this uneasiness gathered strength, he 
 even avoided Mrs. Home's presence. For the first time, too, 
 in his life Hinton was beginning to realize wiiat a very ugly 
 thing poverty particularly the poverty of the upper classes 
 really is. To make things easier for this ianiily in their 
 time of illness, he had insisted on having what meals i." 
 took in the house, in the room with Mr. and Mrs. Home. 
 He would not, now that Harold was better, change this cus 
 tom. But though he liked it, it brought him into direct con 
 tact with the small shifts necessary to make so slender a. 
 purse as their's cover their necessary expenses. Mr. Home 
 noticed nothing ; but Mrs. Home's thin face grew more and 
 more worn, and Hinton's her.rt ached as he watched it. He 
 felt more and more com 1 -" 1 : 1 conduct.
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 99 
 
 These feelings were to be quickened into activity by a very 
 natural consequence which occurred just then. 
 
 Little Harold's life was spared, and neither Daisy nor the 
 baby had taken the fever. So far all was well. Doctor 
 
 H ,too, had ceased his visits, and the little invalid was left 
 
 to the care of the first doctor who had been called in. Yes, 
 up to a certain point Harold's progress towards recovery was 
 all that could be satisfactory. But beyond that point he did 
 not go. For a fortnight after the fever left him his progress 
 towards recovery was rapid. Then came the sudden stand 
 still. His appetite failed him, a cough came on, and a hectic 
 flush in the pale little face. The child was pining for a change 
 of air, and the father's and mother's purse had been already 
 drained almost to emptiness by the expenses of the first illness. 
 One day when Doctot Watson came and felt the feeble, too, 
 rapid pulse he looked grave. Mrs. Home followed him from 
 the room. 
 
 " What ails my boy, doctor ? He is making no progress, 
 none whatever." 
 
 " Does he sleep enough ? " asked Doctor Watson sud 
 denly. 
 
 " Not well ; he coughs and is restless." 
 
 " Ah ! I am sorry he has got that cough. How is his 
 appetite ? " 
 
 " He does not fancy much food. He has quite turned 
 against his beef-tea." 
 
 Doctor Watson was silent. 
 
 " What is wrong ?" asked Mrs. Home, coming nearer and 
 looking up into his face. 
 
 " Madam, there is nothing to alarm yourself with. Your 
 boy has gone through a most severe illness ; the natural con 
 sequences must follow. He wants change. He will be fit 
 to travel by easy stages in a week at latest. I should recom 
 mend Torquay. It is mild and shielded from the spring east 
 v, inds. Take him to Torquay as soon as possible. Keep 
 him there for a month, and he will return quite well." 
 
 " Suppose I cannot ? " 
 
 " Ah ! then " with an expressive shrug of the shoulders 
 
 and raising of the brows, " my advice is to take him if pos 
 sible. I don't like that cough." 
 
 Doctor Watson turned away. He felt sorry enough, but 
 he had more acute cases than little Harold Home's to trouble 
 him, and he wisely resolved that to think about what could 
 not be remedied, would but injure his own powers of working.
 
 100 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 Being a really kind-hearted man he said to himself, " I will 
 make their bill as light as I can when I send it in." And 
 then he forgot the poor curate's family until the time came 
 round for his next visit. Meanwhile Airs. Home stood still 
 for a moment where he had left her, then went slowly to her 
 own room. 
 
 " Mother, mother, I want you," called the weak, querulous 
 voice of the sick child. 
 
 " Coming in a moment, darling," she said. But for that 
 one moment, she felt she must be alone. 
 
 Locking her door she went down o.i her knees. Not a 
 tear came to her eyes, not a word to her lips. T tie re was an 
 inward groan, expressing itself in some voiceless manner 
 after this fashion, 
 
 " My God, my God, must I go through the fiery furnace ? " 
 Then smoothing her hair, and forcing a smile back to her 
 lips, she went back to her little son. 
 
 All that afternoon she sat with him, sin -ing to him, tell 
 ing him stories, playing with him. In the c . ening, however, 
 she sought an opportunity to speak to her husband alone. 
 
 " Angus, you know how nearly we lost our boy a week 
 ago ? " 
 
 The curate paused, and looked at her earnestly, surprised 
 at her look and manner. 
 
 "Yes, my dearest," he said. " But God was merciful." 
 
 " Oh ! Angus," she said ; and now relief came to her, 
 for as she spoke she began to weep. " Ycvi are good, you 
 are brave, you could have let him go. But tor me for me 
 it would have killed me. I should have died or gone 
 mad ! " 
 
 " Lottie dear my darling, you are over-strung. The 
 trial, the fiery trial, was not sent. Why dwell on what our 
 loving Father has averted ? " 
 
 " Oh, Angus ! but has He has He," then choking with 
 pent-up emotion, she told what the doctor had said to-day, 
 how neccessary the expensive change was for the little life. 
 " And we have no money," she said in conclusion, " our purse 
 is very nearly empty." 
 
 " Very nearly empty indeed," answered Angus Home. 
 
 He was absolutely silent after this news, no longer at 
 tempting to comfort his wife. 
 
 *' Angus, God is cruel if for the sake of wanting a little 
 money our boy must die." 
 
 " Don't," said the curate God was so precious to him
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. IOI 
 
 that these words smote on him even now with a sense of 
 agony "don't," he repeated, and he raised his hand as 
 though to motion away an evil spirit. 
 
 " He is cruel if He lets our boy die for want of money to 
 save him," repeated the mother in her desperation. 
 
 " He won't do that, Lottie He will never do that, there 
 is not the least fear." 
 
 " Then how are we to get the money ? " 
 
 " I don't know, I cannot think to-night. I will go up to 
 Harold now." 
 
 He turned and left the room with slow steps. As he 
 mounted the stairs his back was so bent, his face so gray and 
 careworn, that though scarcely forty he looked like an old 
 man. 
 
 This was Harold's one precious hour with his father, and 
 the little fellow was sitting up in bed and expecting him. 
 
 " Father," he said, noticing the anxious look on his face, 
 which was generally as serene and peaceful as the summer 
 sea, ' ; what is the matter? You are ill; are you going to 
 have the scarlet fever too ? " 
 
 " No, my dear, dear boy. I am quite well, quite well at 
 least in body. I have a care on my mind that makes me look 
 a little sad, but don't notice it, Harold, it will pass." 
 
 " You have a care on your mind ! " said Harold in a tone 
 of surprise. " I know mother often, often has, but I did not 
 think you had cares, father." 
 
 " How can I help it, boy, sometimes ? " 
 
 " I thought you gave your cares to God. I don't under 
 stand a bit how you manage it, but I remember quite well 
 your telling mother that you gave your cares away to God." 
 
 The father turning round suddenly, stooped down and 
 kissed the boy. 
 
 "Thank you, my son, for reminding me. Yes, I will 
 give this care too to God, it shall not trouble me." 
 
 Then the two began to talk, and the son's little wasted 
 hand was held in the father's. The father's face had recov 
 ered its serenity, and the little son, though he coughed con 
 tinually, looked happy. 
 
 " Father," he said suddenly, " there's just one thing I'm 
 sorry for." 
 
 " What's that, my boy ? " 
 
 " There were a whole lot of other things, father ; about 
 my never having gone to live in the country, and those gypsy 
 teas that mother told me of. You light a fire outside, you
 
 102 HOW IT ALL CAME KOUXD. 
 
 know, father, and boil the kettle on it, and have your tea in 
 the woods and the fields. It must be just delicious. I was 
 sorry about that, for I've never been to one, never even to 
 one all my life long; and then there's the pretty lady I do 
 want to see my pretty lady once again. I was sorry about 
 those things all day, but not now. 'Tisn't any of those things 
 makes me so sorry now." 
 
 " What makes you sorry, Harold ? " 
 
 "Father, I'm just a little bit jealous about Jesus. You 
 see there's always such a lot of us little children dying and 
 going to heaven, and He can't come for us all, so He has to 
 send angels. Now I don't wan't an angel, I want Him to 
 come for me Himself." 
 
 " Perhaps He will, Harold," said his father, " perhaps 
 Jesus will be so very loving to His little lamb that He will 
 find time to come for him Himself." 
 
 "Oh, father ! when you are giving Him your new care to 
 night, will you just ask Him not to be so dreadfully busy, 
 but to try and come Himself ? " 
 
 "Yes, Harold," said the father. 
 
 After this promise little Harold went to sleep very hap 
 pily. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " THY WILL BE DONE." 
 
 " You always give your cares to God," little Harold had 
 said to his father. 
 
 That father, on his knees with his head bowed between 
 his hands, and a tempest of agony, of entreaty in his heart, 
 found suddenly that he could not give this care away to 
 God. For a moment, when the boy had spoken, he ha i 
 Believed that this was possible, but when little Harold 
 had himself spoken so quietly of dying and going to Jesus, 
 ihe father's heart rose suddenly in the fiercest rebellion. No ; 
 if it meant the slaying of his first-born he could not so quietly 
 lay it in the hands of God and say, "Thy will be done." This 
 unearthly man, who had always lived with a kind of heaven 
 sent radiance round his path, found himself suddenly human
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 103 
 
 after all. His earthly arms clung tightly round the earthly 
 form of his pretty little lad and would not unclasp themselves. 
 it was to this man who had so serenely and for many yer.rs 
 walked in the sunshine of God's presence, with nothing to 
 hide his glory from his eyes, as though he had come up to a 
 high, a blank, an utterly impenetrable wall, which shut away 
 all the divine radiance. He could neither climb this wall, 
 nor could he see one glimpse of God at the dark side where 
 he found himself. In an agony this brave heart tried to pray, 
 but his voice would not rise above his chamber, would not 
 indeed even ascend to his lips. He found himself suddenly 
 voiceless and dumb, dead despair stealing over him. He did 
 not, however, rise from his knees, and in this position his 
 wife found him when, ' late that night, she came up to bed. 
 She had been crying so hard and so long that by very force 
 of those tears her heart was lighter, and her husband, when 
 he raised his eyes, hollow from the terrible struggle within, 
 to her face, looked now the most miserable of the two. 
 The mute appeal in his eyes smote on the wife's loving heart, 
 instantly she came over and knelt by his side. 
 
 "You must come to bed, Angus dear. I have arranged 
 with Mr. Hinton, and he v/ill sit up with our little lad for the 
 next few hours." 
 
 " I could not sleep, Lottie," answered the husband. 
 " God is coming to take away our child and I can't say, ' Thy 
 will be done." ' 
 
 " You can't ! " repeated the wife, and now her lips fell 
 apart and she gazed at her husband. 
 
 " No Lottie ; you called God cruel downstairs, and now 
 He looks cruel to me. I can't give Him my first-born. I 
 can't say ' Thy will be done ; ' but oh ! " continued the 
 wretched man, " this is horrible, this is blasphemous. Oh ! 
 has God indeed forsaken me ? " 
 
 " No, no, no ! " suddenly almost shrieked the wife ; " no, 
 no ! " she repeated ; and natf she had flung her arms round 
 her husband and was straiuug him to her heart. " Oh, my 
 darling ! my beloved ! you Yr^re never, never, never, so near to 
 me, so dear to me, as now. God does not want you to say 
 that, Angus. Angus, it is not God's will that our child should 
 die, it is Satan's will, not God's. God is love, and it can't be 
 love to torture us, and tear our darling away from us like that. 
 The will of God is righteousness, and love, and happiness ; 
 not darkness, and death, and misery. Oh, Angus I let us both
 
 104 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 kneel here and say, ' Thy will be done,' for I believe the will 
 of God will be to save the child." 
 
 A great faith had suddenly come to this woman. She 
 lifted her voice, and a torrent of eloquent words,, of passion 
 ate utterances, rent the air and went up to God from that 
 little room, and the husband stole his hand into the wife's as 
 she prayed. After this they both slept, and Lottie's heart 
 was lighter than it had ever been in all her life before. 
 
 The next morning this lightness, almost gayety of heart, 
 WitZ still there. For the time she had really changed places 
 with her husband ; for, believing that the end would be good, 
 she felt strong to endure. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Home went downstairs to find Hinton re 
 garding them anxiously. He had not spent a long night with 
 the sick child without gathering very clearly how imminent 
 was the peril still hanging over the family. Harold's night 
 had been a wretched one, and he was weaker this morning. 
 Hinton felt that a great deal more must be done to restore 
 Harold to health ; but he had not heard what Dr. Watson 
 had said, and was therefore as yet in the dark and much 
 puzzled how best to act. Seeing the mother's face serene, 
 almost calm, as she poured out the tea, and the father's 
 clouded_over, he judged both wrongly. 
 
 " She is deceived," he said of the one. " He knows," he 
 said of the other. Had he, however, reversed the positions 
 it would have been nearer the truth. 
 
 He went away with a thousand schemes in his head. He 
 would visit the doctor. He would could he might he, risk 
 a visit to Charlotte ? He was resolved that in some way he 
 must save the boy ; but it was not reserved for his hand to 
 do the good deed on this occasion. After breakfast he went 
 out, and Mr. Home, feeling almost like a dead man, hurried 
 off to the daily service. 
 
 For a brief moment Charlotte was alone. The instant 
 she found herself so, she went straight down on her knees, 
 and with eyes and heart raised to heaven, said, aloud and 
 fervently, 
 
 " Thy holy, loving, righteous Will be done." 
 
 Then she got up and went to her little son. In the course 
 of the morning the boy said to his mother, 
 
 " How much I should like to see that pretty lady." 
 
 "It would not be safe for her to come to you, my dar 
 ling," said Mrs. Home. " You are not yet quite free from in-
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 105 
 
 faction, and if you saw her now she might get ill. You would 
 not harm your pretty lady, Harold ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, mother, not for worlds. But if I can't see 
 her," he added, "may I have her toys to play with ? " 
 
 The mother fetched them and laid them on the bed. 
 
 " And now give me what was in the brown paper parcels, 
 mother. The dear, dear, dainty clothes ! Oh ! didn't our 
 baby look just lovely in his velvet frock ? Please, mother, 
 may I see those pretty things once again ? " 
 
 Mrs. Home could not refuse. The baby's pelisse, Daisy's 
 frock, and Harold's own hat were placed by his side. He 
 took up the hat with a great sigh of admiration. It was of 
 dark purple plush, with a plume of ostrich feathers. 
 
 " May I put it on,, mother ? " asked the little lad. 
 
 He did so, then asked for a glass to look at himself. 
 
 " Ah ? " he said, half crying, half frightened at his wasted 
 pale little face under this load of finery, " I don't like it now. 
 My pretty, pretty lady's hat is much too big for me now. I 
 can't wear it. Oh ! mother, wouldn't she be disappointed ? " 
 
 " She shan't be," said the mother, "for I will draw in the 
 lining, and then it will fit you as well as possible." 
 
 " But oh ! mother, do be careful. I saw her put in a nice 
 little bit of soft paper ; 1 saw her put it under the lining my 
 own self. You will crush that bit of paper if you aren't care 
 ful, mother." 
 
 The mother did not much heed the little eager voice, she 
 drew in a cord which ran round the lining, then again placed 
 the hat on Harold's head. 
 
 " Now it fits, darling," she said. 
 
 " But I think the bit of paper is injured," persisted the 
 boy. " How funny I should never have thought of it until 
 now. I'll take it out, mother, and you can put it by with the 
 other things." 
 
 The little fingers poked under the lining and drew out 
 something thin and neatly folded. 
 
 " Look, look, mother ! " he said excitedly ; " there's writ 
 ing. Read it, mother ; read what she said." 
 
 Mrs. Home read, 
 
 " For Harold, with his lady's love." 
 
 She turned the paper. There, staring her in the face, 
 lay a fresh, crisp Bank of England note for fifty pounds.
 
 I0 6 HOW IT ALL CslME ROUNL 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 YOU KEPT A SECRET FROM ME." 
 
 HINTON, when he went away that morning, was, as I have 
 said, very undecided now best to act. He saw very clearly 
 the fresh danger arising to Harold. Was he but rescued 
 from the dangerous fever to fall a prey to lingering, or, per 
 haps, rapid consumption ? Even his unprofessional eye saw 
 the danger the boy was in ; and the boy himself, lying awake 
 during most of the weary hours of the night, had confided to 
 his friend some thoughts which it seemed to Hinton could 
 only come to such a child as the precursor of death. He 
 now loved the boy for his own sake, and he was determined, 
 even more determined than during the height of the fever, to 
 do something to again save his life. 
 
 After a brief pause for rapid thought, he determined to 
 visit Dr. Watson. That busy man was at home and saw 
 Hinton at once. 
 
 " Little Home is no better," said Hinton, going straight, 
 as his wont was, to the very heart of his subject. 
 
 " He will never be any better unless he has change," re 
 plied the doctor. " Neither I nor any other man can now do 
 more for him. He requires, nay, he is dying for want of na 
 ture's remedies, complete change, fresh, mild sea-air. I told 
 his mother so most plainly yesterday. I recommended Tor 
 quay within a week from now, if she wishes to save his life. " 
 
 " Torquay is an expensive place, and a very long way 
 from London," replied Hinton. " It seems almost cruel to 
 tell Mrs. Home to do that for her child which must be utterly 
 impossible." 
 
 " There is no other chance for his life," replied the doc 
 tor. " I should be doing less than my duty, did I for a 
 moment conceal that fact." 
 
 Hinton paused for a moment to think, then he abruptly 
 changed the subject. 
 
 " I want to visit a friend this morning a friend who has 
 never had scarlet fever. It is rather important that we should 
 meet; but I must not risk danger. You know I have been a
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROtyND. 107 
 
 good deal with the little boy. Is there a risk to ray friend 
 in our meeting now ? " 
 
 "Change all your clothes," replied the doctor; "wear 
 nothing you have in the Homes' house. Perhaps it would 
 also be a wise precaution to take a Turkish bath. If you do 
 all this you may meet your friend without the slightest risk 
 of evil consequences." 
 
 Hinton thanked the doctor, and as the result of this con 
 versation entered the dining-room in Prince's Gate just as 
 Charlotte was sitting down to her solitary luncheon. 
 
 It was over three weeks since these two had met, and the 
 long three weeks had seemed like for ever to the loving 
 heart of the woman, who was so soon now to be Hinton's 
 wife. She expressed her joy at this unexpected meeting, not 
 so much by words, but so effectually with eyes and manner, 
 that Hinton, as he folded his arms round her, could not help 
 a great throb of thankfulness rising up from his heart. 
 
 They sat down to lunch, and then afterwards Hinton told 
 Jier the story of little Harold Home. In telling this tale, 
 however, he omitted again both name and address. He had 
 not meant when beginning his tale to keep these things any 
 longer a mystery from her, but as the words dropped from 
 him, and Charlotte's eyes were fixed on his face, and Char 
 lotte's lips trembled with emotion, some undefined sensation 
 prompted him to keep back these particulars. 
 
 Hinton, in coming to Charlotte, relied on her help, but he 
 meant her just now to bestow it as on a stranger. As he had 
 expected, his tale aroused her warmest enthusiasm and in 
 terest. 
 
 " John," she said, " something must be done. The boy 
 must not die ! " 
 
 " He must go to Torquay," replied Hinton. " That is 
 most manifest. But the difficulty will be how. They are 
 very proud people. The difficulty will be how to induce 
 them to accept aid from outsiders." 
 
 " Do you think they will be proud, John, when their child's 
 life depends on their accepting some aid from others ? I 
 don't think they will allow so false an emotion to sacrifice 
 his little precious life. It seems to me, that were I in that 
 mother's place, I would lick the dust off the most menial feet 
 that ever walked, to save my child." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right," said Hinton : " there is no doubt 
 that one woman can best read the heart of another. What I 
 propose is, that I take the little boy down to Torquay for a,
 
 log HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 few weeks ; I can make an excuse to the mother on my own 
 score, and it will not seem so hard for her to send her boy. 
 And the little lad loves me, I believe." 
 
 " Would it not be best for the mother to take her child 
 herself ? " 
 
 " It undoubtedly would. But it would be placing her 
 under deeper obligation. I want to make it as light as pos 
 sible to her." 
 
 " Then, John, you will give me one happiness ? I will 
 provide the money for this expedition." 
 
 "You shall, my dearest," answered Hinton, stooping 
 down and kissing her. 
 
 He meant her to help Charlotte Home in this way, and 
 he did not notice the slight sigh scarcely allowed to escape 
 her lips. The fact was, Charlotte Harman had grown very 
 hungry, almost starved, for her lover during his three weeks' 
 absence, and now the thought that he was going still farther 
 away from her, and their wedding-day drawing so quickly on, 
 could not but excite a pang ; the selfish part of her rose in 
 revolt, and struggled to rebel, but with a firm hand she kept 
 it well under, and Hinton never noticed her strangled little 
 sigh. They talked for a long time of their plans, and Char 
 lotte mentioned what money she had of her very own, and 
 which could be immediately at Hinton's disposal. In the 
 midst of this conversation, the postman's knock was heard, 
 and a moment later a servant brought Charlotte a letter. She 
 did not recognize the handwriting, and laid it for a moment 
 unopened by her side. Then some confused remembrance 
 of having seen it before, caused her to tear open the enve 
 lope. This was what her eyes rested on. 
 
 " Charlotte my sister and friend I have found the little 
 piece of paper yc - : put into my Harold's hat. I never knew 
 it was there until to-day. Thank God I did noi know, for 
 had I seen it after your visit, I i liould certainly, in my mad, 
 ungracious, evil pride, have returned it to you. 
 
 " Dear Charlotte God nearly broke my he:.rt since I saw 
 vn. He nearly took my boy away. In that process my 
 pride has gone, though my love and tendern -ss and grati 
 tude to you remain, for with this fifty pounds YOU are saving 
 my child's little life. Thank you for it. G jd will bless you 
 for it. You will never never regret this deed. It will come 
 back to you, the remembrance of it, in the midst of your own 
 wealth and affluence, or if dark days visit you, you will let
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 109 
 
 your thoughts wander to it as a place of safe anchorage in 
 the storm. It will, all your life long, be a source to you of 
 rejoicing that you saved a father's and mother's hearts from 
 breaking, and kept a precious little life in this world. 
 
 " I can add no more now, my dear. For this money must 
 be spent, and at once. Oh ! precious, valuable gold, which 
 is to keep Harold with me ! I will write to you when we 
 come back from Torquay ; do not come to see me before, it 
 would not be safe for you. 
 
 " Ever, my dear friend, because of you, the happiest and 
 most grateful mother on God's earth, 
 
 "CHARLOTTE HOME." 
 
 Charlotte Harman's face was very white when, after read 
 ing this letter, she raised her eyes to Hinton's. What had 
 been written with all joy and thankfulness was received with 
 pain. Why had Hinton kept this thing from her ? Why had 
 he not told her where he had been staying ? 
 
 " You kept a secret from me," she said, and her eyes 
 filled with heavy tears. 
 
 Then as he tried to comfort her, being very compunctious 
 himself at having failed utterly to trust one so brave and 
 noble, she suddenly drew herself from his embrace. 
 
 " John," she said, with some pride in her voice, " did you 
 in any degree keep this thing from* me because you believed 
 Mrs. Home's story about my grandfather's will ? " 
 
 " I had a thousand nameless reasons for not telling you, 
 Charlotte. My principal one after the child got ill was my 
 fear that you would come to the house, and so run the risk 
 of infection." 
 
 " Then you do not at all believe Mrs. Home's story ? " 
 
 " I have not investigated it, my darling. I have done 
 nothing but simply listen to what you yourself told me. You 
 do not believe it ? " 
 
 " Certainly not ! How could I ? It implicates my 
 father." 
 
 " We will not think of it, Charlotte." 
 
 " We must think of it, for justice must be done to this 
 woman and to her children ; and besides, I wish to clear it 
 up, for I will not have my father blamed." 
 
 Hinton was silent. Charlotte gazed at him eagerly, his 
 silence dissatisfied her. His whole manner carried the convic 
 tion that his faith in her father was by no means equal to hers. 
 
 " Ts it possible to see wills ? " she asked suddenly.
 
 HO hOW IT AJLL CAME ROUND. 
 
 " Certainly, dear ; anybody can see any will by paying a 
 shilling, at Somerset House." 
 
 "Would my grandfather's will be kept at Somerset 
 House ? " 
 
 " Yes. All wills are kept there." 
 
 "Then," said Charlotte, rising as she spoke, "before our 
 wedding-day I will go to Somerset House and read my grand 
 father's will." 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THEY RECALL TOO MUCH. 
 
 MR. HARMAN had a hard task before him. He was keep 
 ing two things at bay, two great and terrible things, Death 
 and Thought. They were pursuing him, they were racing 
 madly after him, and sometimes the second of these his 
 enemies so far took possession of him as to grasp him by the 
 heartstrings. But though he knew well that in the end both 
 one and the other would conquer and lay him low, yet still 
 he was in a measure victor. That strong nourishment, those 
 potent medicines were keeping the life in him ; while his still 
 eager absorption in business prevented that time for reflection 
 which was worse than death. His medical man, knowing 
 nothing of his inner history, had begged of him to rest, to 
 give up business, assuring him that by so doing he would 
 prolong his short span of life. But Harman had answered, 
 and truly, " If I give up business I shall be in my grave in a 
 fortnight ; " and there was such solemn conviction in his 
 voice and manner, that the physician was fain to bow to the 
 dictum of his patient. Except once to his brother Jasper, 
 and once to Hinton, Mr. Harman had mentioned to no one 
 how near he believed his end to be. The secret was not 
 alluded to, the master of the house keeping up bravely, bear 
 ing his pains in silence and alone, and that subtle element 
 of rejoicing began to pervade this quiet, luxurious home 
 which precedes a wedding. Only one in the dwelling ever 
 thought of funeral gloom. 
 
 Little Harold Home had gone to Torquay with his mother. 
 Hinton was once more free to go in and out of the house in
 
 HO W IT ALL CAME ROUND. Ill 
 
 Prince's Gate, and he and Charlotte were necessarily much 
 occupied with each other. There seemed to these two so 
 much to be done, and the time seemed so short until the 
 twentieth c April, that had the very sun stood still for them, 
 they would have felt no undue sensation of surprise. 
 
 When people are about to step into the Garden of Eden 
 even nature must sympathize, and marriage seemed that to 
 Charlotte and Hinton. After their wedding tour it was ar 
 ranged that they were to come to the house in Prince's Gato. 
 For some time Mr. Harman had begged them to make it 
 their home ; but though Hinton could not oppose, he had a 
 hope of some day settling down in a smaller house. He liked 
 the power which wealth could give, but he was so unused to 
 luxuries, that they were in themselves almost repellent to 
 him. Charlotte, on the contrary, was perfectly happy to live 
 in the old place. Home to this womanly heart was wherever 
 her loved ones were ; and she also acceded joyfully to 
 another question which otherwise might have appeared a 
 little either strange or selfish. Her father begged of her not 
 to extend her wedding tour beyond a week. ' " Come back 
 to me," said the old man, " at the end of a week ; let me 
 feel that comfort when you say good-by on your wedding- 
 day." 
 
 Charlotte had promised, with her arms round his neck ar;d 
 her bright hair touching his silver locks. And now April had 
 set in, and the days flew fast. All was bustle and confusion, 
 and milliners and dressmakers worked as though there had 
 never been a bride before, and Charlotte, too, believed there 
 had never been so happy, so fortunate, so altogether blessed 
 a woman as herself. 
 
 One of those spring days, for the weather was particularly 
 lovely, Mr. Harman came home earlier than usual and went 
 to his study. For no special reason he had found it impos 
 sible to settle to any active work that morning. He had 
 hastened home, and now taking his accustomed medicine, 
 lay back in his armchair to rest. The medicine he had 
 taken was partly of a sedative character, but to-day it failed 
 in all soothing effects. That bloodhound Thought was near, 
 and with a bound k sprang forward and settled its fangs into 
 his heartstrings. 
 
 Mr. Harman could not sit still, he rose and began to pace 
 his room. Stay how could he quiet this monster of remorse 
 and reflection ? Would death doit by and by? He shook 
 his head as this idea came to him. Were death but an anni-
 
 H2 110 IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 hilation he could, would, how gladly, welcome it, but all his 
 firmest convictions pointed to a God and a future. A future to 
 him meant retribution. He found it absolutely impossible to 
 comfort his heart with so false a doctrine as that of annihila 
 tion. In the midst of his meditations his brother Jasper 
 entered. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! . John, you do look bad ! " he exclaimed 
 almost in\ oluntarily, noticing the anguish on the fine old 
 face. 
 
 " I'm a very miserable man," answered John Harman, 
 and he sank down into a chair as he spoke. 
 
 "I would not think so much about my health,'' said 
 Jasper ; " doctors are the most mistaken fools under the sun. 
 I knew a man out in Australia, and the first medical man in 
 Sydney told him he had not a week to live. He came home 
 and made his will and bid all his relations good-by. Well, 
 what were the consequences ? The week came to an end, 
 but not the man ; my dear John, that man is alive now, and 
 what is more, he is in the enjoyment of perfect health. The 
 doctor was all wrong ; they are mortal like ourselves, man, 
 and by no means infallible. I would not take my death for 
 granted, if I were you ; I would determine to take out a 
 fresh lease of life when Charlotte is married. Determination 
 does wonders in such cases." 
 
 " I am not thinking of my death," answered Mr. Harman ; 
 w were death but all, I could almost welcome it. No, it is 
 not death, it is memory. Jasper," he added, turning fiercely 
 on his brother, " you were as the very devil to me once, why 
 do you come to preach such sorry comfort now ? " 
 
 Jasper Hannan had an impenetrable face, but at these 
 words it turned a shade pale. He went to the fire and 
 stirred it, he put on more coul, he even arranged in a rather 
 noisy way one or two of the chimney ornaments. 
 
 " If only that trustee had not died just then and if only 
 only you had not tempted me," continued the elder 
 man. 
 
 " You forget, John," suddenly said Jasper, " what the al 
 ternative would have been just then, absolute ruin, ruin 
 coupled with disgrace ! " 
 
 " I do not believe in the disgrace, and as to the ruin, we 
 could have started afresh. Oh ! to start even now with but 
 sixpence in my pocket, and with clean hands ! What 
 would have been the old disgrace compared to the present 
 misery ? "
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. I 1<3 
 
 " Take comfort, John, no one knows of it ; and if we are 
 but careful no one need ever know. Don't excite yourself, 
 be but careful, and no one need ever know." 
 
 " God knows," answered the white-headed elder brother. 
 And at these words Jasper again turned his face away. After 
 a time, in which he thought briefly and rapidly, he turned, 
 and sitting down by John, began to speak. 
 
 " Something has come to my knowledge which may be a 
 comfort to you. I did not mention it earlier, because in your 
 present state of health I know you ought not to worry your 
 self. But as it seems you are so over-sensitive, I may as well 
 mention thai: it will be possible for vou to make reparation 
 without exposing yourself." 
 
 " How ? " asked Mr. Harman. 
 
 " I know where Daisy Harman's daughter lives you know 
 we completely lost sight of her. I believe she is poor ; she 
 is married to a curate, all curates are poor ; they have three 
 children. Suppose, suppose you settled, say, well, half 
 the money her mother had for her lifetime, on this 
 young woman. That would be seventy-five pounds a year ; 
 a great difference seventy-five pounds would make in a poor 
 home." 
 
 " A little of the robbery paid back," said Mr. Harman 
 with a dreary smile. " Jasper, you are a worse rogue than I 
 am, and I believe you study the Bible less. God knows I 
 don't care to confront myself with its morality, but I have a 
 memory that it recommends, nay, commands, in the case of 
 restoring again, or of paying back stolen goods, that not half 
 should be given, but the whole, multiplied fourfold ! " 
 
 "Such a deed, as Quixotic as unnecessary, could not be 
 done, it would arouse suspicion," said Jasper decidedly. 
 
 After this the two brothers talked together for son.e time. 
 Jasper quiet and calm, John disturbed and perplexed, too 
 perplexed to notice that the younger and harder man was 
 keeping back part of the truth. But conversation agitated 
 John Harman, agitated him so much that that evening some of 
 the veil was torn from his daughter's eyes, for during dinner 
 he fainted away. Then there was commotion and dismay, 
 and the instant sending for doctors, and John Hinton and 
 Jasper Harman both felt almost needless alarm. 
 
 When the old man came to himself he found his head 
 resting on his daughter's shoulder. During all the time he 
 was unconscious she had eyes and ears for no one else. 
 
 " Leave me alone with the child," he said feebly to all the
 
 1 14 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 others. When they were gone, he looked at her anxious 
 young face. "There is no cause, my darling, no cause what 
 ever ; what does one faint signify ? Put your arms round 
 me, Charlotte, and I shall feel quite well." 
 
 She did so, laying her sott cheek against his. 
 
 " Now you shall see no one but me to-night," she said, 
 " and I shall sit with you the whole evening, and you must 
 lie still and not talk. You are ill, father, and you have tried 
 to keep it from, me." 
 
 " A little weak and unfit for much now, I confess." he said 
 in a tone of relief. He saw she was not seriously alarmed, 
 and it was a comfort to confide so far in her. 
 
 " You are weak and tired, and need rest," she said : 
 " you shall see no one to-night but me, and I will stay with 
 you the whole evening ! " 
 
 "What ! " said her father, " you will give up Hinton for 
 me, Lottie ! " 
 
 " Even that I will do for you," she said, and she stooped 
 and kissed his gray head. 
 
 " I believe you love me, Lottie. I shall think of that all 
 the week you are away. You are sure you will only remain 
 away one week ? " 
 
 " Father, you and I have never been parted before in all 
 my life ; I promise faithfully to come back in a week," she 
 answered. 
 
 He smiled at this, and allowing her still to retain his 
 hand in hers, sank into a quiet sleep. While he slept 
 Charlotte sat quietly at his feet. She felt perplexed and 
 irresolute. Her father's fainting fit had alarmed her, and 
 now, looking into his face, even to her inexperience, the 
 ravages which disease, both mental and physical, had brought 
 there could not but be apparent to her. She had to acknowl 
 edge to herself that her father, only one year her Uncle 
 Jasper's senior, looked a very old, nay, she could not shut 
 her eyes to the fact, a very unhappy man. What brought 
 that look on his face ? A look which she acknowledged to 
 herself she had seen there all her life, but which seemed to 
 be growing in intensity with his added years. She clcsed 
 her own eyes with a pang as a swift thought of great anguish 
 came over her. This thought passed as quickly as it came : 
 in her remorse at having entertained it she stooped down 
 and kissed the withered old hand which si.il! lay in hers. 
 
 It was impossible for Charlotte really to doubt her 
 father ; but occupied as she was with her wedding prepara-
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. I ^ 
 
 ticns, and full of brightness as her sky undoubtedly looked 
 to her just now, she had not forgotten Hinton's manner 
 when she had asked him what faith he put in Mrs. Home's 
 story. Hinton had evaded her inquiry. This evasion was 
 as much as owning that he shared Mrs. Home's suspicions. 
 Charlotte must clear up her beloved father in the eyes of 
 that other beloved one. If on all hands she was warned 
 not to agitate him, there was another way in which she could 
 do it : she could read her grandfather's will. But though 
 she had made up her mind to do this, she had an unaccount 
 able repugnance to the task. For the first time in all her 
 open, above-board life she would be doing something which 
 she must conceal from her father. Even John Hinton 
 should not accompany her to Somerset House. She must 
 find the will and master its contents, and the deed once 
 done, what a relief to her ! With what joy would she with 
 her own lips chase away the cloud which she felt sure rested 
 over her beloved father in her lover's heart ! 
 
 " It is possible that, dearly as we love each other, such 
 a little doubt might divide us by and by," she said to her 
 self. " Yes, yes, it is right that I should dissipate it, abso 
 lutely right, when I feel so very, very sure." 
 
 At this moment her father stirred in his sleep, and she 
 distinctly heard the words drop from his lips 
 
 " I would make reparation." 
 
 Before she had even time to take these words in, he had 
 opened his eyes and was gazing at her. 
 
 " You are better now," she said, stooping down and kiss 
 ing him. 
 
 " Yes, my darling ; much, much better." He sat up as 
 he spoke, and made an effort to put on at least a show of 
 life and vigor. " A man of my age fainting, Charlotte, is 
 nothing," he said ; " really nothing whatever. You must 
 not dwell on it again." 
 
 " I will not," she said. 
 
 Her answer comforted him and he became really brighter 
 and better. 
 
 " It is nice to have you all to myself, my little girl ; 
 it is very nice. Not that I grudge you to Hinton ; I have a 
 great regard for Hinton ; but, my darling, you and I have 
 been so much to each other. We have never in all our lives 
 had one quarrel." 
 
 " Quarrel, father ! of course not. How can those who 
 love as we do quarrel."
 
 !l6 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 " Sometimes they do, Lottie. Thank God, such an 
 experience cannot visit you ; but it comes to some and 
 darkens everything. I have known it." 
 
 "You have, father?" In spite of herself, Charlotte 
 felt her voice trembling. 
 
 " I had a great and terrible quarrel with my father, 
 Charlotte ; my father who seemed once as close to me as 
 your father is to you. He married again, and the marriage 
 displeased me, and such bitter words passed between us, 
 that for years that old man and I did not speak. For years, 
 the last years of his life, we were absolutely divided. We 
 made it up in the end ; we were one again when he died ; 
 but what happened then has embittered my whole life my 
 whole life." 
 
 Charlotte was silent, though the color was coming into 
 her cheeks and her heart began to beat. 
 
 " And to-day, Lottie," continued Mr. Harman, "to-day 
 your uncle Jasper told me about my father's little daughter. 
 You have never heard of her ; she was a baby-child when I saw 
 her last. There were many complications after my father's 
 death ; complications which you must take on trust, for I 
 cannot explain them to you. They led to my never seeing 
 that child again. Lottie, though she "was my little half- 
 sister, she was quite young, not older than you, and to-day 
 Jasper told me about her. He knows where she lives ; she 
 is married and has children, and is poor. I could never, 
 never bring myself to look on her face ; but some day, not 
 when I am alive, but some day you may know her ; I should 
 like you to know her some day, and to be kind to her. She 
 has been hardly treated, into that too I cannot go ; but I 
 must set it right. I mean to give her money ; you will not 
 be quite so rich ; you won't mind that ? " 
 
 " Mind it ! mind it ! Oh, father ! " And Charlotte suddenly 
 began to weep ; she could not help that sudden, swift shower, 
 though she struggled hard to repress it, seeing how her father 
 trembled, and how each moment he looked more agitated. 
 
 " D.J you know," she said, checking her sobs as soon as 
 she possibly could, " that Uncle Jasper, too, has told me that . 
 ~tory ; he asked me not to speak of it to you, for you would 
 only be upset. He said how much you took to heart, even 
 still, that time when your father was angry with you." 
 
 "And I an^ry wiih him, Lottie; and I with him. Don't 
 forget that." 
 
 " Yes, dear father, he told me the tale. I longed to
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 117 
 
 come to you with it, for it puzzled me, but he would not let 
 me. Father, I, too, have seen that little sister ; she is not 
 little now, she is tall and noble-looking. She is a sweet and 
 brave woman, and she has three of the most lovely children 
 I ever saw ; her children are like angels. Ah ! I shall be 
 glad to help that woman and those children. I cannot thank 
 you enough for doing this." 
 
 " Doirt thank me, child ; in God's name don't thank me." 
 
 " If you could but see those children." 
 
 " I would not see them ; I would not ; I could not. 
 Charlotte, you don't know what bygone memories are to an 
 old man like me. I could never see either the mother or 
 the children. Lottie, tell me nothing more about them ; if 
 you love me never mention their names to me. They recall 
 too much, and I am weak and old. I will help them ; yes, 
 before God I promise to help them ; but I can never either 
 see or speak of them, they recall too much." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 HAD HE SEEN A GHOST ? 
 
 AT this time Jasper Harman was a very perplexed man. 
 Unnke his brother John, he was untroubled by remorse. 
 Though so outwardly good-tempered and good-natured, his 
 old heart was very hard ; and though the arrows of past 
 sins and past injustices might fly around him, they could 
 not visit the inner shrine of that adamantine thing which he 
 carried about instead of a heart of flesh within him. 
 
 What the painful process must be which would restore to 
 Jasper Harman the warm living heart of a little child, one 
 must shudder even to contemplate. At present that process 
 had not begun. But though he felt no remorse whatever, 
 and stigmatized his brother as an old fool, he had consider 
 able anxiety. 
 
 There was an ugly secret in the back parts of these two 
 brothers' lives ; a secret which had seemed all these years 
 safe and buried in the grave, but over which now little lights 
 were beginning to pour. How could Jasper plaster up the
 
 ! r g HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 crevices and restore the thing to its silent grave ? Upon 
 this problem he pondered from morning to night. 
 
 He did not like that growing anxiety of his brother's ; he 
 could not tell to what mad act it would lead him ; he did 
 not like a new look of fear which, since her father's fainting 
 fit, he had seen on Charlotte's smooth brow ; he did not like 
 Mrs. Home coming and boldly declaring that an injustice had 
 been done ; he felt that between them Ihese foolish and 
 miserable people would pull a disgraceful old secret out of 
 its grave, unless he, Jasper Harman, could outwit them. 
 What a blessing that that other trustee was dead and 
 buried, and that he, Jasper Harman, had really stood over 
 his grave. Yes, the secret which he and his brother had 
 guarded so faithfully for over twenty years might remain for 
 ever undiscovered if only common sense, the tiniest bit of 
 common sense, was exercised. Jasper paced his room as he 
 thought of this. Yes, there could be no fear, unless here 
 he stood still, and a cold dew of sudden terror stole over 
 him suppose that young woman, that wronged young woman, 
 Charlotte Home, should take it into her head to go and read 
 her father's will. The will could not be put away. For the 
 small sum of one shilling she might go and master the con 
 tents, and then the whole fraud would be laid bare. Was it 
 likely that Mrs. Home would do this ? Jasper had only seen 
 her for a moment, but during that brief glance he read deter 
 mination and fixity of* purpose in her eyes and mouth. He 
 must trust that this thought would not occur to her ; but 
 what a miserable uncertainty this was to live in ! He did 
 not know that the graver danger lay still nearer home, and 
 that his own niece Charlotte was already putting the match 
 to this mine full of gunpowder. No, clever as he thought 
 himself, he was looking for the danger at the front door, 
 when it was approaching him by the back. 
 
 After ma.ny days of most anxious thought he resolved to 
 go and see the Homes, for something must be done, and he 
 could feel his way better if he knew something of his op 
 ponents. 
 
 Getting Mr. Home's address in the Post Office Directory, 
 for he would not betray himself by questioning Charlotte, he 
 started off one evening to walk to Kentish Town. He ar 
 rived in the dusk, and by good fortune or otherwise, as he 
 liked best to term it, the curate was at h^me, and so far dis 
 engaged as to be able to give him a little leisure time. 
 
 Jasper sent in his card, and the little maid, Anne, showed
 
 HO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 119 
 
 him into the small parlor. There was a musty, unused 
 smell in the dingy little room, for Mrs. Home was still at 
 Torquay, and the curate during her absence mostly occupied 
 his study. The maid, however, turned on the gas, and as 
 she did so a small girl of four slipped in behind her. She 
 was a very pretty child, with gray eyes and black eyelashes, 
 and she stared in the full, frank manner of infancy at old 
 Jasper. She was not a shy child, and felt so little fear of 
 this good-natured, cherry-cheeked old man, that when Anne 
 withdrew she still remained in the room. 
 
 Jasper had a surface love for children ; he would not take 
 any trouble about them, but they amused him, and he found 
 pleasure in watching their unsophisticated ways. His good- 
 natured, smiling face appealed to a certain part of Daisy 
 Home, not a very high part certainly, but with the charming 
 frankness of babyhood, the part appealed to gave utterance 
 to its desire. 
 
 " Have 'ou brought me a present ? " she demanded, run 
 ning up to old Jasper and laying her hand on his knee. 
 
 " No, my dear," he replied quickly. " I'm so sorry ; I 
 forgot it." 
 
 " Did 'ou ? " said Daisy, puckering her pretty brows ; 
 ''Then 'ou're not like our pretty lady; she did not forget; 
 she brought lots and lots and lots." 
 
 " I am very sorry," replied Jasper ; " I will think of it 
 next time." And then Mr. Home coming in, the two went 
 into the little study. 
 
 "I am your wife's half-brother," said Jasper, introducing 
 himself without preface, for he had marked out his line of 
 action before he came. 
 
 " Indeed ! " replied Mr. Home. He was not a man easily 
 surprised, but this announcement did bring a slight color into 
 his face. " You are Mr. Harman," he repeated. " I am 
 sorry my wife is away. She is staying at Torquay with our 
 eldest boy, who has been ill. She has seen your daughter." 
 
 " Not my daughter, sir, my niece a fine girl, but Quixotic, 
 a little fanciful and apt to take up whims, but a fine girl for 
 all that." 
 
 " I, too, have seen Miss Harman," answered Mr. Home. 
 " I met her once in Regent's Park, and, without knowing 
 anything about us, she was good to our children. You must 
 pardon me, sir, if in expressing the same opinion about her 
 we come to it by different roads. It seems to me that the
 
 120 HOW IT ALL CAME KOr.\'D. 
 
 fine tn-.Ls in Miss Harman's character are due\.o her Quixotic 
 or umvorlclly .spirit." 
 
 For a moment Jasper Harman felt puzzled, then he 
 chuckled inwardly. ^ The man who says that, is unworldly 
 himself, therefore unpractical. So much the better for my 
 purpose." Aloud he said, " Doubtless you put the case best, 
 sir ; but I will not tai^c up your valuable time discussing my 
 niece's virtues. I have come to talk to you on a little matter 
 of business. Your wife has told you her story ? " 
 
 " My wife has certainly concealed nothing from me," re 
 plied Mr Home. 
 
 " She has mentioned her father's very curious will ? '' 
 
 " His very unjust will," corrected Mr. Home. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I agree with you, it was unjust. It is to talk 
 to you about that will I have come to you to-night." 
 
 " Sit nearer to the fire," replied Mr. Home, poking up 
 the handful in the grate into as cheerful a blaze as circum 
 stances would permit. 
 
 " It was, as you say, an unjust will," proceeded old Jasper, 
 peering hard with his short-sighted eyes at the curate, and 
 trying to read some emotion beneath his very grave exterior. 
 Being unable to fathom the depths of a character which was 
 absolutely above the love of money, he felt perplexed, he 
 scarcely liked this great self-possession. Did this Home know 
 too much ? " It was an unjust will," he repeated, " and took my 
 brother and myself considerably by surprise. Our father 
 seemed fond of his young wife, and we fully expected that he 
 would leave her and her child well provided for. However, 
 my dear sir, the facts could not be disputed. Her name 
 was not mentioned at all. The entire property was left 
 principally to my elder brother John. He and I were partners 
 in business. Our father's money was convenient, and en 
 abled us to grow rich. At the time our father died we were 
 very struggling. Perhaps the fact that the money was so 
 necessary to us just then made us think less of the widow 
 than we should otherwise have done. We did not. however, 
 forget her. We made provision for her during her life. But 
 for us she must have starved or earned her own living." 
 
 " The allowance you made was not very ample," replied 
 Mr. Home, " and such as it was it ceased at her death." 
 
 "Yes, sir; and there I own we my brother and I were 
 gutlty of an cct of injustice. I can only exonerate us on the 
 plea of want of thought. Our father's widow was a young 
 woman yr linger than either of us. The child was but a baby.
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. i 21 
 
 The widow's death seemed a very far off contingent. We 
 placed the money, we had agreed to allow her the interest 
 on, in the hands of our solicitor. We absolutely forgot the 
 matter. I went to Australia, my brother grew old at home. 
 When, five or six years ago, we heard that Mrs. Harman was 
 dead, and that our three thousand pounds could return to us, 
 we had absolutely forgotten the child. In this I own we 
 showed sad neglect. Your wife's visit to my niece, through 
 a mere accident, has recalled her to our memory, and I come 
 here to-night to say that we are willing, willing and anxious, 
 to repay that neglect, and to settle on your wife the sum of 
 three thousand pounds ; that sum to be hers unconditionally, 
 to do what she pleases with." 
 
 When Jasper ceased to speak, Mr. Home was quite silent 
 for a moment, then he said, " My wife is away at present. 
 I would rather not trouble her with money matters during 
 her short holiday. When she returns I will tell her what 
 you say and communicate to you the result." 
 
 There was neither exultation nor annoyance in the quiet 
 manner in which these few words were spoken. Uncle Jas 
 per found it impossible to understand this man. He spoke 
 as indifferently as if three thousand pounds were nothing to 
 him and yet, to judge from appearances, his whole yearly 
 income seemed hardly to represent the interest on so much 
 capital. i_j*tl this quiet manner but hide deep designs ? 
 Jasper Harman fidgeted in his chair as this thought occurred 
 to him. 
 
 " There is just one thing more to add," he said. " I will 
 leave you my club address. Kindly communicate with me there 
 I should like, while carrying out my elder brother's wish, to 
 act entirely on it without troubling him in any way. He is, 
 I am sorry to say, very ill, so ill that the least, the very least, 
 agitation is dangerous to him. He feels with me the unin 
 tentional injustice done to your wife, but he cannot bear the 
 subject alluded to. 
 
 " Would it not rather, be an ease to his mind to feel that 
 what he looks on and perhaps dwells on as a sin has been 
 expiated, as far as his own earthly act can expiate it ? " in 
 quired the clergyman gently. 
 
 " He shall know it, but from my lips. I should like him 
 best to hear it from me," said Jasper Harman. 
 
 A few moments after, he went away, Mr. Home accom 
 panying him to the hall door. The strong light of the gas 
 lamp fell on his ruddy face and sandy hair. He bade his
 
 122 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 host good-bye, and hurried down the street, never observing 
 that a man, much larger and much rougher than himself, 
 was bearing down upon him. It was raining, and the large 
 man had an umbrella up. The two came full tilt against 
 each other. Jasper felt his breath taken away, and could 
 only gasp out a word of remonstrance and apology. 
 
 " But the other, in a full, round, cheery voice, replied, 
 " I'm home from the Colonies, stranger you need not men 
 tion a tiff like that to me. Bless you ! I guess you got the 
 worst of it." 
 
 He passed on with a laugh, never noticing that he had 
 left Jasper standing in the middle of the road, gasping in 
 deed now, but from a different cause. He put his hand to 
 his heart. He felt his breath come too fast for comfort. 
 What had come to him ? Had he seen a ghost ? 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 THE CHILDREN'S GREAT-UNCLE. 
 
 IT was a few days after this that, the morning being very 
 bright and sunshiny, the little maid Anne, determined to 
 give Daisy and the baby a long morning in the park. Mrs 
 Home was expected back in a few days. Harold was very 
 much better, and Anne, being a faithful and loving little soul, 
 was extremely anxious that Daisy and the baby should show 
 as rosy faces as possible to greet their mother's return. 
 Hinton, who still occupied the drawing-rooms, was absent as 
 usual for the day. Mr. Home would not come in until tea 
 time. So Anne, putting some dinner for the children and 
 herself, in the back of the perambulator, and the house latch 
 key in her pocket, started off to have what she called to 
 Daisy, a " picnic in the park." 
 
 The baby was now nearly ten months old. His beauty 
 had increased with his growing months, and many people 
 turned to look at the lovely little fellow as Anne gayly 
 wheeled him along. He had a great deal of hair, which 
 showed in soft golden rings under his cap, and his eyes, 
 large and gentle as a gazelle's, looked calmly out of his in 
 nocent face. Daisy, too, was quite pretty enough to come
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 123 
 
 in for her share of admiration, and Anne felt proud of both 
 her little charges. 
 
 Reaching the park, she wheeled the perambulator under 
 the shade of a great tree, and sitting down herself on a bench, 
 took little Angus in her arms. Daisy scampered about and 
 inquired when her namesakes, the starry daisies of the field, 
 would be there for her to gather. 
 
 As the little child played and shouted with delight, and 
 the baby and small maid looked on, a stout, florid-faced man 
 of foreign appearance, passing slowly by, was attacted by the 
 picturesque group. Daisy had flung off her shabby little hat. 
 Her bright hair was in wild confusion. Her gray eyes 
 looked black beneath their dark lashes. Running full tilt 
 across the stranger's path, she suddenly stumbled and fell. 
 He stooped to pick her up. She hardly thanked him, but 
 flew back to Anne. The foreign-looking man, however, 
 stood still. Daisy's piquant little face had caused him to 
 start and change color. 
 
 " Good gracious ! what a likeness," he exclaimed, and he 
 turned and sat down on the bench beside Anne and the 
 baby. 
 
 " I hope the little thing didn't get hurt by that fall," he 
 said to the small maid. 
 
 Anne, who was accustomed to having all admiration 
 bestowed on her baby, replied briefly that missy was right 
 enough. As she spoke she turned baby Angus round so 
 that the stranger might see his radiant little face. The dark 
 eyes, however, of the pretty boy had no attraction for the 
 man. He still watched Daisy, who had resumed her amuse 
 ments at a little distance. 
 
 Ahne, who perceived that Daisy had attracted the 
 stranger's admiration, was determined to stav to watch the 
 play out. She pretended to amuse little Angus, but her 
 eyes took furtive glances at the foreign-looking man. Pres 
 ently Daisy, who was not at all shy, came up. 
 
 " You never thanked me for picking you up from the 
 ground," said the stranger to the little girl. 
 
 Four year old Daisy turned up her eyes to his face. 
 
 " I wor so busy," she apologized. " T'ank 'ou now." 
 
 The light on her face, her very expression, caused this 
 rough-looking man's heart to beat strangely. He held out 
 his hand. Daisy put her soft little palm into his. 
 
 " Come and sit on my knee," he said. 
 
 Daisy accepted the invitation with alacrity. She dearly
 
 124 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 liked attention, and it was not often, with baby by, that she 
 came in for the lion's share. 
 
 "What a funny red beard you have ! " she aaid, putting 
 up a small finger to touch it delicately. 
 
 This action, however, scandalized Anne, who, awaking to 
 a sudden sense of her responsibilities, rose to depart. 
 
 " Come along, Miss Daisy," she exclaimed ; " 'tis time 
 we was a-moving home, and you mustn' t trouble the gentle 
 man no further, missy." 
 
 " I s'ant go home, and I will stay," responded Daisy, her 
 face growing very red as she clung to her new friend. The 
 man put his arm round her in delight. 
 
 " Sit down, my girl," he said, addressing Anne, " the little 
 miss is not troubling me. Quite the contrary, she reminds 
 me of a little lassie I used to know once, and she had the 
 same name too, Daisy. Daisy Wilson was her name. Now 
 this little kid is so like her that I shouldn't a bit wonder if 
 she was a relation perhaps her daughter. Shall I tell you 
 what your two names are, little one ? " 
 
 Daisy nodded her head and looked up expectantly. 
 Anne, hoping no harm was done, and devoured with curiosity, 
 resumed her seat. 
 
 " Your mamma's name was Daisy Wilson. You are her 
 deaf little daughter, and your name is Daisy Harman. Well, 
 I'm right, ain't I ? " The man's face was now crimson, and 
 he only waited for Daisy's reply to clasp her to his breast. 
 But Daisy, in high delight at his mistake, clapped her pretty 
 hands. 
 
 "No, no," she said, "you're quite wrong. Guess again, 
 guess again." 
 
 Instantly his interest and excitement died out. He 
 pushed the child a trifle away, and said, 
 
 " I made a mistake. I can't guess." 
 
 " I'm Daisy Home," replied Daisy, " and my mamma 
 was never no Daisy Wilson. Her name is Sarlotte Home." 
 
 The stranger put Daisy gently from his lap, and the dis 
 covery which was to affect so many people might never have 
 been made but for Anne, who read the Family Heiald, was 
 burning with anxiety and wonder. Many kinds of visions 
 were flashing before her romantic young eyes. This man 
 might be very rich very, very rich. He must have some 
 thing to say to them all. She had long ago identified her 
 self with the Home family. This man was coming to give 
 them gold in abundance. He was not so beautiful to look
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 12$ 
 
 at, but he might be just as valuable as the pretty lady of 
 Harold's dreams. That pretty lady had not come back, 
 though Anne had almost prayed for her return. Yes, she 
 was sure this man was a relation. It was highly probable. 
 Such things were always happening in the Family Herald. 
 Raising her shrill, high-pitched voice, she exclaimed, 
 
 " Miss Daisy, you're too young to know, or may be you 
 furgets. But I think the gen'leman is near right. Yer 
 mamma's name wos Harman afore she married yer papa, 
 missy, and I ha' seen fur sure and certain in some old books 
 at the house the name o' Daisy Wilson writ down as plain 
 as could be, so maybe that wor yer grandma's name afore 
 she married too." 
 
 All these words the stranger caught Daisy up and kissed 
 her. 
 
 " I thought that little face could only belong to one 
 related to Daisy Wilson," he said. "Little one, put yer 
 arms round me. I'm your great-uncle your great-uncle ! I 
 never thought that Daisy Wilson could have a daughter 
 married, and that that daughter could have little ones of her 
 own. Well, well, well, how time does fly ! I'm your grand 
 mother's brother Sandy Wilson, home from Australia, my 
 little pet ; and when shall I see you all ? It does my old 
 heart good to see my sister over again in a little thing like 
 you." 
 
 " My great-uncle ? " repeated Daisy. She was an affec 
 tionate little thing, and the man's agitation and delight so 
 far touched her baby heart as to induce her to give him one 
 very slight, dainty kiss. Then she sidled down to the 
 ground. 
 
 " Ef you please, sir," said Anne again* who felt abso 
 lutely certain that she had now made the fortune of her 
 family, and who thought that that fact ought to be recog 
 nised " ef you please, sir, 'tis but right as you should know 
 as my missis's mother have long bin dead. My missis as is 
 her living model is away, and won't be back afore Thursday. 
 She's down by the seaside wid Master Harold wot' ad the 
 scarlet fever, and wor like to die ; and the fam'ly address, 
 please sir, is ID, Tremins Road, Kentish Town." 
 
 At the news of his sister's death so curtly announced by 
 Anne, the man's rough, weatherbeaten face grew white. He 
 did not touch Daisy again, or even look at little Angus ; but 
 going up to Anne, he slipped a sovereign into her hand. 
 
 " Take those children safely home now," he said ; " the
 
 I2 6 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND, 
 
 day is turning chilly, and and thank you for what you told 
 me of, my good lass. I'll come and see your missis on 
 Thursday night." 
 
 Then, without another word, he hurried away. 
 
 Quickly this big, rough man, who had nearly knocked 
 down Jasper Harman the night before, hurried through the 
 park. The exultation had died out of his face ; his heart 
 had ceased to beat wildly. Little Daisy's pretty figure was still 
 before his eyes ; but, weatherbeaten and lifebeaten man that 
 he was, he found himself looking at it through a mist of tears. 
 " 'Tis a bit of a shock," he said to himself. " I'll take it quietly, 
 of course. Sandy Wilson learned long ago to take everything 
 quietly ; but it's a rare bit of a shock. I never guessed as 
 my little Daisy would die. Five and twenty years since we 
 met, and all that time I've never once clasped the hand of a 
 blood-relation never had one belonging to me. I thought 
 I was coming back to Daisy, and Daisy has died. She was 
 very young to die quite five years younger than me. A 
 pretty, pretty lass ; the little 'un is her image. How odd I 
 should have knocked up against Daisy's grandchild, and 
 should find her out by the likeness. Well, well, I'll call at 
 10, Tremins Road. I'll call, of course ; not that I care 
 much now, as my little sister Daisy Wilson is dead." 
 
 He pressed h's hand before his eyes ; they felt weak and 
 dim. The rough man had got a considerable shock ; he did not 
 care to look at London sights again to-day ; he returned to the 
 Commercial Hotel in the Strand, where for the present he 
 was staying. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 CUT OFF WITH A SHILLING. 
 
 NEVER was a little maid-of-all-work more excited than 
 Anne on the night on which her mistress was expected home 
 from Torquay. A secret quite a great secret had been 
 burning a hole in her heart ever since Monday, and to-night 
 she expected this secret to result in something grand. Anne 
 felt that the days of poverty for the family were over ; the 
 days for scraping and toiling were at an end. The uncle
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 127 
 
 from Australia would give her missis everything that money 
 could buy ; he must be a very rich man indeed, for had he 
 not given her a sovereign ? Whoever before had even 
 dreamed of giving little hard-worked Anne a sovereign ? It 
 meant unheard-of wealth to this childish soul of sixteen ; it 
 filled her with delight, and, carefully put away in a little 
 gingham bag, it lay golden and warm now against her heart. 
 
 But Anne's honest little heart had another and less selfish 
 cause for rejoicing. It was she who was bringing this uncle 
 and niece to meet again ; but for her prompt interference 
 Daisy and her great-uncle would never have discovered their 
 relationship ; but for her the uncle, so blessed with riches, 
 would not have known where to seek for his niece. In a 
 big place like London was it likely, was it at all likely, that 
 they would meet ? No, no, he would look for his poor dead 
 sister for a little while, and then go back to Australia, and 
 perhaps give his money to some one else. Anne felt that 
 the family owed her a great deal ; but she had full confi 
 dence in them, and felt sure that in their rise in life they 
 would not forget her. Missis could keep plenty of servants 
 now ; she would have a cook and a housemaid, and probably 
 some one to help in the nursery. This was what a family 
 whom Anne thought immensely wealthy, did in a house 
 just round the corner. In that case she, Anne, would be 
 promoted to the proud position of head nurse head nurse 
 with wages well, say wages as high as ^13 a year. Even 
 to think of being raised to so dazzling a height made Anne's 
 head a trifle giddy. On the strength of it, and all the riches 
 in prospect, she became quite reckless in preparing missis's 
 tea. She put out the best table-linen, and all the silver the 
 house possessed, and she filled a great dish with water- 
 cresses, and had hot buttered scones and a seed-cake and 
 eggs rather fresh for London and finally half a pound of 
 sliced ham. 
 
 She was standing contemplating her well-laden board 
 when the cdb drove up, and out stepped her master and 
 mistress and little Harold Harold looking white and thin 
 even yet, but still with an altogether improved expression on 
 his little face. Anne was so excited, knowing all that was 
 to come, that she caught Harold up in her arms and kissed 
 him, which proceeding he bore with more patience than 
 appreciation. Then ensued bustle and confusion ar.d pleas 
 ant excitement. Charlotte Home felt so well and rested 
 from her change, her husband was so delighted to have her
 
 I2 g HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 back, and little Harold was so manifestly better, that Anne 
 flew about nearly wild with delight. "They'll be a deal, 
 deal 'appier by-and-by, and 'tis hall'long of HAnne," she 
 kept whispering to herself. 
 
 And now, tea being over, and Harold tucked up comfort 
 ably once more in his own little cot in the nursery, the small 
 maid began to be devoured with impatience for the expected 
 ring. It came at last ; Anne with her own hands unfastened 
 the door, showed the rich uncle into the dining-room, and 
 danced upstairs to find her mistress. Charlotte Home was 
 unpacking a trunk in her own room. 
 
 " What do you say, Anne ? A gentleman is downstairs, 
 and wants to see me ? But I am so dreadfully busy. What 
 does he want ? Do you think he has come about the 
 drawing-rooms ? They will be vacant next week." 
 
 " I don't think 'tis about the drawing-rooms, 'em," 
 answered Anne as demurely as she could speak. " I 'avent 
 put no card hup yet. Please, 'em, he looks a most benevo 
 lent gen'leman, and he axed fur you. yer hown s.elf, 'em, 
 most partic'lar bad." 
 
 " I wish he had not come this evening, everything is in 
 such confusion. Anne, are you sure your master is out ? " 
 
 " Yes, 'em, sure and certain ; and ef you please, 'em, it 
 wor fur you as the strange gen'leman axed." 
 
 "Well, I suppose I must go clown. He may have heard 
 of the drawing-rooms through Mr. Hinton, and it would not 
 do to lose a good lodger." 
 
 Charlotte went to the looking-glass to smooth her hair. 
 She felt travelled-stained and dusty ; she was only a worn, 
 pale-looking woman at the best of times. She ran down 
 stairs, and Anne's heart beat as she heard the dining-room 
 door shut behind her. 
 
 Mr. Wilson Sandy Wilson as he preferred to be called 
 had got himself up with due care for his interview with his 
 niece. He had a perfectly new and shining broadcloth suit 
 on, a diamond pin was in his necktie, and a very massive 
 gold chain could be seen dangling from his vest pocket. His 
 full face, always florid, was now flushed with extra color from 
 agitation. Yes, Daisy might be dead, but the next best 
 thing was to see Daisy's child. When the door opened he 
 came forward eagerly, with outstretched hands. A pale, 
 slight, cold-looking woman had come in. He drew back in 
 dismay. She showed but too plainly by one swift glance 
 that she thought him a stranger, and a vulgar one. He
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 129 
 
 owned to himself that he looked at her with a kind of shock. 
 This Daisy Wilson's Daughter ? This pale, dark, thin 
 woman the child of that little, bright, curly-locked, golden- 
 headed sister, whose face was as the sun, whose gay, rounded 
 figure -he had seen flitting before his eyes during all the 
 weary years of his exile ? It could scarcely be possible. 
 Perhaps it was not possible ? 
 
 "I have come to see Mrs. Home," he began. 
 
 " And I am Mrs. Home," answered the distinct, quiet 
 voice. 
 
 No, there was no hope ; his Daisy's daughter was not in 
 the least like her. Well, she was at least her child. He 
 must take what comfort he could out of the relationship 
 without the likeness. 
 
 " You are Daisy's Wilson's child ? " he said, and now 
 again his hands were outstretched, and the smiles had 
 returned to his face." 
 
 But Mrs. Home, completely in the dark, rather startled 
 than otherwise, made no gesture of welcome. Her hands 
 were not held out, her lips remained unsmiling. 
 
 " My mother's name was Wilson," she admitted. " Yes, 
 it was Daisy Wilson. I did not recognize it at first, as of course 
 she was never called it to me." 
 
 " Ay, ay, likely enough ; but she was never anything else 
 to me, just always little bright Daisy Wilson. I thought I'd 
 find her before me, something as she used to be, a bit stout 
 ened, perhaps, but not greatly altered. I have pictured her 
 for the last six and twenty years just as I saw her last the 
 bonniest bit of a thing the sun ever shone on." 
 
 " You knew my mother then ? " said Charlotte. 
 
 " Knew her, lass, knew her ! good heavens, what next f 
 Did Daisy never speak to you about me ? I don't believe 
 it. Before I left it was " Sandy, Sandy,' from morning to 
 night. It was not in her to forget. Tell me, lass, did you 
 never hear of your mother's big brother, Sandy Wilson who 
 went to Australia ? " 
 
 Charlotte's eyes began to dilate. 
 
 " My mother often spoke of this brother," she said slowly. 
 " My mother would have liked to have met you, had you 
 known him. She never fretted for any one so much, except 
 when my father died. My mother's brother is dead for many, 
 many years. They are together now." 
 
 " In spirit, lass, in spirit, I doubt not, but not otherwise. 
 Why, is it possible you don't know me ? Aren't you pre-
 
 130 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 pared ? Did not your little lass tell you ? I am youi 
 mother's brother, I am alive, as you see ; I am Sandy 
 Wilson." 
 
 ' ; You ! " Charlotte looked at him half incredulous, half 
 pained ; but then a sudden joy came over her, she forgot the 
 vulgarity in the love for her dead mother which still shone 
 out of those honest blue eyes. She glanced up again ; those 
 eyes were her mother's eyes ; instantly they acted as open 
 sesame to her heart. She held out her own hands now and 
 her eyes filled with tears. " Forgive me, Uncle Sandy ; if 
 you are indeed he. I did not know you, I could not know 
 you ; I have believed you dead for many, many years. But 
 you have a look of my mother. She would welcome you to 
 night, so I must in her name." 
 
 " Will you kiss me in her name, my lassie ? Ah ! that's 
 good ; 'tis long since I kissed one of my own. Yes, I've 
 come back. I never did die, you see, though I knew that the 
 report had reached England. I let it be, I did not trouble 
 to contradict it." 
 
 " But it was wrong of you, Uncle Sandy. You said you 
 loved my mother, and that report of your death gave her 
 terrible pain." 
 
 " I am sorry for it, lass ; I never guessed about the pain, 
 though I might have thought of it, sweet soul ; but I knew 
 she was married to a very rich man. I was poor, so poor as 
 to know what hunger meant, I thought she could do without 
 me. I went up into the bush and stayed there until I had 
 made my fortune. After a time I got accustomed to know 
 ing that every one in England would think me dead. I used 
 to laugh in my sleeve at the surprise I meant to give Daisy 
 when I walked in rich some day. Well, well, what an old 
 fool I made Of myself ! I never once thought of her dying. 
 She is dead, and I am left ; there's no one to welcome me 
 back, after all." 
 
 " She has been dead for over six years now ; but come to 
 the fire, uncle. I welcome you in my mother's name, and 
 my children will love you. Now you must sit there and I 
 will ring for Anne to bring in some tea." 
 
 After this the uncle and niece talked together for some 
 time. Anne brought in the tea, and looked at them with 
 eyes rendered round and large from excitement. They both 
 nodded to her, for both felt pleased. Uncle Sandy had 
 discovered that his niece had a voice like her mother, if not
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 13! 
 
 a face. It was delicious to him to sit so close to his own 
 flesh and blood, and Charlotte, who had heard of Uncle 
 Sandy during all her early days, who had seen her mother's 
 eyes filling with tears when she mentioned him, felt now that 
 for her mother's sake she could not make enough of this 
 newly recovered relation. His rough, honest, kindly nature 
 was finding its way too, very straight, to her heart. There 
 was nothing innately common or vulgar about Uncle Sandy. 
 Charlotte was a keen observer of character, and she detected 
 the ring of the true metal within. 
 
 " To think I should have mistaken my uncle for some 
 one going to see after the drawing-rooms ! " she said after a 
 pause. 
 
 " Ay, lass, you looked fairly dazed when I came up with 
 my hand stretched out, hoping for a kiss," he sai4 ; " but no 
 wonder : I never reckoned that that little maid-servant of 
 yours would have told you nothing nothing whatever. But 
 what is that about drawing-rooms ? You don't mean to tell 
 me that you, Daisy Wilson's child, let lodgings ? " 
 
 The color flew into Charlotte's pale, proud face. 
 
 " We do not need all the room in this house, so I generally 
 have some one in the drawing-room," she answered " the 
 drawing-room and the bedroom beyond. 
 
 " Are your rooms free now, Charlotte ? " 
 
 " No ; but in a week they will be." 
 
 " Suppose you let the old uncle have them ? I will pay 
 any rent you like to ask. The fact is, I have lost my whole 
 heart to that little Daisy of yours. I want to be near the 
 child. I won't spoil her more than I can help." 
 
 " Then I was called down to my drawing-room lodger," 
 answered Charlotte with a faint sweet smile. 
 
 " Yes, and I don't expect he will want to leave in a hurry. 
 The fact is I have been so utterly friendless and homeless 
 for such a number of years, that it is nearly as good as finding 
 Daisy to be with her child. But, my dear lass, you will for 
 give a frank old man asking you a frank question. It's al! 
 moonshine about the house being too big for you. These 
 houses are not so very monstrous, to judge by the looks of 
 them. You have three children, so you tell me ; if you let 
 two rooms you must be a bit crippled, put as good a face on 
 it as you will." 
 
 " We also want the money. The want of the help this 
 brings in, in the matter of rent, is our true reason for letting," 
 replied Charlotte. " You see, Uncle Sandy, my husband is
 
 132 
 
 HO IV fT ALL CAME KOUXD. 
 
 a clergyman a clergyman and curate. Such men are never 
 over-burdened with money." 
 
 Sandy Wilson had small, penetrating, but very bright 
 blue eyes ; they were fixed now earnestly on his niece. He 
 took a glance round the little parlor where they sat. He was 
 an old Australian, accustomed to bush life, but even he 
 noticed how threadbare was the carpet, how poor and meagre 
 the window curtains. Charlotte herself, too, how thin and 
 worn she was ! Could those pale and hollow cheeks mean 
 insufficient food ? 
 
 " How old are you, niece Charlotte ? " he suddenly de 
 manded. 
 
 " I was twenty-five my last birthday." 
 
 " Forgive me, my lass, you look very old for that ; I 
 should have taken you for thirty. The fact is you are poor, 
 nothing ages like poverty. And the greater fact remains 
 that it was full time for old Uncle Sandy to come home and 
 prove himself of some use in the world." 
 
 " We are poor," answered Charlotte ; " we certainly are 
 very poor. But poverty is not the greatest of troubles." 
 
 " No, but it puzzles me why you should be poor. When 
 I left my little sister, she had been married about three 
 months to that rich old Mr. Harman. He seemed devoted 
 to her. He had surrounded her with wealth; and he assured 
 me when I came to bid her good-bye, and she put her dear 
 arms round my neck, that my little darling should never 
 want for anything. He was a good old man, ages too old of 
 course for my bright little Daisy. But it seemed better than 
 leaving her as a governess. It was my one comfort when 
 parting with Daisy, to feel that she could never want for 
 anything that money could get her." 
 
 " My mother has told me that during my father's life she 
 lived as a rich woman," answered Charlotte. 
 
 "That means she did not afterwards. Did the old gentle 
 man die bankrupt ? I don't see how he could, for he had 
 retired from business." 
 
 " No, my father died a very wealthy man." 
 
 "Then he did not leave her well off! You don't surely 
 mean to tell me, Charlotte Home, that that old man dared to 
 do anything but leave a large sum of money to your pretty 
 young mother and to you ? Why, he told me with his own 
 lips that he would make most ample provision for her." 
 
 At these words Charlotte's white face grew yet whiter,
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. ^^ 
 
 and a piteous look of terror came into her eyes, but all she 
 said was, 
 
 " Nevertheless, after my father's death we were poor." 
 
 " Oh ! the scoundrel ! 'Tis well he's out of Sandy Wilson's 
 power. To think of my Daisy not profiting by his wealth at 
 least. How much did he leave to your mother, Charlotte ? 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Nothing ! " Here Uncle Sandy sprang to his feet. " Mr. 
 Harman left my Daisy no'thing nothing whatever ! Then he 
 did die bankrupt ? 
 
 " No, Uncle Sandy, he died rich." 
 
 " And her name was not mentioned in the will ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Ah ! there was a will. Have you seen it ? " 
 
 " No ; why should I ? It all happened long, long ago." 
 
 " And your mother never saw the will ? " 
 
 " I don't think she did." 
 
 " Then to whom, may I ask, did he leave all his wealth ?" 
 
 " You forget, Uncle Sandy, that my father was married 
 before. He had two sons by his first marriage. These sons 
 came in for his fortune. They were they said they were, 
 sorry for my mother, and they settled on her one hundred 
 and fifty pounds a year for her life." 
 
 " Ay, I suppose you have got that pittance now ? " 
 
 " No, it was only for my mother. When she died six 
 years ago it ceased." 
 
 Sandy Wilson began to pace up and down the little 
 parlor. 
 
 " Nothing left to Daisy. Daisy's name not mentioned in 
 the will. Brothers sorry pretend to be. Give my Daisy a 
 pittance for her life nothing to the child. Charlotte," he 
 suddenly stopped in front of his niece, " don't you think you 
 are a good bit of a fool ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I am, Uncle Sandy. But I never recognized 
 the fact before." 
 
 " You believe that story about the will ? " 
 
 " I tell you the tale as my own mother told it to me." 
 
 " Ay, Daisy was always too credulous, a foolish little thing, 
 if you like. But you you are of different metal. You believe 
 that story ? " 
 
 " I I Don't ask me, Uncle Sandy." 
 
 " You do not believe it ? " 
 
 " If you will have it so, I do not believe it." 
 
 " Ay, my lass, shake hands on that. You are not a fool,
 
 '34 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 Oh ! it was full time Sandy Wilson came home. Sandy can 
 see to your rights, late as it is in the day." 
 
 Mrs. Home was silent. The old Australian was stamping 
 his feet on the hearthrug. His face was now crimson from 
 excitement and anger. 
 
 " Charlotte," he repeated, " why don't you speak to me ? 
 I have come back to see to your rights. Do you hear me, 
 niece ? " 
 
 Charlotte put her hand into his. 
 
 " Thank you, Uncle Sandy." Then she added, " You can 
 do nothing. I mean you can take no legal steps without my 
 knowledge and sanction." 
 
 " Well, it is not likely you will withhold your sanction 
 from getting back what is your own. Charlotte, where aro 
 these half-brothers of yours ? Why, they were a good bit 
 older than Daisy. They must be old men now. Where are 
 they, Charlotte ? Are they alive ? " 
 
 *' They are alive. I will tell you about them to-morrow. 
 I want to think to-night." 
 
 " And so do I want to think. I will run away now, my 
 dear niece. I am staggered by this tale, perfectly staggered. 
 I will look in to-morrow evening, and you shall tell me more. 
 Ay, I guess they never reckoned that Sandy Wilson would 
 turn up. They thought with the rest of you that old Sandy 
 sharp old Sandy was safe in his grave, and they said to 
 themselves that dead men tell no tales. If I remember 
 aright, your father told me I should be one of the trustees to 
 my sister. He did mention it ; though, just like me, I never 
 thought of it until this minute. Is it likely that he would 
 speak of trustees if he meant to cut off that poor darling 
 with a shilling ? Oh ! it's preposterous, preposterous. But 
 I'll sleep over it. We'll think how best to expose the 
 villains ! " 
 
 " Uncle Sandy, you will promise me one thing : you will 
 do nothing until you see me again ? " 
 
 " Well, child, I can scarcely do much. I don't want to 
 be long away from you, niece Charlotte. I'll look in to 
 morrow, about six o'clock. See that little Daisy is up, and 
 introduce me to your husband. Oh ! it was plain to be seen 
 that Sandy Wilson was wanting in this country. Bless my 
 old heart, what a Providence is over everything ! Oh, the 
 scoundrels ! But Sandy will expose them. My Daisy cut 
 off with a shilling ! "
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME RQUNB. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 "SOMETHING BETTER FOR THE CHILDREN THAN MONEY." 
 
 AFTER her newly found uncle had left her, Charlotte 
 Home sat on by the fire ; her face was very pale ; she looked 
 a quite broken-down and troubled woman. Little Anne, al 
 most on tiptoe, crept into the room. She was all quivering 
 with excitement. She expected her mistress to turn to her 
 almost to fling her arms around her neck to thank her 
 with the warmest expressions for what she had done. 
 
 " Anne," rehearsed the little maid, imagining Charlotte's 
 words, " you have saved us all ; you are our lifelong bene 
 factor. Henceforth partake of our wealth. Be not only our 
 servant, but our friend." 
 
 This was how matters would have been managed in the 
 Family Herald. Anne raised expectant eyes to her mistress's 
 face, but one glance at it scattered her golden visions. She 
 softly lifted up the teatray and withdrew. Her faith and 
 hope had gone down to zero. She was a very dispirited 
 little girl as she returned to her kitchen. That uncle from 
 Australia was not a 'rich uncle. Missis would never look 
 so miserable if he was rich. As a poor relation he was no 
 use whatever ; and Anne had done nothing for the family 
 she loved. Oh, how very disappointing life was after all ! 
 
 Meanwhile what now troubled Charlotte Home had very 
 little to do with Uncle Sandy's possible gold. She was solv 
 ing another problem, and the task was a difficult one. 
 
 For the past month Charlotte had been making up her 
 mind to a certain line of action. Before she left Torquay 
 her resolution was formed. She had been over four weeks 
 there, and during those four weeks she and her boy had 
 lived on Charlotte Harman's money. That money had saved 
 the life of her child. When she first saw it and thanked for it, 
 and each succeeding day, each succeeding hour, as she saw 
 the color which was health, and the appetite which was life, 
 returning to her darling, the conviction was growing upon 
 her, that her hand could never inflict a blow upon the woman 
 who had done so much for her. Her children wanted
 
 136 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 money, and her husband wanted money, and she herself 
 too ! A little dip into this world's softnesses, she owned, 
 would be very pleasant ; but, for all that, her hand must be 
 still ; her lips could not speak to cause pain and agony to 
 one who had done so much for her. Miss Harman was go 
 ing to be married. Was it possible that on the eve of her 
 marriage she, Charlotte Home, could deal to her so cruel a 
 blow ? No, it was not possible. For Charlotte's sake, her 
 father and uncle might keep their ill-gotten wealth. Mrs. 
 Home believed more and more firmly that she and hers 
 were robbed of their money. But now she could do nothing. 
 She had been so treated by her enemy's daughter that to 
 appear against that daughter's father would be impossible. 
 As this conviction came to her, and she resolved to act upon 
 it, and to let all chance of recovering her lost wealth go, a 
 wonderful peace and calm stole over her. She almost used 
 to fancy she heard the voice of God saying to her, 
 
 " I will provide for your children, I can give them riches. 
 There are better things to be won for those little ones than 
 what money can give. There is such a thing as a heavy 
 purse and a poor and empty heart. Suppose I fill those 
 hearts wkh goodness, and greatness, and generosity, and 
 love ; is not that a better portion for these creatures who are 
 to live for all eternity than the gold which lasts only for a 
 time ? " 
 
 Yes, Charlotte felt that it was a better portion. And 
 such peace and contentment came to this woman during the 
 last week at Torquay that she thought it the happiest week of 
 her whole life. But now now she sat by her own hearth in 
 troubled maze. She had come back to find her resolve sorely 
 shaken. With no one to help her, she had resolved to let her 
 chance of riches go. She came back to find an unexpected 
 deliverer come to her. A strong, brave, practical man had ap 
 peared. This man was her own uncle her beloved mother's 
 brother. He knew how to act. While she alone must stumble 
 in the dark, he would know what to do. He would he could 
 get her back her own. It seemed hard to reject such help ; 
 and yet her resolve was scarcely shaken, and the temptation, 
 though severe, was not allowed to prevail. The voice of 
 God was still talking to the woman, and she was not turn 
 ing from Him. 
 
 Since the life of her child had been given back to her, a 
 great softness and sweetness had come to Mrs. Home ; she 
 had tasted of a mother's bitterest cup, but God had not
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 '37 
 
 asked her to drink it to the dregs. Her dark eyes, always 
 beautiful, had now grown very lovely, being filled with a 
 tenderness which not only took in her own child, but, for his 
 sake, all the other children in the world. 
 
 Yes, Charlotte loved God as she had never loved Him 
 before, and it was becoming impossible for her to do that 
 which might pain Him. After a time her husband came in, 
 and the two sat and talked for some time. They had a great 
 deal to say, and the hours flew on as each poured out a full 
 heart to the other. 
 
 After a time Charlotte told of her visit from the uncle 
 whom she had supposed for so many years to be dead. Mr. 
 Home was interested, and asked many questions. Charlotte 
 repeated, almost word for word, what Uncle Sandy had said. 
 Her husband regarded her attentively. After a time he 
 spoke. 
 
 " Lottie, you remember when first you told me that queer 
 story about your father's will ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said. 
 
 " I own I did not believe it ; I own I thought very little 
 about it. I ask your pardon, my dear. I now believe you 
 are right." 
 
 " Oh, Angus ! " a great flood of color came up to her 
 face. "Oh ! why," she added in a voice of pain, "why do 
 you say this to me now ? " 
 
 " Partly from what your uncle said to-night ; partly for 
 another reason. The fact is, my dear wife, while you were 
 away I had a visit from your half-brother, Mr. Jasper Har- 
 
 " Angus ! " 
 
 " Yes, he came here one evening. He told a tale, and 
 he made a proposition. His tale was a lame one ; his 
 proposition scarcely came well from his lips. He evidently 
 thought of me as of one unworldly and unpractical. I be 
 lieve I am unpractical, but he never guessed that in my 
 capacity as clergyman I have had much to do with sinners. 
 This man has a conscience by no means void of offence. He 
 is hardened. Charlotte, when I saw him^ I instantly believed 
 your story." 
 
 Mr. Home then told his wife the whole of his interview 
 with Jasper Harman, and the proposal he had made to 
 settle on Charlotte and on her children the three thousand 
 pounds which had been her mother's for that mother's life 
 time.
 
 I3 8 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 "I gave him no answer, my Lottie," he said in conclu 
 sion. " I told him you were away that I would tell you all 
 on your return." 
 
 " Then the decision is to rest with me, Angus ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think it must." 
 
 " You do not mind whether I decline or accept ? " 
 
 " I trust you absolutely. You shall do as you think 
 best." 
 
 After this Mrs. Home was silent for a moment or two ; 
 then she got up, went on her knees by her husband's side, 
 and laying her head against his breast, said, 
 
 " We will be poor, my darling poor and blessed. I will 
 not touch their gold." 
 
 " My Lottie ! " he answered. He did not quite understand 
 her, but his heart began to beat. 
 
 " I will tell you all in a few words, Angus. I longed for 
 money be my reason base or noble, I longed for money. A 
 month ago how sorely we needed it ! God saw our need and 
 sent it to us. He sent it through a channel and by a means 
 which tried my proud heart. I accepted the gracious boon, 
 and, when I accepted it, instantly I loved the giver ; I loved 
 I love Charlotte Harman. She is innocent of all wrong. 
 Angus, I cannot disturb her peace. My uncle has come 
 home. My uncle, with his knowledge and his worldly skill, 
 could now win my cause for me, and get back for me and 
 mine what is ours. I will not let him. These old 
 men may keep their ill-gotten wealth, for I cannct 
 break the daughter's heart. I made my resolve at Tor 
 quay, Angus ; and, though I own I have been tempted to 
 night yes, I believe I have been tempted still I must let 
 this money go. I will leave those wicked men to God ; but 
 I cannot^take their punishment into my own hands. And, 
 Angus, dearest, neither can I take that small sum of money ; 
 for, though I can-not prosecute, neither can I accept a bribe. 
 This money comes as a bribe. Is it not so ? " 
 
 " Yes, Lottie, I fear it is so." 
 
 " I am right not to take it ? " 
 
 " You are absolutely right." 
 
 *' Then we will not touch it. I and mine can live with 
 out it." 
 
 " You and yours can live well and nobly without it, my 
 most precious wife." 
 
 " Ah ! there is rest and peace in my heart and the little
 
 - 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. I39 
 
 house, though so poor and shabby, seems very home-like. 
 Angus, I am so tired after all this ! I will go to bed." 
 
 Long after his wife had left him, the husband remained 
 up. He had gone down on his knees, and he remained 
 there for some hours. He had to thank God for his Char- 
 lotte, but even while he thanked a weight was heavy on his 
 heart. Sin was very terrible to this man, and he feared that 
 a very grievous sin had been committed. Long, long, into 
 the night he cried to God for these sinners. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 SHE COULD NOT POSTPONE HER ENGAGEMENT. 
 
 MR. HARMAN felt himself growing weaker and weaker. 
 The disease which was to lay him in his grave was making 
 slow, but steady progress. It was just possible that, had his 
 mind been at rest, the weakness of body, the pain of body, 
 the slow decay might have been, not removed, but at least 
 arrested. Had Mr. Harman been a very happy man, he 
 might have lived, even with so fatal a malady, for many 
 years. He had lived a life of almost perfect physical health 
 for over sixty years, and during all that time he had been 
 able to keep mental pains at bay ; but in his present weak 
 ness he found this impossible. His whole nervous system 
 became affected, and it was apparent even to his daughter's 
 eyes, that he was a very unhappy man. For her sake, how 
 ever, he still did wonders. He dragged himself up to break 
 fast morning after morning, when he would have given worlds 
 to remain in bed. He still went every day to his office in 
 the city, though, when there, he sat in his office chair dull 
 and unmindful of what was going on. Jasper did the work. 
 Jasper was here, there, and everywhere ; but it had come to 
 such a pass with John Harman, that he now almost disliked 
 gold. Still, for Charlotte's sake, he went there. Charlotte 
 on the verge of her marriage must suspect nothing. In 
 the evenings he sat with his daughter, he looked with appar 
 ent interest at the many presents which came pouring in, he 
 made her show herself to him in each of the new dresses, 
 and he even went himself with her to choose her wedding
 
 140 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 wreath and veil. But all these things had become such a 
 weariness to the man that, dearly as he loved this one pre 
 cious daughter, he began to look forward with almost a sense 
 of relief to the one week of her absence. During that week 
 he need disguise nothing, he need not go to the office, he 
 need not put on this forced cheerfulness. He might stay in 
 bed all day long if he pleased. 
 
 That week was near now, for it was the twelfth of April. 
 In another eight days the wedding morning would dawn. 
 
 Charlotte was very busy. What young woman is not busy 
 at such a time ? Friends poured in, presents arrived at all 
 hours. There were dressmakers and milliners to see and 
 consult, from morning to night. Then Hinton took up some 
 of his bride elect's time, and the evening hours were given 
 to her father. Seeing how much he liked having her all to 
 himself after dinner each night, Charlotte had begged her 
 lover not to come to see her at this particular time. 
 
 "You will have me for all the re,; of my life, John," she 
 would say, " and I think it does my father good to be quite 
 alone with me. It reminds him of old times." Then, when 
 Hinton acceded to her request, she often added, " My father 
 puzzles me. Is it the parting from me makes him look so ill 
 and sad ? I often fear that there is more the matter with 
 him than he lets appear. I wish he would consult a good 
 doctor." 
 
 Hinton dared not tell her that he had consulted the very 
 best. He could only try to turn her attention, and in this 
 he believed that he succeeded much better than he really did. 
 For when the night came after those quiet evenings, Char 
 lotte found that she could not sleep. Was it excitement at 
 her coming happiness, or was it anxiety ? 
 
 Anxiety was new to this happy nature new to this pros 
 perous life. She shuddered at the grim thing, as it visited 
 her night after night, in the solitude of her luxurious room. 
 But shut her eyes to it, fight against it, as she would, it could 
 not be got to depart from her. The fact was, a dreadful 
 thing had happened to this frank and loving nature, she was 
 beginning to suspect tre father. whom she loved. These sus 
 picions had first come into play on the night when he had 
 fainted in her presence. Some words he had used that night, 
 some expressions which had fallen from his lips, had aroused 
 a new and dreadful thought , that thought would not go to 
 sleep, would not depart. Was it possible that her father 
 had done something wrong long ago in his life, and that the
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 141 
 
 remembrance of that wrong that sin was what ailed him 
 now ? Was it possible that her uncle Jasper, who always ap 
 peared so frank and open, had deceived her ? Was it pos 
 sible that Hinton knew that she was deceived? These 
 thoughts did not trouble her much in the daytime, but at 
 night they rose to agonies. They kept sleep far away : so 
 much so, that in the morning she often came downstairs 
 heavy-eyed and weary. She blamed herself, then, for her 
 mean suspicions ; she said to herself, as she gave her father 
 his morning cup of coffee, that no face could be more inca 
 pable of concealing a wrong than that noble old face oppo 
 site to her, and she tried to atone for her feelings by extra 
 tenderness of voice and manner. But though this revulsion 
 of feeling came with the morning, the night brought back 
 the same agony. She now disliked even to think of Mrs. 
 Home, she .never spoke of her to John Hinton. He watched 
 for her to do so, but the name of this young woman which 
 had so intensely interested her never passed her lips. When 
 Hinton told her that little Harold was better, and that on a 
 certain day he and his mother would be in Kentish Town 
 once more, she colored slightly and changed the subject. 
 Kinton rather wondered at this. Uncle Jasper also remarked 
 it. It was now a week to the wedding-day, and Charlotte 
 was nerving herself for an effort. She had firmly resolved 
 that before she really gave herself to Hinton, she would read 
 her grandfather's will. She felt that nothing else would com 
 pletely set her mind at rest. She dreaded doing this as 
 much as she longed for it. Each day as it dawned she had 
 put off the task, but when the day just a week before her 
 wedding came, she felt that she must overcome w r hat she 
 called a weakness. She would learn the worst that very 
 day. She had little or no idea how to carry out her design. 
 She only knew that the will was kept at Somerset House, 
 that if she went there and allowed herself to go through cer 
 tain forms she should see it. She had never seen a will in 
 her life, she scarcely knew even what it would look like. 
 Nevertheless, she could consult no one. She must just go to 
 the place and trust to circumstances to do the rest. 
 
 On the thirteenth of April she resolved, as she put on her 
 dress and hurried down to meet her father at breakfast, that 
 before that night came she would carry out her design. Her 
 father seemed better that morning. The day was a specially 
 lovely one, and Charlotte said to herself that, before that 
 lime 'to-morrow, her heart would be at rest; she would not
 
 1 42 HOW 77" ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 even allow herself to glance at a darker alternative. In 
 deed, happy in having at last firmly made up her mind; she 
 became suddenly scarcely at all fearful, scarcely anything 
 but completely hopeful. She resolved that nothing should 
 turn her from her purpose to-day. 
 
 Her father kissed her, told her he felt certainly better, 
 and went off to the city. 
 
 Immediately after, her uncle Jasper came in. 
 
 " Lottie, child 1 I can take you to the private view of 
 
 Mrs. 's pictures; I have just got an invitation. You 
 
 know how wild you are to see them. Be ready ai two o'clock. 
 I will call for you then." 
 
 " I am very sorry, but I cannot go with you this after 
 noon, Uncle Jasper." 
 
 " Oh ! You have made an engagement with Hinton. 
 Can't you put it off ? This is the last day for the pictures. 
 You can go with Hinton to-morrow." 
 
 " It is not an engagement with John, Uncle Jasper. It 
 is something else, and I cannot put ofT." 
 
 All the time a rather loud voice within was saying to her, 
 " Go and see the pictures. Put off the reading of the will. 
 Be happy for one more day." But because this voice, which 
 became so loud, frightened her, she would not yield to it. 
 
 "I am very sorry," she repeated ; "I should have liked 
 it greatly. But I cannot go." 
 
 Well ! it is a pity, and I took some trouble about it. 
 However, it can't be helped." 
 
 " No, it can't be helped," repeated Charlotte. 
 
 Uncle Jasper went, feeling some annoyance, and also a 
 little curiosity. 
 
 " Strange cattle women," he said to himself. " I con 
 fess I don't understand 'em. Charlotte, wild to get to that 
 private view two days ago, now won't go because of a whim. 
 Well ! I'm glad I never took a wife. I rather pity Hinton. 
 I would not be tied even to that fine creature, Lottie, forever." 
 
 Jasper Harman had scarcely turned the corner of the 
 street, befoie a cab drew up at the house, and Hinton came 
 in. Charlotte had not yet left the breakfast room. 
 
 " Ah ! my dearest, I am afraid you might be out I must 
 hurry away at once ; but I just called to say that I have had 
 a telegram from Webster. You know how I have longed 
 for you two to meet. Well, he is coming to town to-day, and 
 I want to bring him here at three o'clock. You will be sure 
 to be at home."
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 '43 
 
 " I am afraid I can't, John ; I have an engagement." 
 
 " Oh ! but you must put it off, you really must see Webster. 
 He is my greatest friend, and is to be my best man. You 
 really must, Lottie ! and he telegraphs that he is coming up 
 from Oxford on purpose." 
 
 " I am ever so sorry. Could not you telegraph to him 
 put off his visit until to-morrow ? " 
 
 " No, my dear ; he has started before this." 
 
 "I am very sorry ; lam unfortunate," repeated Charlotte. 
 A certain degree of obstinacy, altogether foreign to her na 
 ture, had crept into her voice. 
 
 Hinton looked at her in undisguised astonishment, 
 
 " You don't mean to say that you are not going to see 
 Webster, when he is coming up to town on purpose ? " 
 
 " John, dear, I will see him at five o'clock, I shall be 
 home then. But I have an engagement at three." 
 
 " I cannot bring Webster here at five, he must be on his 
 way back then. You must put off your engagement." 
 
 " I really cannot. Uncle Jasper has just been here, and 
 he asked me to go with him to see the private views at Mrs. 
 
 's studio. He took some trouble to get the invitation 
 
 for us both, but I could not go with him, nor can I stay in. 
 Mr. Webster must wait to make my acquaintance on our 
 wedding-day, John." 
 
 " And I am to tell him that ? " 
 
 " Say everything as nice and polite as you can. Say that 
 I am most truly sorry." 
 
 Hinton turned his back on his promised bride ; there 
 was a cloud on his brow, he felt both hurt and angry. 
 
 " Lottie ! what is your engagement ? " This was said 
 while pretending to look down the street. 
 
 Charlotte came close and put her hand a little timidly 
 on his shoulder. " I know you will be vexed," she said " but 
 I cannot tell you." 
 
 Hinton held up his hand to a passing hansom. 
 
 " Yes, I am vexed," he said, " but I cannot wait any long 
 er now. You know I hate secrets, and I think you might 
 have obliged me, Charlotte." 
 
 " I wish I could," she said, and now her eyes filled with 
 tears. 
 
 Hinton scarcely kissed her before he rushed away, and 
 Charlotte sank down on the nearest chair. The unaccount 
 able feeling which had prompted her to refuse both her 
 uncle and her lover, and to fix just that hour of three o'clock
 
 144 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROU.VD. 
 
 to visit Somerset House, was too strange and strong to be 
 overcome. But the hope which had brightened her break 
 fast hour had now all departed. Her heart felt like lead 
 within her breast, she dared not fully contemplate the real 
 ization of her worst fears. But they thronged like legion 
 round her path. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 WHERE HAD THE MONEY CARES VANISHED TO? 
 
 HINTON felt thoroughly angry ; perhaps he had some 
 cause. Webster, his college chum, his greatest friend, was 
 coming up to town. He had heard many times and often 
 of Hinton's promised bride, and he was coming to town, 
 Hinton knew well at some personal inconvenience, to see her, 
 and she refused to 'see him. 
 
 Hinton, as well as Uncle Jasper, considered it a whim 
 of Charlotte's. He was surprised. Nay, he was more than 
 surprised. He was really angry. Here was the woman, 
 who in a week's time now must stand up before God and 
 promise solemnly to obey him for all the remainder of her life, 
 refusing to attend to his most natural desire. She had an 
 engagement, and she would not tell him what it was ; she 
 made a secret of it. Be the' secret little or great, she knew 
 how he disliked all such concealments. 
 
 Was it possible that he was deceived in Charlotte after 
 all ? No, no, he was too really loyal to her, too sincerely 
 attached to her : her frankness and sweetness were too nat 
 ural, too complete, for him really to doubt her ; but he owned 
 that he was disappointed he owned that he had not the 
 greatness which she under similar circumstances would have 
 exercised. She was keeping him in the dark in the dark 
 he could not trust. He recalled, with feelings of anything 
 but pleasure, her last secret. She thought little of it. But 
 Hinton knew how differently he had received it ; he did not 
 like to be reminded of it now. During the last few weeks 
 he had managed almost completely to banish it from his 
 thoughts ; but now it came buck to his memory v/ith some 
 force ; it reminded him of Mrs. Home. Was it possible that
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. i_^ 
 
 he was acting wrongly in not searching into her rights ? 
 Was it possible that things had already come to such a pass 
 with him, that he would not do the right because he feared 
 the consequences ? Had riches and wealth and worldly 
 honor already become dearer to his soul than righteousness 
 and judgment and truth ? 
 
 These condemnatory thoughts were very painful to the 
 young man ; but they turned his feelings of indignation from 
 Charlotte to himself. 
 
 It was nearly a month now since he had left Mrs. Home. 
 When he went away he had provided her with another lod 
 ger. He remembered that by this time she must have come 
 back from Torquay. As this thought came to him he stop 
 ped suddenly and pulled out his watch. Webster would not 
 be at Paddingron before two o'clock. He had nothing very 
 special to do that morning, he would jump into a hansom 
 and go and see Mrs. Home and Harold. He put his 
 ideas into execution without an instant's delay, and arrived 
 at Kentish Tov/n and drew up at the well-known door at 
 quite an early hour. Daisy and the baby were already out, 
 but Harold, still something of an invalid, stood by the din 
 ing-room wr.xlow. Harold, a little weary from his journey, 
 a little spoiled by his happy month at Torquay,, was expe 
 riencing some of that flatness, which must now and then visit 
 even a little child v;hen he finds he must descend from a 
 pedestal. For a very long time he had been first in every 
 one's thoughts. He had now to retire from the privileges of 
 an invalid to the everyday position, the everyday life of a 
 healthy child. While at Torquay his mother had no thought 
 for any one but him ; but now, this very morning, she had 
 clasped the baby in such an ecstasy of love to her heart, 
 that little spoiled Harold felt quite a pang of jealousy. It 
 was with a shout therefore of almost ecstasy that he hailed 
 Hinton. He flew to cpen the door for him himself, and 
 when he entered the dining-room he instantly climbed on 
 his knee. Hinton was really fond of the boy, and Harold 
 reflected with saiisfaction that he was altogether his ov,-n 
 iriend, that he scarcely knew either Daisy or the baby. 
 
 In a moment entered the happy, smiling mother. 
 
 " Ah ! you have come to see your good work completed," 
 she said. " See what a healthy little boy I have brought 
 back v.i^h me." 
 
 " We had just a delicious time/' said Harold, " and I'm 
 very strong again now, ain't I, mother? But it wasn't Mr.
 
 I4 6 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 Hinton gave us the money to go to Torquay, it was my pretty 
 lady." 
 
 " Do you know," said Mrs. Home, " I think you were 
 scarcely, for all your great, great, and real kindness, scarcely 
 perfect even in that respect. I never knew until a few 
 days ago, and then it was in a letter from herself, that you 
 are so soon to marry Charlotte Harman." 
 
 " Yes, we are to be married on the twentieth," answered 
 Hinton, " Has she written to you ? I am glad." 
 
 " I had one letter from her. She wrote to ask about 
 my boy, and to tell me this of you." 
 
 ' She takes a great interest in you," said Hinton. 
 
 "And I in her. I believe I can read character fairly 
 well, and in her I see " 
 
 " What ? " asked the lover, with a smile. 
 
 "In brow, eyes, and lips I see truth, honor, love, bra 
 very. Mr. Hinton, you deserve it all, but, nevertheless, you 
 are drawing a great prize in your wife." 
 
 "I believe I am," answered the young man, deeply 
 moved. 
 
 " When can I see my pretty lady again ? " asked Harold, 
 suddenly. "If you are going to marry her, do you mean to 
 take her quite, quite away ? When may I see her ? " 
 
 " Before very long, I hope, my dear boy," answered 
 Hinton. 
 
 " He has talked of her so often," said the mother. " I 
 never saw any one who in so short a time so completely won 
 the heart of a little child ; I believe the thought of her 
 helped to make him well. Ah ! how thankful I am when I 
 look at him ; but Mr. Hinton, there is another thing which 
 gives me great joy just now." 
 
 " And that > " said Hinton. 
 
 " Last night something very wonderful happened. I \vas 
 at home not two hours, when I was surprised by a 
 visit from one whom I had never seen before and whom I 
 had supposed to be in his grave for over twenty years. My 
 dear mother had one brother who went to Australia shortly 
 after her marriage. From Australia the news reached her 
 of his death. He was not dead ; he came back again. I 
 had a visit from that uncle last night." 
 
 " How strange ! " said Hinton. 
 
 " Yes ; I have not heard his story yet. He met my lit 
 tle Daisy in Regent's Park, and found out who she was 
 through her likeness to my mother. Is it not all like a ro-
 
 HO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND, 
 
 147 
 
 mance ? I had not an idea who the dear old man was when 
 he came to visit me last night ; but how glad I am now to 
 feel that my own mother's brother is still alive \ " 
 
 Hinton asked a few more questions ; then after many 
 promises of effecting a meeting very soon between Charlotte 
 and little Harold he went away. He was puzzled by Mrs. 
 Home. The anxious woman he had thought of, whose sad 
 face often haunted him, was gone, and another peaceful, 
 happy, almost beautiful in her serenity, had come in her 
 place. Her joy at Harold's recovery was both natural and 
 right ; but where had the money cares vanished to ? Surely 
 Charlotte's fifty pounds could not have done more than pay 
 the Torquay trip. As to her delight over her Australian 
 uncle's return, he rather wondered at it, and then forgot it. 
 He little guessed, as he allowed it to vanish from his mind, 
 how it was yet to influence the fate of more lives than his. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 JASPER'S TERROR. 
 
 UNCLE Jasper, too, left Charlotte on that special morning 
 with some displeasure, some surprise, and some anxiety. 
 Remorse, as I have said, did not visit the man. Long ago, 
 a very long time ago now, he and his brother John had 
 touched an evil thing. For both men the natural conse 
 quences followed ; but how differently ? John wanted to fling 
 the base defilement from his soul; Jasper wanted so to 
 bury it there, so deftly, so cleverly to hide it within his very 
 heart of hearts, that it should not appear to dishonor him in 
 the eyes of his fellow-men. Of the final judgment and its 
 disclosure he never thought. It was his inability to cover 
 up the secret ; it was his ever-growing knowledge that the 
 garment wa's neither long enough nor broad enough to wrap 
 it round, that caused his anxiety from day to day. In spite 
 of his cheerful and ruddy face he was feeling quite worn and 
 old. If this continues, if these people will insist on pulling 
 the house down over their heads, I shall fall ill like John, he 
 reflected. He was very angry with these stupid and silly 
 people, who were bringing such shame and dishonor on
 
 148 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 themselves. He often found himself wishing that his niece 
 Charlotte had not been the fine and open character she was. 
 Had Charlotte been different he might have ventured to 
 confide in her. He felt that with Charlotte on his side all 
 might yet be well. This, however, was absolutely impossible. 
 To tell Charlotte would be to tell the world. Bad as her 
 father was in keeping this ugly secret quiet, Charlotte would 
 be ten times, tv.cnty times, worse. What an unfortunate 
 thing it was that Charlotte had put that advertisement in 
 the papers, and that Mrs. Home had ansv.-ered it ! Mrs. 
 Home of all people 1 Well, well, it came of that dreadful 
 meddling of women in literature. He, Jasper, had knov.-n 
 no peace since the day that Charlotte had wished for an 
 amanuensis to help her with her silly book. 
 
 Jasper on this particular morning, as he hurried off from 
 the Harman house, felt less and less comfortable. He was 
 sure, by Charlotte's manner, that her engagement was some 
 thing very particular. Pie feared she was going to ine^t 
 Mrs. Home. He came, with all his surmises, very far short 
 of the real truth, but he was in that state of mind when the 
 guilty fly, with no man pursuing. It had been an awful 
 moment for old Jasper Harman when, a week ago, he had 
 suddenly knocked up against that solitary, foreign-looking 
 man. He had heard his voice and seen his face, and he 
 had felt his own heart standing still. Who was this man ? 
 Was he a ghost ? the ghost of the long-dead trustee ? Jasper 
 began to hope that it was but an accidental likeness in voice 
 and manner. For was not this man, this Alexander Wilson, 
 named in his father's will, dead and buried for many a day ? 
 Had not he, Jasper, not, indeed, seen him die, but had he 
 not stood on his grave ? Had not he travelled up some 
 hundreds of miles in that wild Australian country for the 
 sole purpose of standing on that special grave ? And had 
 not he read name and age, and date of deaih, all fully corro 
 borating the story which had been sent to him ? Yes, J 
 hoped that it was but a very remarkable likeness a ghost 
 of the real man. How, indeed, could it be anything but a 
 ghost when he had stood upon the man's very grave ? He 
 hoped this. He had brought himself almost to believe it; 
 but for all that, fear and uneasiness were becoming more 
 and more his portion, and he did not like to dwell even in 
 thought upon that night's adventures. He walked on fast. 
 He disliked cabs, and never took them. One of his great 
 secrets of health was exercise, and plenty of it ; but he was
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 149 
 
 rather in a hurry ; he had an appointment in town for a 
 comparatively early hour, and he wanted to call at his club 
 for letters. He reached his destination, entered the build 
 ing, and found a little pile awaiting him. He turned slowly 
 into the reading-room to read them. One after the other he 
 tore them open. They were not very interesting, and a 
 rapid glance of his quick, deep eye was sufficient to enable 
 him to master the contents. In ten minutes he had but one 
 letter left to read, and that was in a strange handwriting. 
 " Another begging epistle," he said to himself. He felt in 
 clined to tear it up without going to the trouble of opening 
 it. He had very nearly slipped it into his pocket, to take 
 its chance at some future time, for he remembered that he 
 was already late. Finally he did neither; he opened the 
 letter and read it where he sat. This was what his eyes 
 rested on, 
 
 " 10, TREMINS ROAD, " KENTISH TOWN. 
 
 " SIR : 
 
 " According to your wish I write to you at your club. 
 My wife returned from Torquay last night, and I told her 
 of your visit and your proposal. She desires me to say, and 
 this I do, both from her and myself, that she will not accept 
 your offer, for reasons which we neither of us care to explain. 
 We do not wish for the three thousand pounds you are will 
 ing to settle on my wife. 
 
 " I remain, sir, 
 
 " Yours faithfully, . 
 
 "ANGUS HOME. 
 ** To JASPER HARMAN, ESQ." 
 
 This letter fell from the hands of Jasper. His lips came 
 a little apart, and a new look of terror came into his eyes. 
 So absorbed was he, so thoroughly frightened by this letter, 
 that he forgot where he was. He neither saw the looks of 
 surprise, nor heard the words of astonishment made by those 
 about him. Finally he gathered up envelope and paper and 
 hurried out. As he walked down the street he looked by 
 no means so young as he had done when he got up that 
 morning. His hat was put on crooked, his very gait was un 
 certain. Jasper had got a shock. Being utterly unable to 
 read the minds of the people who had written to him, he 
 could but imagine one meaning to their words. They were 
 not so unworldly as he had hoped. They saw through his 
 bribe ; they would not accept it, because because they 
 knew better. Mrs. Home had read that will. Mrs. Home
 
 I 5 o {HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 meant to prosecute. Yes, yes, it was all as plain as that the 
 sun was shining overhead. Mrs. Home meant to go to law. 
 Exposure, and disgrace, and punishment were all close at 
 hand. There was no doubt of it, no doubt whatever now. 
 Those were the reasons which neither Mr. nor Mrs. Home 
 cared to explain. Turning a corner he came suddenly full 
 tilt against Hinton. The young man turned and walked 
 down the street with him. 
 
 " You are on your way to Charlotte ? " remarked the old 
 man. 
 
 " No : I have been to her already. She has an engage 
 ment this afternoon. Did she not tell you ? She said you 
 wanted her to go somewhere with you, and this same er 
 ment prevented it. No, I am not going to Prince's ' 
 but I am off to Paddington in about an hour to meet a 
 friend." 
 
 Hinton spoke cheerfully, for his passing annoyance with 
 Charlotte had absolutely vanished under Mrs. Home's words 
 of loving praise. When Mrs. Home spoke as she had done 
 of his brave and noble Charlotte the young man had felt 
 quite ashamed of having doubted her even for a brief 
 moment. 
 
 Jasper had, however, been told of little Harold's illness, 
 and Hinton, knowing this, continued, 
 
 " I have just come from the Homes. You know whom 
 I mean ? Their little boy was the one I helped to nurse 
 through scarlet fever. Mother and boy have come back 
 from Torquay like different creatures from the pleasant 
 change. Mrs, Home looked absolutely bright. Charlotte 
 will like to hear of her; and by the way, a curious thing, a 
 little bit of a romance has happened to her. An uncle from 
 Australia, whom she had supposed to be dead and in his 
 grave for over twenty years, walked in alive and hale last 
 night. She did not know him at first, but he managed to 
 
 prove his identity. He good heavens ! Mr. Hr.rrnan, 
 
 what is the matter ? You are ill ; come in here." 
 
 Hinton led Jasper into a chemist's shop, whkrh ; 
 happened to be passing at the moment, for his ruddy face 
 had suddenly become ghastly white, and he had to clutch 
 the young man's arm to keep himself from falling. 
 
 " It is nothing." he explained, when he had been given 
 a restorative. " Yes, I felt faint. I hope I am not going to 
 be taken bad like my brother. \Yhnt do you say ? a hansom ? 
 Well, yes, perhaps I had better have one."
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. jiji 
 
 Jasper was bowled rapidly out of sight and Hinton 
 walked on. No dust had been thrown in his eyes as to the 
 cause of Jasper's agitation. He had observed the start of 
 almost terror with which he had turned on him when he had 
 first mentioned the long-lost Australian uncle of Mrs. Home's. 
 He had often seen how uneasy he was, however cleverly he 
 tried to hide it, when the Homes were mentioned. What 
 did it all mean ? Hinton felt very uncomfortable. Much as 
 he loved Charlotte, it was not nice to marry into a family 
 who kept concealed an ugly secret. Hinton was more and 
 more convinced that there was a secret, and that this uncle 
 who was supposed to be dead was in some way connected 
 with it. Hinton was too acute, too clever, to put down 
 Jasper's agitation to any other cause. Instantly he began 
 to see a reason for Mrs. Home's joy in the recovery of this 
 long-lost relation. It was a reason unworthy of her, un 
 worthy and untrue ; but nevertheless it took possession of 
 the mind of this young man. The uncle ceased to be an ob 
 ject of little interest to him. He walked on, feeling down 
 cast and perplexed. This day week would be his wedding- 
 day, and Charlotte Charlotte, beautiful and noble, nothing 
 should part them. But what was this secret ? Could he, 
 dare he, fathom it ? No, because of Charlotte he must not 
 it would break Charlotte's heart ; because of Charlotte's 
 father he must not, for it would cause his death ; and yet, 
 because of Jasper, he longed to, for he owned to himself 
 that he disliked Jasper more and more. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE READING OF THE WILL. 
 
 CHARLOTTE'S depression did not remain with her all 
 through the day. She was a healthy creature, healthy both 
 in body and mind. It was impossible for her, with the bright 
 spring sun shining, and with her wedding-day but one week 
 absent, not to turn again to hope. She saw that she had 
 vexed Hinton. She still felt that, queer and uncomfortable 
 desire to be at Somerset House, just at the very hour when
 
 152 
 
 JIOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 her lover had pleaded for her society. But she reflected that 
 when she told him the story, when she proudly cleared her 
 father in his eyes, he would most abundantly forgive her. 
 
 " He hates secrets," she said to herself ; " and it is the last, 
 the very last, little, tiny secret I shall ever have from my 
 darling." 
 
 By this it will be seen that she had ceased to fear her 
 grandfather's will. She had ordered the carriage immediately 
 after lunch, and now asked the coachman to drive to the 
 Strand. As she lay back at her ease she reflected how soon 
 now her anxiety would be over. 
 
 " Dear father," she whispered to her heart, "how extra 
 loving and tender I must be to him to-night ! I believe him 
 now fully and absolutely believe him now. I am only doing 
 this for John's sake." 
 
 When she reached the Strairl she desired the coachman 
 to stop. She would not have him drive to Somerset House. 
 Her secret was a secret , even the old coachman, who had 
 known her from her birth, must not guess it. She told him 
 that she had some business to transact, but that he might 
 meet her at a certain part of the Embankment in an hour. 
 
 The carriage rolled out of s4ght. Now she was alone. 
 She was not accustomed to walking the London streets by 
 herself. Certainly she had never been in the Strand before 
 alone. She had dressed herself with studied plainness, and 
 now, with her veil drawn tightly over her face, she hurried 
 on. She had consulted the map, and knew exactly where 
 Somerset House was. She also had obtained a little, a very 
 little information as to how she was to act for the pursuit of 
 her purpose, from a young barrister who had visited at her 
 home \vith Hinton some few weeks before. She considered that 
 she had gained her knowledge with considerable skill ; and 
 now, with a beating heart, she proceeded to act on it. She 
 turned into the great square which Somerset House encloses, 
 found the particuliar building where wills are kept, and en 
 tered. She was now in a large room, or entrance-hall. 
 There were many desks about, and some clerks, who did 
 not seem particularly busy. Charlotte went up to one of the 
 desks, a clerk lent an attentive ear, she told her errand. 
 
 " Ah ! you want to read a will," said the gentleman. 
 " You must first produce the proper stamp. Yes, yes, you 
 can certainly see any will you desire. Just go through that 
 door to your right, walk down the passage; you will see a
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 153 
 
 door with such a direction written on it ; ask for a search 
 stamp. It will cost you a shilling. Bring it back to me." 
 
 Charlotte did as she was desired. The clerk she had 
 appealed to, attracted by her appearance and manner, was 
 willing to be both helpful and polite. 
 
 " Whose will do you want, madam ? " 
 
 " I want my grandfather's will. His name was Harman. 1 ' 
 
 " What year did he die ? " 
 
 " Twenty-three years ago." 
 
 " Ah ! just so. This is 1880. So he died in the year 
 1857. Do you see those catalogues to your left ? Go up to 
 those marked 1857. Look under letter H, until you find 
 Harman. Bring the book open at that name to me." 
 
 Charlotte was clever at carrying out her instructions. She 
 quickly returned with the book opened at the desired name. 
 The clerk wrote Mr. Harman's name and a number of a 
 folio on a small piece of blue paper. This he gave to Char 
 lotte. 
 
 " Take this piece of paper to room number 31, along the 
 passage," he said. " You will have the will very soon now." 
 
 She bowed, thanked him, and went away. At room 31 
 she was desired to wait in the reading-room. She found it 
 without difficulty. It was a small room, with a long table in 
 the middle, and benches round it. At one end sat a clerk at 
 a desk. Charlotte seated herself at the table. There were 
 other- people about, some reading wills, some others waiting 
 like herself. She happened just then to be the only woman 
 in the room. She drew up her veil, pressed her hand to her 
 pale face, and waited with what patience she could. She 
 was too much excited to notice how she was looked at and her 
 appearance commented upon. Sitting there and waiting with 
 what courage she could muster, her fear returned. What 
 stealthy thing was this she was doing in the dark ? What 
 inarch was she stealing on her father, her beloved and hon 
 ored father ? Suddenly it appeared to her that she had done 
 wrong. That it would be better, more dignified, more noble, 
 to ask from his own lips the simple truth, than to learn it by 
 such underhand means as these. She half rose to go away ; 
 but at this moment a clerk entered, gave a piece of folded 
 paper to the man at the desk, who read aloud the one 
 word, 
 
 "Harman.' 
 
 Charlotte felt herself turning deadly white as she stood up 
 to receive it. But when she really held her grandfather's
 
 54 
 
 IfOW IT ALL CAME ROUNDi 
 
 will in her hand all desire not to read it had left her. She 
 opened the folio with her shaking ringers, and began to read 
 as steadily as she could. Her eyes had scarcely, however, 
 turned over the page, and most certainly her mind had failed 
 to grasp the meaning of a single word, before, for some un 
 accountable reason, she raised her head. A large man had 
 come in and had seated himself opposite to her. He was a 
 man on an immense scale, with a rough, red, kind face, and 
 the longest, most brilliantly colored beard Charlotte had 
 ever seen. His round, bright blue eyes were fixed earnestly 
 on the young lady. She returned his glance, in her own 
 peculiar full and open way, then returned to her interrupted 
 task. Ah ! what a task it was after all. Hard to understand, 
 how difficult to follow ! Charlotte, unused to all law phrase 
 ology, failed to grasp the meaning of what she read. She knit 
 her pretty brows, and went over each passage many times. 
 She was looking for certain names, and she saw no mention 
 of them. Her heart began to leap with renewed joy and 
 hope. Ah ! surely, surely her grandfather had been unjust, 
 and her own beloved father was innocent. Mrs. Home's 
 story was but a myth. She had read for such a long, long 
 time, and there was no mention of her or of her mother. 
 Surely if her grandfather meant to leave them money he 
 would have spoken of it before now. She had just turned 
 another page, and was reading on with a light heart, when 
 the clerk again entered. Charlotte raised her head, she 
 could not tell why. The clerk said something to the clerk 
 at the desk, who, turning to the tall foreign-looking man 
 said, 
 
 " The will of the name of Harman is being read just now 
 by some one in the room." 
 
 "I will wait then," answered the man in his dep 
 voice. 
 
 Charlotte felt herself turning first crimson, then pale. 
 She saw that the man observed her. A sudden sense of 
 fright and of almost terror oppressed her. Her sweet and 
 gracious calm completely deserted her. Her fingers trem 
 bled so that she could scarcely turn the page. She did not 
 know what she feared. A nightmare seemed pressing on 
 her. She felt that she could never grasp the meaning of 
 the will. Her eyes travelled farther down the page. Sud 
 denly her finger stopped ; her brain grew clear, her heart 
 beat steadily. This was what she read, 
 
 " I will and bequeath all the residue of my real and per-
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. ISS 
 
 sonal estate and effects to the said John Harman Jasper 
 Harman, and Alexander Wilson, in trust to sell and realize 
 the same, and out of the proceeds thereof to invest such a 
 sum in public stocks or funds, or other authorized securities, 
 as will produce an annual income of ,1,200 a year, and to 
 hold the investment of the said sum in trust to pay the in 
 come thereof to my dear wife for her life : and after her de 
 cease to hold the said investment in trust for my daughter 
 Charlotte to her sole and separate use, independently of any 
 husband with whom she may intermarry." 
 
 Charlotte Harman was not the kind of woman who faints. 
 But there is a heart faintness when the muscles remain 
 unmoved, and the eyes are still bright. At that moment her 
 youth died absolutely. But though she felt its death pang, 
 not a movement of her proud face betrayed her. She saw, 
 without looking at him, that the red-faced man was watching 
 her. She forced herself to raise her eyes, and saying simply, 
 " This is Mr. Harman's will," handed it to him across the 
 table. He took it, and began to devour the contents with 
 quick and practised eyes. What she had taken so long to 
 discover he took it in at a glance. She heard him utter a 
 a smothered exclamation of pain and horror. She felt not 
 the least amazement or curiosity. All emotion seemed dead 
 in her. She drew on her gloves deliberately, pulled down 
 her veil, and left the room. That dead, dead youth she was 
 dragging away with her had made her feel so cold and numb 
 that she never noticed that the red faced man had hastily 
 folded up the will, had returned at to the clerk at the desk, 
 and was following her. She went through the entrance hall, 
 glancing neither to the left or right. The man came near. 
 When they both got into the square he came to her side, 
 raised his hat and spoke. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 TRUSTEES. 
 
 " MADAM," said the stranger, " you will pardon my in 
 truding on you, but I saw it in your face. You are interested in 
 that will you have just read."
 
 156 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 " Yes," answered Charlotte simply. 
 
 At another time she would have given an indignant retort 
 to what she would have considered a liberty. Now she 
 turned her eyes with a mute appeal in them to this stranger, 
 for she recognized kindness in his tones. 
 
 " It was my grandfather's will," she said, responding yet 
 farther to the full, kind gaze he gave her back. 
 
 " Ah ! then that sets me right," said Sandy Wilson, for it 
 was he. " That sets me right, young lady. Now I saw you 
 got a considerable bit of a shock just then. You ain't, you'll 
 forgive me for saying so, but you ain't quite fit to meet any 
 of your people for a bit ; you may want them not to guess, 
 but any one with half an eye can see you're not the young 
 lady you were even when I entered that reading-room not 
 half an hour back. I'm a rough, plain man, but I'm very 
 much interested in that will too, and I'd like to have a little 
 bit of a talk with you about it, if you'll allow me. Suppose, 
 miss, that you and I just take a turn round the square for a 
 few moments." 
 
 Charlotte's answer to this was to turn her face again to 
 wards the particular building where she had read the will, 
 and her companion, turning with her, began to talk eagerly. 
 
 " You see, miss, it was quite a little bit of luck brought 
 you and me together to-day. The gentleman who made that 
 will was your grandfather ; your name is " 
 
 " Harman," answered Charlotte. 
 
 " Ah ! yes, I see ; and I I am Alexander Wilson. I 
 don't suppose you ever saw me before ; but I, too, am much 
 interested in that will. I have been abroad, and and 
 supposed to be dead almost ever since that will was made. 
 But I was not dead, I was in Australia; I came home a week 
 ago, and found out my one living relation, my niece, my 
 sister's child. She is married and is a Mrs. Home now, but 
 she is the Charlotte named in Mr. Harman's will, the Char 
 lotte to whom, and to her mother before her, Mr, Harman 
 left .1,200 a year." 
 
 " Yes," said Charlotte Harman. She found difficulty in 
 dragging this one word from her lips. 
 
 " Madam, I find my niece very poor ; very, very poor. I 
 go and look at her father's will. I see there that she is en 
 titled to wealth, to what she would consider riches. I find 
 also that this money is left for her benefit in the hands of 
 trusteed ; two of the trustees are called Harman, the other, 
 madam, is is I myself ; I Alexander Wilson, am the
 
 HOV/ IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 157 
 
 other trustee, supposed to be dead. I could not hitherto act, 
 but I can act now. I can get that wronged woman back her 
 own. Yes, a monstrous piece of injustice has been done. 
 It was full time for Sandy Wilson to come home. Now the 
 first thing I must do is to find the other trustees ; I must 
 find the Harmans, wherever they are, for these Harmans 
 have robbed my niece." 
 
 "I can give you their addresses," answered Charlotte, 
 suddenly pausing in her walk and turning and facing her 
 companion. "John Harman, the other trustee, who, as you 
 say, has robbed Mrs. Home, is my father. I am his only 
 child. His address is Prince's Gate, Kensington." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " said Wilson, shocked and frightened 
 by her manner ; " I never guessed that you were his child 
 and yet you< betray him." 
 
 " I am his only child. When do you wish to see him ? " 
 
 To this question Wilson made no answer for a few mo 
 ments. Though a just man, he was a kind one. He could 
 read human nature with tolerable accuracy. It was despair, 
 not want of feeling, which put those hard tones into that 
 young voice. He would not, he could not, take advantage 
 of its bewilderment. 
 
 " Miss Harman," he said after a pause, " you will pardon 
 me, but I don't think you quite know what you are saying ; 
 you have got a considerable bit of a shock ; you' were not 
 prepared for this baseness this baseness on your father's 
 part." 
 
 Here her eyes, turned with a sudden swift flash of agony 
 upon him, said as plainly as eyes could speak 
 
 " Need you ask ? " 
 
 " No, you could not have guessed it," continued Sandy, 
 replying to this mute, though beautiful appeal, almost wtih 
 tears. " You are Mr. Harman's only child. Now I daresay 
 you are a good bit of an idol with him. I know how I'd 
 worship a fine lassie like you if I had her. Well, well, miss : 
 I don't want to pain you, but when young things come all on 
 a heap on a great wrong like you have done to-day, they're 
 apt, whatever their former love, to be a bit, just a bit, too 
 hard. They do things, in their first agony, that they are 
 sorry enough for by and by. Now, miss, what I want to say 
 is this, that I won't take down your father's address to-day 
 nor listen indeed to anything you may tell me about him. I 
 want you to sleep it over, miss. Of course something must 
 be done, but if you will sleep it over, and I, Sandy Wilson
 
 ! 5 8 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 sleep it over too, we'll come together over the business with 
 our heads a deal clearer than we could when we both felt 
 scared, so to speak, as we doubtless do just at present. I 
 won't move hand or foot in the matter until I see you again, 
 Miss Harman, When do you think you will be able to see 
 me again ? " 
 
 " Will this hour to-morrow do ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I shall be quite at your service. And as we may 
 want to look at that will again, suppose we meet just here, 
 miss?" 
 
 " I will be here at this hour to-morrow," said Charlotte, 
 and as she spoke she pulled out her watch to mark the exact 
 time. " It is a quarter past four now," she said ; " I will 
 meet you here at this hour to-morrow, at a quarter past 
 four." 
 
 " Very well, young lady, and may God help you ! If I 
 might express a wish for you, it is that you may have a good 
 hard cry between now and then. When I was told, and quite 
 sudden like too, that my little sister, Daisy Wilson, was dead 
 nothing took off the pressure from my heart and brain like a 
 good hearty cry. So I wish you the same. They say women 
 need it more than men." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 DAN'S WIFE. 
 
 CHARLOTTE watched Wilson out of the square, then she 
 slowly followed him. The numbness of that dead youth was 
 still oppressing her heart and brain. But she remembered 
 that the carriage must be waiting for her on the Embank 
 ment, also that her father she gasped a little as the thought 
 of her father came to her that her father would have 
 returned from the city; that he might ask for her, and would 
 wonder and grow uneasy at her absence. She must go home, 
 that was her first thought. She hurried her steps, anxious to 
 take the first turning which would lead to the Embankment. 
 
 She had turned down a side street and was walking 
 rapidly, when she heard her name called suddenly and
 
 HO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 159 
 
 eagerly, and a woman, very shabbily dressed, came up to 
 her. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Harman Miss Harman don't you know 
 me?" 
 
 Charlotte put her hand to her brow. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I know you now ; you are Hester 
 Wright. Is your husband out of prison yet ? " 
 
 " He is, Miss, and he's dying; he's dying 'ard, 'ard ; he's 
 allers saying as he wants to see either you or his master. We 
 are told that the master is ill ; but oh ! miss, miss, ef you 
 would come and see him, he's dreadful anxious dreadful, 
 dreadful anxious. I think it's jest some'ut on his mind ; ef 
 he could tell it, I believe as he'd die easy. Oh ! my beauti 
 ful, dear young lady, every one has a good word for you. 
 Oh ! I was going to make bold to come to Prince's Gate, and 
 ask you to come to see him. You'll never be sorry, miss, 
 if you can help a poor soul to die easy." 
 
 " You say he is really dying ? " said Charlotte. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, indeed, miss ; he never held up his head 
 since he saw the inside of the prison. He's dying now of a 
 galloping waste, so the doctors say. Oh ! Miss Harman, 
 I'll bless you for ever if you'll come and see him." 
 
 " Yes, I will come," said Charlotte. " Where do you 
 live ? " 
 
 " Away over at Poplar, miss. Poor place enough, and 
 unfit for one like you, but I'll come and fetch you my own 
 self, and not a pin's worth of harm shall come to you ; you 
 need have no cause to fear. When shall I come for you, my 
 dear, dear young lady ? " 
 
 " The man is dying, you say," said Charlotte. " Death 
 doesn't wait for our convenience ; I will come with you 
 now. My carriage is waiting quite near, l^must go and give 
 directions to the coachman : you can come with me : I will 
 then get a cab and drive to see your husband." 
 
 After this the two women the rich and the poor 
 walked on -side by side, quickly and in silence. The heart 
 of the one was dry and parched with the sudden fire of that 
 anguish and shame, the heart of the other was so soothed, so 
 thankful, that soft tears came, to be wiped stealthily away. 
 
 "Ain't she an angel?" she sai-d to herself, knowing 
 nothing, guessing less, of the storm which raged within her 
 companion's soul ; " and won't my poor Dan die easy now ? "
 
 160 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 AN OLD WEDDING-RING. 
 
 ONCE in Charlotte's life before now, she had remembered 
 her father doing what she considered a strangely hard thing. 
 A valet in whom he had always reposed full confidence had 
 robbed him of one hundred pounds. He had broken open 
 his master's desk at night and taken from thence notes to 
 that amount. The deed had been clumsily done, and detec 
 tion was very easy. The name of this valet was Wright. He 
 was young and good-looking, and had been lately married ; 
 hitherto he had been considered all that was respectable. 
 When his crime was brought home to him, he flew to seek 
 Charlotte, then a very young girl ; he flung himself on his 
 knees in her presence, and begged of her to ask her father 
 to show mercy to him. Scarcely half a dozen words of 
 passionate, terrified entreaty had passed his trembling lips, 
 before there came a tap at the door and the young wife 
 rushed in to kneel by his side. Together they implored ; 
 their words were poor and halting, but the agony of their 
 great plea for mercy went straight to the young generous 
 heart they asked to intercede for them. Charlotte promised 
 to do what she could. She promised eagerly, with hope in 
 her tones. 
 
 Never afterwards did she forget that day. Long indeed 
 
 did the faces of those two continue to haunt her, for she had 
 
 !sed in vain; her father was obdurate to all her en- 
 
 : even her tears, and she had cried passionately, had 
 
 failed to move him. Nothing should save Wright from the 
 
 full penalty of his crime. He was arrested, convicted, and 
 
 sent to prison. 
 
 From that moment the Harmans lost sight of the couple. 
 Charlotte had tried, it is true, to befriend Hester Wright, but 
 the young woman with some pride had refused all assistance 
 from those whom she considered strangely hard and cruel. 
 It was some years now since anything had been heard of 
 either of them. Charlotte, it is true, had not forgotten them, 
 but she had put them into a back part of her memory, 
 for her father's conduct with regard to Wright had always 
 been a sore puzzle to her. And now, on this clay of all days,
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. x6i 
 
 she was driving in a cab by the side of Hester Wright to see 
 her dying husband. She had sent a message home by the 
 coachman which would allay all immediate anxiety on her 
 account, and she sat back in the cab by the side of the poor' 
 and sad woman with a sense of almost relief, for the pres 
 ent. For an hour or t\vo she had something outside of her 
 self and her home to turn her thoughts to. After what 
 seemed a very long drive, they reached the shabby court and 
 shabbier house where the Wrights lived. 
 
 Charlotte had heard of such places before, but had never 
 visited them. Shabby women, and dirty and squalid chil 
 dren surrounded the young lady as she descended to the 
 pavement. The children came very close indeed, and some 
 even stroked her dress. One mite of three years raised, in 
 the midst of its dirt and neglect, a face of such sweetness 
 and innocence, that Charlotte suddenly stooped down and 
 kissed it. That kiss, though it left a grimy mark on her lips, 
 yet gave the first faint touch of consolation to her sorely 
 bruised heart. There was something good still left on God's 
 earth, and she had come to this slum, in the East end of 
 London, to see it shine in a baby's eyes. 
 
 " Ef you please, Miss, I think we had better keep the 
 cab," said Hester Wright ; "I don't think there's any cab 
 stand, not a long way from yere." 
 
 Charlotte spoke to the cabby, desired him to wait, then 
 she followed Hester into the house. 
 
 " No, I have no children," said the woman in answer to 
 a question of the young lady's ; " thank God fur that ; who'd 
 want to have young 'uns in a hole like this ? " 
 
 By this time they had reached their destination. It was 
 a cellar; Hester was not so very far wrong in calling it a 
 hole. It was damp, dirty, and ill-smelling, even to the 
 woman uho was accustomed to it ; to Charlotte it was hor 
 rible beyond words. For a time, the light was so faint she 
 could distinguish nothing, then on some straw in a corner 
 she saw a man. He was shrunken, and wasted, and dying, 
 and Charlotte, prepared as she was for a great change, 
 could ne/er have recognized him. His wife, taking Char 
 lotte's hand in hers, led her forward at once. 
 
 " You'd never ha' guessed, Dan, as I'd have so much 
 luck," she said. " I met our young lady in the street, and 
 I made bold to 'ax her and come and see you, and she come 
 off at once. This is our Miss Harman, Dan dear."
 
 161 nOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 " Our Miss Harman > " repeated the dying man, raising 
 his dim eyes. " She's changed a goodish bit." 
 
 " Don't call me yours," said Charlotte. " I never did 
 anything for you." 
 
 " Ay, but you tried," said the wife. " Dan and me don't 
 furget as we heerd you cryin' fit to break yer heart outside 
 the study door, and him within, wid a heart as hard as a 
 nether mill-stone, would do nought. No, you did yer werry 
 best ; Dan and me, we don't furget." 
 
 " No, I don't furget," said the man. " It wor a pity as 
 the old man were so werry 'ard. I wor young and I did it 
 rare and clumsy ; it wor to pay a. debt, a big, big debt. I 'ad 
 put my 'and to a bit of paper widhout knowing wot it meant, 
 and I wor made to pay fot it, and the notes they seemed real 
 'andy. Well, well, I did it badly, I ha' larnt the right way 
 since from some prison pals. I would not be found out so 
 easy now." 
 
 He spoke in an indifferent, drawling kind of voice, which 
 expressed no emotion whatever. 
 
 " You are very ill, I fear," said Charlotte, kneeling by his 
 side. 
 
 " 111 ! I'm dying, miss dear." 
 
 Charlotte had never seen death before. She noticed now 
 the queer shade of grey in the complexion, the short and 
 labored breath. She felt puzzled by these signs, for though 
 she had never seen death, this grayness, this shortness of 
 breath, were scarcely unfamiliar. 
 
 " I'm dying," continued the man. " I don't much care ; 
 weren't it fur Hetty there, I'd be rayther glad. I never 'ad 
 a chance since the old master sent me to prison. I'd ha' lived 
 respectable enough ef the old master 'ad bin merciful that 
 time. But once in prison, always in prison fur a friendless 
 chap like me. I never wanted to steal agen, but I jest 'ad 
 to, to keep the life in me. I could get no honest work hany- 
 where ; then at last I took cold, and it settled yere," point 
 ing to his sunken chest, " and I'm going off, sure as sure ! " 
 
 " He ain't like to live another twenty-four hours, so the 
 doctor do say," interrupted thj wife. 
 
 " No, that's jest it. Yesterday a parson called. I used 
 ter see the jail chaplain, and I never could abide him, but this 
 man, he did speak hup and to the point. He said as it wor 
 a hawful thing to die unforgiven. He said it over and 
 over, until I wor fain to ax him wot I could do to get fur-
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 163 
 
 given, fur he did say it wor an hawful thing to die without 
 having parding." 
 
 " Oh, it must be, it must be ! " said Chartlotte, suddenly 
 clasping her hands very tightly together. 
 
 " I axed him how I could get it from God h' Almighty, 
 and he told me, to tell him, the parson, first of all my whole 
 story, and then he could adwise me ; so I hup and telled him 
 heverything, hall about that theft as first tuk me to prison 
 and ruined me, and how 'ard the old master wor, and I telled 
 him another thing too, for he 'ad sech a way, he seemed to 
 drawyer werry 'art out of you. Then he axed me ef I'd fur- 
 given the old master, and I said no, fur he wor real, real 'ard ; 
 then he said so solemn-like, ' That's a great, great pity, fur 
 I'm afraid as God can't furgive you, till you furgives.' Arter 
 that he said a few more words, and prayed awhile, and then 
 he went away. I could not sleep hall night, and to-day I 
 called Hetty there, over, and she said as she'd do her werry 
 best to bring eittter the old master yere, or you miss, and 
 you see you are come ; 'tis an awful thing to die without par- 
 ding, that's why I axed you to come." 
 
 " Yes," said Charlotte very softly. 
 
 " Please, miss, may a poor dying feller, though he ain't no 
 better nor a common, common thief, may he grip, 'old of yer 
 and ? " 
 
 " With all my heart." 
 
 " There now, it don't seem so werry 'ard. Lord Jesus, 
 I fur gives Mr. Harman. Now I ha' said it. Wife dear, bring 
 me hover that little box, that as I allers kep' so close." 
 
 His wife brought him a tiny and very dirty cardboard 
 box. 
 
 " She kep' it when I wor locked up ; I allers call it my bit 
 o' revenge. I'll give it back now. Hetty, open it." 
 
 Hetty did so, taking from under a tiny bit of cotton-wool 
 a worn, old-fashioned wedding-ring. 
 
 " There, miss dear," said Wright, handing it to her, " that 
 wor the old master's wife's ring. I knew as he set more 
 prize to it nor heverything else he had, he used to wear it 
 on a bit of ribbon round his neck. One day he did not put 
 it on, he furgot it, and I, when I found he meant to be so 
 werry, werry 'ard, I took it and hid it, and took it away wid 
 me. It comforted me when I \vor so long in prison to think 
 as he might be fretting fur it, and never guess as the lad he 
 were so 'ard on had it. I never would sell it, and now as I 
 has furgiven him, he may have it back agen. You tell him
 
 !64 HOW 'IT ALL CAME ROUXD. 
 
 arter I'm dead, tell him as I furgives him, and yere's the ring 
 back agen." 
 
 Charlotte slipped the worn little trinket on her finger. 
 
 " I will try and give my father your message," she said. 
 " I may not be able at once, but I will try. I am glad you 
 have forgiven him ; we all stand in sore, sore need of that, 
 not only from our fellow-men, but much more from our God. 
 Now good-bye, I will come again." She held out her hand. 
 
 " Ah, but miss dear, I won't be yere fur no coming again, 
 I'll be far away. Hetty knows that, poor, poor, gal ! Hetty'll 
 miss me, but only fur that I could be real glad, fur now as I 
 ha' furgiven the old master, I feels real heasy. I ain't noth 
 ing better nor a common thief, but fur hall that, I think as 
 Jesus 'ull make a place for me somehow nigh of hisself." 
 
 " And, miss," said Hester, " I'm real sorry, and so will 
 Dan be when I tell him how bad the old master is." 
 
 " My father is not well ; but how do you know ? " said 
 Charlotte. 
 
 " Well, miss, I went to the house to-day, a-looking fur you 
 and the servant she told me, she said as there worn't never 
 a hope, as the old master were safe to die." 
 
 " Then maybe I can tell himself hup in heaven as I quite 
 furgives him," said Dan Wright. 
 
 Charlotte glanced from one speaker to the other in a kind 
 of terrible astonishment. Suddenly she knew on whose brow 
 she had seen that awful grayness, from whose lips she had 
 heard that short and hurried breath. A kind of spasm of 
 great agony suddenly contracted her heart. Without a word, 
 however, she rose to her feet, gave the wife money for her 
 present needs, bade the dying husband good-bye, and stepped 
 into the cab which still waited for her. It was really late, and 
 all daylight had faded as she gave the direction for her own 
 luxurious home. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THREE FACTS. 
 
 DINNER was more than half over when she reached 
 Prince's Gate. She was glad of this. She went straight up 
 to her own room and sent for her maid. 
 
 "Ward, I am very tired and not very well. I shall not
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. ^5 
 
 go down again to-night, nor do I wish to see any one. Please 
 bring up a cup of strong tea here, and a little dry toast, and 
 then you may leave me. I shall not want you again to 
 night." 
 
 " You won't see Mr. Harman again to-night, miss. Am 
 I to take him that message ? " 
 
 " Yes ; say that I have a headache and think I had bet 
 ter stay quiet. I will be down to breakfast as usual." 
 
 Ward went away, to return in a few moments with the 
 tea and toast. 
 
 " If you please, Miss Harman, they have just sent the 
 
 wedding dress and veil from . Are you too tired to be 
 
 fitted to-night ? " 
 
 Charlotte gave a little involuntary shudder. 
 
 " Yes, I am much too tired," she said ; " put everything 
 away,- 1 do not want even to look at them. Thank you, 
 Ward, this tea looks nice. Now you need not come in 
 again. Goodnight." 
 
 " Good night, Miss Harman," said the maid, going softly 
 to the door and closing it behind her. 
 
 Charlotte got up at once and turned the key. Now, at 
 last, thank God, she was quite alone. She threw off her 
 bonnet and cloak and going straight to her bed flung herself 
 upon it. In this position she lay still for over an hour. The 
 strong tension she had put on herself gave way during that 
 hour, for she groaned often and heavily, though tears were 
 very far from her eyes. At the end of about an hour she 
 got up, bathed her face and hands in cold water, drank a 
 cup of tea, and put some coals on a fire in the grate. She 
 then pulled out her watch. Yes ; she gave a sigh of relief 
 it was not yet ten o'clock, she had the best part of twelve 
 hours before her in which to prepare to meet her father at 
 breakfast. In these hours she must think, she must resolve, 
 she must prepare herself for action. She sat down opposite 
 the little cheerful fire which, warm though the night was, was 
 grateful to her in her chilled state of mind and body. Look 
 ing into its light she allowed thought to have full dominion 
 over her. Hitherto, from the moment she had read those 
 words in her grandfather's will until this present moment, 
 she had kept thought back. In the numbness which im 
 mediately followed the first shock, this was not so difficult. 
 She had heard all Sandy Wilson's words, but had only dimly 
 followed out their meaning. He wanted to meet her on the 
 morrow. She had promised to meet him, as she would have
 
 1 66 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 promised also to do anything else, however preposterous, at 
 that moment. Then she had felt a desire, more from the 
 force of habit than from any stronger motive, to go home. 
 She had been met by Hester Wright, and Hester had taken 
 her to see her dying husband. She had stood by the death 
 bed and looked into the dim and terrible eyes of death, and 
 felt as though a horrible nightmare was oppressing her, and 
 then at last she had got away, and at last, at last she was at 
 home. The luxuries of her own refined and beautiful home 
 surrounded her. She was seated in the room where she had 
 slept as a baby, as a child, as a girl ; and now, now she must 
 wake from this semi-dream, she must rouse herself, she 
 must think it out. Hinton was right in saying that in a 
 time of great trouble a very noble part of Charlotte v 
 awake ; that in deep waters such a nature as hers would ri.-.e, 
 not sink. It was awakening now, and putting forth its young 
 wings, though its birth-throes were causing agony. " I wiU 
 look the facts boldly in the face," she said once aloud, 
 "even my own heart shall not accuse me of cowardice." 
 There were three facts confronting this young woman, and 
 one seemed nearly as terrible as the other. First, her father 
 was guilty. During almost all the years of her life he had 
 been not an honorable, but a base man ; he had, to enrich 
 himself, robbed the widow and the fatherless ; he had grown 
 wealthy on their poverty ; he had left them to suffer, perhaps 
 to die. The will which he had thought would never be read 
 was there to prove his treachery. Believing that his fellow- 
 trustee was dead, he had betrayed his sacred trust. Char 
 lotte could scarcely imagine a darker crime. Her father, 
 who looked so noble, who was so tender and good to her, 
 who bore so high a character in the eyes of the world, was a 
 very bad man. This was her first fact. Her second seemed, 
 just because of the first, even a shade darker. This fatht : . 
 whom she had loved, this poor, broken-down, guilty fathc . 
 who, like a broken idol, had fallen from his high estate in 
 her heart, was dying. Ah ! she knew it now ; that look on 
 his old face could only belong to the dying. How blind she 
 had been ! how ignorant ! But the Wrights' words had torn 
 the veil from her eyes; the guilty man was going fast to 
 judgment. The God whom he had sinned against was about 
 to demand retribution. Now she read the key to his unhap- 
 piness, his despair. No wonder, no wonder, that like a can 
 ker it had eaten into his heart. Her father was certainly 
 )'_T : God himself \vis taking his punishment into His own
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. !6y 
 
 hands. Charlotte's third fact, though the most absolutely 
 personal of the whole, scarcely tortured her as the other two 
 did to-night. It lay so clearly and so directly in her path, 
 that there was no pausing how best to act. The way for ac 
 tion was too clear to be even for an instant disobeyed. Into 
 this fire she must walk without hesitation or pause. Her 
 wedding-day could not be on the twentieth ; her engage 
 ment must be broken off ; her marriage at an end. What ! 
 she, the daughter of a thief, ally herself to an upright, honor 
 able man ! Never ! never ! Whatever the consequences 
 and the pain to either, Hinton and she must part. She did 
 not yet know how this parting would be effected. She did 
 not know whether she would say farewell to her lover telling 
 him all the terrible and bitter disgrace, or with a poor and 
 lame excuse on her lips. But however she did it, the thing 
 must be done. Never, never, never would she drag the man 
 she loved down into her depths of shame. 
 
 To-night she scarcely felt the full pain of this. It was 
 almost a relief, in the midst of all the chaos, to have this 
 settled line of action around which no doubt must linger. 
 Yes, she would instantly break off her engagement. Now 
 she turned her thoughts to her two former facts. Her father 
 was guilty. Her father was dying. She, in an underhand 
 way, for which even now she hated herself had discovered 
 her father's long-buried crime. But she had not alone dis 
 covered it. Another had also gone to see that will in. 
 Somerset House ; another with eyes far more practised than 
 hers had read those fatal words. And that other, he could 
 act. He would act ; he would expose the guilty and dying 
 old man, for he was the other trustee. 
 
 Charlotte was very ignorant as to how the law would act 
 with regard to such a crime as her father's. Doubt 
 less there would be a public trial, a public disgrace. He 
 would be dragged into the prisoner's dock ; his old white 
 head would be bowed low there, and he was a dying man. 
 
 In the first shock and horror of finding that the father 
 she had always almost worshipped could be guilty of such a 
 terrible crime, a great rush of anger and almost hardness 
 had steeled her heart against him ; but now tenderer feelings 
 came back. Pity, sad-eyed and gentle, knocked at her 
 heart, and when she let in pity, love quickly resumed its 
 throne. Yes ; whatever his crime, whatever his former life, 
 she loved that old man. That white-headed, broken-hearted 
 man, so close to the grave, was her father, and she his only
 
 T 68 HOW IT ALL CAME ROU.\1>. 
 
 child. When she spoke to Sandy Wilson to-day she had 
 felt no desire to save the guilty from his rightful fate. But 
 now her feelings were different. A great cry arose in her 
 heart on his behalf. Coulcl she screen him ? could she 
 screen him from his fate ? In her agony she rose and flung 
 herself on her knees. " My God, help me ; my God, don't 
 forsake me ; save mv father. Save him, save him, save 
 him." 
 
 She felt a little calmer after this broken prayer, and 
 something to 7 do occurred to her with its instant power of 
 tranquillizing. She would find out the doctor whom her 
 father consulted. She would ask Uncle Jasper. She would 
 make him tell her, and she would visit this man early in the 
 morning, and, whatever the consequence, learn the exact 
 truth from his lips. It would help her in her interview later 
 on with Mr. Wilson. Beyond this little immediate course of 
 action, there was no light whatever; but she felt so far 
 calmed, that, about two o'clock, she lay down and sleep came 
 to her healthy and dreamless sleep, which was sent direct 
 from God to put strength into the brave heart, to enable it 
 to suffer and endure. Many weeks before Mr. Home had 
 said to Charlotte Harman, "You must keep the Christ 
 bright within you." Was His likeness to shine henceforth 
 through all the rest of her life, in those frank eyes, that sweet 
 face, that noble woman's heart, because of and through that 
 great tribulation. We have heard tell of the white robes 
 which they wear who go through it. Is it not worth while 
 for so sacred a result to heat the furnace seven times ? 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 THE DOCTOR'S VERDICT. 
 
 IN her terrible anger and despair Charlotte had almost 
 forgotten Uncle Jasper; but when she came down to break 
 fast the following morning and saw him there, for he had 
 come to Prince's Gate early, and was standing with her father 
 on the hearthrug, she suddenly remembered that he too 
 must have been guilty ; nay, worse, her father had never 
 tried to deceive her, and Uncle Jasper had. She remem-
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 169 
 
 bered the lame story he had told her about Mrs. Plome ; 
 how fully she had believed that story, and how it had com 
 forted her heart at the time ! Now she saw clearly its many 
 flaws, and wondered at her own blindness. Charlotte had 
 always been considered an open creature one so frank, so 
 ingenuous, that her secrets, had she ever tried to have any, 
 might be read like an open book ; but last night she had 
 learned to dissemble. She was glad when she entered the 
 cheerful breakfast-room to find that she was able to put her 
 hardly learned lesson in practice. Knowing what she did, 
 she could yet go up and kiss her father, and allow her uncle 
 to put his lips to her cheek. She certainly looked badly, but 
 that was accounted for by the headache which she confessed 
 still troubled her. She sat down opposite the tea-urn, and 
 breakfast was got through in such a manner that Mr. Har- 
 man noticed nothing particular to be wrong. He always 
 drove to the City now in his own private carriage, and after 
 he had gone Charlotte turned to Jasper. 
 
 " Uncle Jasper," she said, "you have deceived me." 
 
 " Good heavens ! how, Charlotte ? " said the old uncle. 
 
 " My father is very ill. You have given me to under 
 stand that there was nothing of serious consequence the mat 
 ter with him." 
 
 Uncle Jasper heaved a slight but still audible sigh of re 
 lief. Was this all ? These fears he might even yet quiet. 
 
 " I have not deceived you, Charlotte," he said, " for I do 
 not believe your father to be seriously ill." 
 
 He fixed his keen gray eyes on her face as he spoke. She 
 returned his gaze without shrinking. 
 
 " Still you do think him ill ? " she said. 
 
 " Well, any one to look at him must admit that he is not 
 what he was." 
 
 "Just so, Uncle Jasper. So you have told me very many 
 times, when you have feared my troubling him on certain 
 matters. Now it has come to me from another source that 
 he is very ill. My eyes have been opened, and I see the 
 fact myself. I wish to learn the simple and exact truth. I 
 wish to see the doctor he has consulted." 
 
 " How do you know he has consulted any ? " 
 
 " Has he ? " 
 
 Uncle Jasper was silent for a moment. He felt in a diffi 
 culty. Did Charlotte know the worst, she might postpone 
 her marriage, the last thing to be desired just now ; and yet 
 where had she got her information ? It was awkward
 
 170 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 enough, though he felt a certain sense of relief in thus ac 
 counting for the change in her appearance since yesterday 
 morning. He got up and approached her side softly. 
 
 " My dear, I do own that your father is ill. I own, too, 
 that I have, by his most express wish, made as light of the 
 matter to you as I could. The fact is, Charlotte, he is 
 anxious, very anxious, about himself. He thinks himself 
 much worse than I believe him to be ; but his strongest de 
 sire is, that now, on the eve of your marriage, you should not 
 be alarmed on his account. I firmly believe you have no 
 cause for any special fear. Ought you not to respect his 
 wishes, and rest satisfied without seeking to know more than 
 he and I tell you ? I will swear, Charlotte, if that is any 
 consolation to you, that I am not immediately anxious about 
 your father." 
 
 " You need not swear, Uncle Jasper. Your not being 
 anxious does not prevent my being so. I am determined to 
 find out the exact truth. If he thinks himself very ill he 
 has, of course, consulted some medical man. If you will not 
 tell me his name I will myself ask my father to do so to 
 night." 
 
 " By so doing you will shock him, and the doctor does not 
 wish him to be shocked." 
 
 " Just so, Uncle Jasper, and you can spare him that by 
 telling me what you know." 
 
 " My dear niece, if you will have it ? " 
 
 " I certainly am quite resolved, uncle." 
 
 " Well, well, you approach this subject at your peril. If 
 you must see the doctor you must. Wilful woman over 
 again. Would you like me to go with you ? " 
 
 " No, thank you ; I prefer to go alone. What is the 
 doctor's name ? " 
 
 " Sir George Anderson, of B Street." 
 
 " I will go to him at once," said Charlotte. 
 
 She left the room instantly, though she heard her uncle 
 calling her back. Yes, she would go to Sir George at once. 
 She pulled out her watch, ran upstairs, put on some out-door 
 dress, and in ten minutes from the time she had learned the 
 name^of the great physician was in a hansom driving to his 
 house. This rapid action was a relief to her. Presently she 
 arrived at her destination. Yes, the doctor was at home. 
 He was engaged for the present with another patient, but if 
 Charlotte liked to wait he would see her in her turn. Cer 
 tainly she would wait. She gave her card to the man who
 
 HO W IT ALL CAME ROUND. 1 7 x 
 
 admitted her, and was shown into a room, very dark and dis 
 mal, where three or four patients were already enduring a 
 time of suspense waiting for their interviews. Charlotte, 
 knowing nothing of illness, knew, if possible, still less of 
 doctors' rooms. A sense of added depression came over her 
 as she seated herself on the nearest chair, and glanced, from 
 the weary and suffering faces of those who waited anxiously 
 for their doom, to the periodicals and newspapers piled on 
 the table. A gentleman seated not far off handed her the 
 last number of the Illustrated London News. She took it, 
 turning the pages mechanically. To her dying day she never 
 got over the dislike to that special paper which that half hour 
 created. 
 
 One by one the patients' names were called by the grave 
 footman as he came to summon them. One by one they 
 went away, and at last, at last, Charlotte's turn came. She 
 had entered into conversation with a little girl of about six 
 teen, who appeared to be in consumption, and the little girl 
 had praised the great physician in such terms that Charlotte 
 felt more than ever that against his opinion there could be 
 no appeal. And now at last she was in the great man's 
 presence, and, healthy girl that she was, her heart beat so 
 loud, and her face grew so white, that the practised eyes of 
 the doctor might have been pardoned for mistaking her for 
 a bona-fide patient. 
 
 " What are you suffering from ? " he asked of her. 
 
 " It is not myself, Sir George," she said, then making a 
 great effort to control her voice " I have come about my 
 father my father is one of your patients. His name is 
 Harman." 
 
 Sir George turned to a large book at his side, opened it 
 at a certain page, read quietly for a moment, then closing it, 
 fixed his keen eyes on the young lady. 
 
 "You are right," he said, " your father, Mr. Harman, is 
 one of my patients. He came to see me no later than last 
 week." 
 
 " Sir," said Charlotte, and her voice grew steadier and 
 braver as she spoke, " I am in perfect health, and my father 
 is ill. I have come here to-day to learn from your lips the 
 exact truth as to his case." 
 
 " The exact truth ? " said the doctor. " Does your father 
 know you have come here, Miss Miss Harman ? " 
 
 " He does not, Sir George. My father is a widower, and 
 I am his only child. He has endeavored to keep this thing
 
 I 7 2 
 
 HO W IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 from me, and hitherto has partially succeeded. Yesterday, 
 through another source, I learned that he is very seriously 
 ill. 1 have come to you to know the truth. You will tell ft 
 to me, will you not ? " 
 
 " I certainly can tell it to you." 
 
 " And you will ? " 
 
 " Well, the fact is, Miss Harman, he is anxious that you 
 should not know. I am scarcely prepared to fathom your 
 strength of character. Any shock will be of serious conse 
 quence to him. How can I tell how you will act when you 
 know all ? " 
 
 "You are preparing me for the worst now. Sir George. I 
 solemnly promise you in no way to use my knowledge so as 
 to give my father the slightest shock." 
 
 " I believe you," answered the doctor. "A brave woman 
 can do wonders. Women are unselfish ; they can hide their 
 own feelings to comfort and succor another. Miss Harman, 
 I am sorry for you, I have bad news for you." 
 
 " I know it, Sir George. My father is very ill." 
 
 " Your father is as seriously ill as a man can be to be 
 alive ; in short, he is dying." 
 
 " Is there no hope ? " 
 
 " None." 
 
 " Must he die soon ? " asked Charlotte, after a brief 
 pause. 
 
 "That depends. His malady is of such a nature that any 
 sudden shock, any sudden grief will probably kill him in 
 stantly. If his mind is kept perfectly calm, and all shocks are 
 kept from him, he may live for many months." 
 
 " Oh ! terrible ! " cried Charlotte. 
 
 She covered her face. When she raised it at last it 
 looked quite haggard and old. 
 
 " Sir George," she said, " I do not doubt that in your 
 position as a doctor you have come across some secrets. I 
 am going to confide in you, to confide in you to a certain 
 measure." 
 
 " Your confidence shall be sacred, my dear young lady." 
 
 " Yesterday, Sir George, I learned something, something 
 which concerns my father. It concerns him most nearly and 
 most painfully. It relates to an old and buried wrong. This 
 wrong relates to others ; it relates to those now living most 
 nearly and most painfully." 
 
 " Is it a money matter ? " asked the doctor. 
 
 " It is a money matter. My father alone can set it right.
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND, 173 
 
 I mean that during his lifetime it cannot possibly im any way 
 be set right without his knowledge. Almost all my life, he 
 has kept this thing a secret from me and and from the 
 world. For three and twenty years it has lain in a grave. If 
 he is told now, and the wrong cannot be repaired without 
 his knowledge, it will come on him as a disgrace. The 
 question I ask of you is this : can he bear the disgrace ? " 
 
 "And my answer to you, Miss Harman, is, that in his 
 state of health the knowledge you speak of will instantly kill 
 him." 
 
 " Then then God help me ! what am I to do ? Can 
 the wrong never be righted ? " 
 
 " My dear young lady, I am sincerely sorry for you. I 
 cannot enter into the moral question, I can only state a fact. 
 As your father's physician I forbid you to tell him." 
 
 " You forbid me to tell him ? " said Charlotte. She got 
 up and pulled down her veil. " Thank you," she said, holding 
 out her hand. " I have that to go on as my father's phy 
 sician you forbid him to know ? " 
 
 " I forbid it absolutely. Such a knowledge would cause 
 instant death." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 PUZZLED. 
 
 THE old Australian Alexander Wilson, had left his niece, 
 Charlotte Home, after his first interview with her, in a very 
 disturbed state of mind. More disturbed indeed was he 
 than by the news of his sister's death. He was a rich man 
 now, having been successful in the land of his banishment, 
 and having returned to his native land the possessor of a 
 moderate fortune. He had never married, and he meant to 
 live with Daisy and share his wealth with her. But in these 
 day-dreams he had only thought of his money as giving some 
 added comforts to his rich little sister, enabling her to have a 
 house in London for the season, and, while living in the 
 country, to add more horses to her establishment and more 
 conservatories to build and tend. His money should add to 
 her luxuries and, consequently, to her comforts. He had
 
 174 
 
 HO W IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 never heard of this unforgotten sister for three and twenty 
 years, the strange dislike to write home having grown upon 
 him as time went on but though he knew nothing about her, 
 he many a time in his own wild and solitary life pictured her as 
 he saw her last. Daisy never grew old to him. Death and 
 Daisy were not connected. Daisy in his imagination was 
 always young, always girlish always fresh and beautiful. He 
 saw her as he saw her last in her beautiful country home 
 standing by her rich husband's side, looking more like his 
 daughter than his wife. No, Sandy never dreamed that Daisy 
 would or could die, but in thinking of her he believed her to 
 be a widow. That husband, so old, when he went away, 
 must be dead. 
 
 On his arrival in England, Sandy went down into Hert- 
 fortshire. He visited the place where he had last seen his 
 sister. It was in the hands of strangers sold long ago. No 
 one even remembered the name of Harman. Then he met 
 little Daisy Home, and learned quite by accident that his 
 Daiy was dead, and that the pretty child who reminded him 
 of her was her grandchild. He went to visit Charlotte Home, 
 and there made a fresh discovery. Had his Daisy been alive 
 she would have wanted far more from his well-filled purse 
 than horses and .carriages. She would have needed not the 
 luxuries of life, but the necessities. He had imagined her 
 rich, while she had died in poverty. She had died poor, and 
 her child, her only child, bore evident marks of having met 
 face to face with the sorest of all want, that which attacks 
 the gently born. Her face, still young, but sadly thin and 
 worn, the very look in her eyes told this fact to Sandy. 
 
 Yes ; his pretty Daisy, whom he had imagined so rich, 
 so bountifully provided for, had died a very poor and strug 
 gling woman. Doubtless this sad and dreadful fact had 
 shortened her days. Doubtless but for this monstrous 
 injustice she would be alive now, ready to welcome her long- 
 lost brother back to his native land. 
 
 All that night Sandy Wilson lay awake. He was a hale 
 and hearty man, and seldom knew what it was to toss for 
 any time on his pillow ; but so shocked was he, that this 
 night no repose would visit him. An injustice had been 
 done, a fraud committed, and it remained for him to find 
 out the evil thing, to drag it to the light, to set the wronged 
 right once more. Charlotte Home was not at all the character 
 he could best understand. She was not in the least like her 
 mother. She told the tale of her wrongs with a strange and
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 '75 
 
 manifest reluctance. She believed that a fraud had been 
 committed. She was fully persuaded that not her long-dead 
 father but her living half-brothers were the guilty parties. In 
 this belief Sandy most absolutely shared. He longed to 
 drag these villains into the glaring light of justice, to expose 
 them and their disgraceful secret to the shameful light of 
 day. But in this longing he saw plainly that Charlotte did 
 not share. He was puzzled, scarcely pleased that this was 
 so. How differently little Daisy would have acted had 
 she been alive. Dear little innocent Daisy, who all alone 
 could do nothing, would in his strong presence have grown 
 so brave and fearless. She would have put the case 
 absolutely and once for all into his hands. Now this her 
 daughter did not seem disposed to do. She said to him, 
 with most manifest anxiety, " You will do nothing without 
 me. You will do nothing until we meet again." 
 
 This he had promised readily enough, for what could he 
 do in the short hours which must elapse between now and 
 their next meeting? As he was dressing, however, on the 
 following morning, a sudden idea did occur to him, and on 
 this idea he resolved to act before he saw Charlotte at six 
 o'clock in the evening. He would go to Somerset House 
 and see Mr. Harman's will. What Daisy first, and now 
 Charlotte, had never thought of doing during all these years 
 he would do that very day. Thus he would gain certain and 
 definite information. With this information it would be 
 comparatively easy to know best how to act. 
 
 He went to Somerset House. He saw the will ; he saw 
 the greatness of the robttery committed so many years ago ; 
 he saw and he felt a wild kind of almost savage delight in the 
 fact that he could quickly and easily set the wrong right, for 
 he was one of the trustees. He saw all this, and yet and 
 yet he went away a very unhappy and perplexed man, for 
 he had seen something else he had seen a woman's agony 
 and despair. Sandy Wilson possessed the very softest soul 
 that had ever been put into a big body. He never could 
 bear to see even a dog in pain. How then could he look at 
 the face of this girl which, all in a moment, under his very 
 eyes, had been blanched with agony ? He could not bear. it. 
 He forgot his fierce longing for revenge, he forgot his niece 
 Charlotte's wrongs, in this sudden and passionate desire to 
 succor the other Charlotte, the daughter of the bad man 
 who had robbed his own sister, his own niece ; he became 
 positively anxious that Miss Harman should not commit her-
 
 I7 6 JIOW IT ALL CAME ROUXD. 
 
 self ; he felt a nervous fear as each word dropped from her 
 lips ; he saw that she spoke in the extremity of despair. 
 How could he stop the words which told too much ? He 
 was relieved when the thought occurred to him to ask her 
 to meet him again again when they both were calmer. She 
 had consented, and he found himself advising her, as he 
 would have advised his own dear daughter had he been 
 lucky enough to have possessed one. He promised her that 
 nothing, nothing should be done until they met again, and so 
 afraid was he that in his interview that evening with his niece, 
 Mrs. Home, he might be tempted to drop some word which 
 might betray ever so little that other Charlotte, that instead 
 of going to Tremin's Road as he had intended, he wrote a 
 note excusing himself and putting off his promised visit until 
 the following evening. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 CHARLOTTE'S PLEA. 
 
 WHEN at last the time drew near for him to bend his 
 steps in the direction of Somerset House he had by no means 
 made up his mind how to act. His sympathies were still 
 with Miss Harman. Her face had haunted him all night 
 long ; but he felt that every sense of justice, every sense of 
 right, called upon him to befriend Mrs. Home. His dearly 
 loved dead sister seemed to call to him from her grave 
 and to ask him to rescue those belonging to her, to give 
 again to these wronged ones what was rightfully theirs. 
 In any case, seeing the wrong as he so plainly did, he 
 would have felt called upon to take his sister's part in the 
 matter. But as circumstances now stood, even had Mrs. 
 Home been no relation to him whatever, he still must 
 have acted for her and her alone. For was he not the 
 other trustee ? and did not the very law of the land of his 
 birth demand that he should see that the terms of the will 
 were carried out ? 
 
 He arrived at the square of Somerset House, and found 
 Miss Harman waiting for him. 
 
 She came up to him at once and held out her hand. His
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 177 
 
 quick eye detected at a glance that she was now quite calm 
 and collected, that whatever she might have done in the first 
 agony of her despair yesterday, to-day she would do nothing 
 to betray herself. Strange to say, he liked her far less well 
 in this mood than he had done yesterday, and his heart and 
 inclination veered round again to his wronged niece and her 
 children with a sense of pleasure and almost triumph. 
 
 They began to walk up and down, and Miss Harman, 
 finding that her companion was silent, was the first to 
 speak. 
 
 " You asked me to meet you here to-day. What do you 
 want to say to me ? " 
 
 Good heavens ! was she going to ride the high horse over 
 him in this style ? Sandy's small eyes almost flashed as he 
 turned to look at her. 
 
 " A monstrous wrong has been done, Miss Harman," he 
 answered. " I have come to talk about that." 
 
 " I know," replied Charlotte. " I have thought it all out. 
 I know exactly what has been done. My grandfather died 
 and left a sum of twelve hundred a year to my to his wife. 
 He left other moneys to my father and his brother. My 
 father and his brother, my uncle, disregarded the claims of 
 the widow and the orphan child. They appropriated the 
 money they stole it giving to my grandfather's widow a 
 small sum during her life, which small sum they did not even 
 allow to 6e retained by her child." 
 
 " That is pretty much the case, young lady. You have 
 read the will with tolerable accuracy." 
 
 " I do not know in the least how the deed was done," 
 continued Charlotte. " How such a crime could be com 
 mitted and yet lie hidden all these years remains a terrible 
 and mysterious thing to me. But that it was done, I can but 
 use my own eyes in reading my grandfather's will to see." 
 
 " It was done easily enough, Miss Harman. They 
 thought the other trustee was dead. Your father and his 
 brother were false to their trust, and they never reckoned that 
 Sandy Wilson would come back all alive and blooming 
 one fine morning Sandy, whose duty it is to see this great 
 wrong put right." 
 
 " Yes, it is your duty," said Charlotte ; and now, again, 
 she grew very white ; her eyes sought the ground and she 
 was silent. 
 
 " It is my most plain duty," repeated Wilson, shuffling 
 with his great feet as he walked by her side.
 
 I7 8 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 " I should like to know what steps you mean to take," 
 continued Charlotte, suddenly raising her eyes to his face. 
 
 " Steps ! Good gracious ! young lady, I have not had 
 time to go into the law of the thing. Besides, I promised to 
 do nothing until we met again. But one thing is plain 
 enough,and obvious enough my niece,that young woman who 
 might have been rich, but who is so poor that young woman 
 must come in for her own again. It is three-and-twenty 
 years since her father died. She must receive from your 
 father that money with all back interest for the last three 
 and twenty years. That means a goodish bit of money I can 
 tell you." 
 
 " I have no doubt it does," replied Charlotte. " Mrs. 
 Home shall have it all." 
 
 " Well, I hope so, young lady, and soon, too. It seems to 
 me she has had her share of poverty." 
 
 " She has had, as you say, her share of that evil. Mr. 
 Wilson," again raising her eyes to his face, " I know Mrs. 
 Home." 
 
 " You know her ? You know my niece Charlotte person 
 ally ? She did not tell me that." 
 
 "Yes, I know her. I should like to see her now." 
 
 " You would P- 1 -! am surprised ! Why ? " 
 
 " That I might go down on my knees to her." 
 
 "Well, good gracious ! young lady, I supposed you might 
 feel sorry, but I did not know you would humble yourself to 
 that extent. It was not your sin." 
 
 " Hush ! It was my father's sin. I am his child. I 
 would go lower than my knees I would lie on the ground 
 that she might walk over me, if the better in that position I 
 might plead for mercy." 
 
 " For mercy ? Ay, that's all very well, but Charlotte 
 must have her rights. Sandy Wilson must see to that." 
 
 " She shall have her rights ! And yet I would see her if 
 I could, and if I saw her I would go on my knees and plead 
 for mercy." 
 
 " I don't understand you, Miss Harman." 
 
 " I do not suppose you do. Will you have patience with 
 me while I explain myself ? " 
 
 " I have come here to talk to you and to listen to you," 
 said Wilson. 
 
 " Sir, I must tell you of my father, that man whom you 
 (and I do not wonder) consider so bad so low ! When I 
 read that will yesterday when I saw with my own eyes
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 179 
 
 what a fraud had been committed, what a great, great evil 
 had been done, I felt in my first misery that I almost hated 
 my father ! I said to myself, ' Let him be punished ! ' I 
 would have helped you then to bring him to punishment. I 
 think you saw that ? " 
 
 " I did, Miss Harman. I can see as far through a stone 
 wall as most people. I saw that you were a bit stunned, and 
 I thought it but fair that you should have time to calm 
 down." 
 
 " You were kind to me. You acted as a good man and a 
 gentleman. Then I scarcely cared what happened to my 
 father ; now I do." 
 
 " Ay, ay, young lady, natural feelings must return. I am 
 very sorry for'you." 
 
 " Mr. Wilson, I hope to make you yet more sorry. I must 
 tell you more. When I saw you yesterday I knew that my 
 father was ill I knew that he was in appearance an old man, 
 a broken down man, a very unhappy man ; but since I saw 
 you yesterday I have learned that he is a dying man that 
 old man against whom I hardened my heart so yesterday is 
 going fast to judgment. The knowledge of this was kept 
 from me, for my father so loved me, so guarded me all my 
 life that he could not bear that even a pin's point of sorrow 
 should rest upon me. After seeing you yesterday, and 
 leaving you, I visited some poor people who, not knowing 
 that the truth was hidden from me, spoke of It as a well 
 known fact. I went away from them with my eyes opened. 
 I only wondered they had been closed so long. I went away, 
 and this morning I did more. I visited one of the greatest 
 and cleverest doctors in London. This doctor my father, 
 unknown to me, had for some time consulted. I asked him 
 for his candid opinion on my father's case. He gave it to 
 me. Nothing can save my father. My father must die ! But 
 he told me more ; he said that the nature of his complaint 
 was such that any shock must instantly kill him. He said 
 without that shock he may live for months ; not many months, 
 but still for a few. Hearing this, I took the doctor still fur 
 ther into my confidence. I told him that a wrong had been 
 committed that during my father's lifetime that wrong 
 could not be set right without his knowledge. I said that he 
 must know something which would disgrace him. His answer 
 was this : ' As his medical man, I forbid him to know ; such 
 a knowledge will cause certain and instant death.' "
 
 !8o HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 Charlotte paused. Wilson, now deeply interested, even 
 appalled, was gazing at her earnestly. 
 
 " I kno\v Charlotte Home," continued Miss Harman ; 
 "and, as I said just now, I would see her now. Yes, she has 
 needed money ; she has longed for money ; she has been 
 cruelly wronged most cruelly treated ! Still, I think, if I 
 pleaded long enough and hard enough, she would have mercy ; 
 she would not hurry that old man to so swift a judgment ; 
 she would spare him for those few, few months to which his 
 life is now limited. It is for those months I plead. He is a 
 dying man. I want nothing to be done during those months. 
 Afterwards afterwards I will promise, if necessary sign any 
 legal paper you bring to me,thatall that should have been hers 
 shall be Charlotte Home's I restore it all ! Oh, how swiftly 
 and how gladly ! All I plead for are those few months." 
 
 Wilson was silent. 
 
 Charlotte suddenly looking at him almost lost her self- 
 control. 
 
 " Must I go down on my knees to you, sir ? I will if it 
 is necessary. I will here even here do so, if it is neces 
 sary." 
 
 " It is not, it is not, my dear Miss Harman. I believe 
 you ; from my soul I pity you ! I will do what I can. I 
 can't promise anything without my niece's permission ; but I 
 am to see her this evening." 
 
 " Oh, if you plead with her, she will have mercy ; for I 
 know her I am sure of her ! Oh ! how can I thank you ? 
 how can I thank you both ? " 
 
 Here some tears rose to Charlotte's eyes, and rolled fast 
 and heavily down her cheeks. She put up her handkerchief 
 to wipe them away. 
 
 " You asked me to cry yesterday, but I could not ; now I 
 believe I shall be able," she said with almost a smile. " God 
 bless you ! " 
 
 Before Wilson could get in another word she had left him 
 and, hurrying through the square, was lost to sight. 
 
 Wilson gazed after her retreating form ; then he went 
 into Somerset House, and once more long and carefully 
 studied Mr. Harman's will.
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 NO WEDDING ON THE TWENTIETH. 
 
 CHARLOTTE was quite right in saying that now she could 
 cry ; a great tension had been removed, an immediate agony 
 lightened. From the time she had left the doctor's presence 
 until she had met Sandy Wilson, most intolerable had been 
 her feelings. She would sink all pride when she saw him ; 
 for her father's sake, she would plead for mercy ; but know 
 ing nothing of the character of the man, how could she tell 
 that she would be successful ? How could she tell that he 
 might not harden his heart against her plea ? When she left 
 him, however, she knew that her cause was won. Charlotte 
 Home was to be the arbitrator of her fate ; she had never in 
 all her life seen such a hunger for money in any eyes as she 
 had done in Charlotte's, and yet she felt a moral certainty 
 that with Charlotte she was safe. In the immediate relief of 
 this she could cry, and those tears were delicious to her. 
 Returning from her drive, and in the solitude of her own 
 room, she indulged in them, weeping on until no more tears 
 would flow. They took the maddening pressure of heart and 
 brain, and after them she felt strong and even calm. She 
 had washed her face and smoothed her hair, and though she 
 could not at once remove all trace of the storm through 
 which she had just passed, she still looked better than she 
 had done at breakfast that morning, when a tap came to her 
 door, and Ward, her maid, waited outside. 
 
 " If you please, Miss Harman, the dressmaker has called 
 again. Will you have the wedding dress fitted now ? " 
 
 At the same instant and before Charlotte could reply, a 
 footman appeared at the head of the stairs " Mr. Hinton 
 had arrived and was waiting for Miss Harman, in her own 
 sitting-room." 
 
 " Say, I will be with him directly," she answered to the 
 man, then she turned to Ward. " I will send you with a 
 message to the dressmaker this evening ; tell her I am en 
 gaged now." 
 
 The two messengers left, and Charlotte turned back into
 
 X 8 2 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 her room. She had to go through another fire. Well ! the 
 sooner it was over the better. She scarcely would give her 
 self time for any thought as she ran quickly down the stairs 
 and along the familiar corridor, and in a moment found her 
 self in Hinton's presence. They had not met since yesterday 
 morning, when they had parted in apparent coldness ; but 
 Hinton had long forgotten it, and now, when he saw her face, 
 a great terror of pity and love came over him. 
 
 " My darling ! my own darling ! " he said. He came up 
 to her and put his arms round her. " Charlotte, what is it ? 
 You are in trouble ? Tell me." 
 
 " Ah ! how sweet it was to feel the pressure of his arms, 
 to lay her head on his breast. She was silent for quite a 
 minute, saying to herself, " It is for the last time." 
 
 " You are in great trouble, Charlotte ? Charlotte, 
 what is it ? " questioned her lover. 
 
 " Yes, I am in great trouble," she said then, raising her 
 head and looking at him. Her eyes \vefe clear and frank 
 and open as of old, and yet at that moment she meant to 
 deceive him ; she would not tell him the real reason which 
 induced her to break off her engagement. She would shelter 
 her father in the eyes of the man she loved, at any cost. 
 
 " You are in great trouble," he repeated, seeing that she 
 paused. 
 
 "Yes, John for myself for my father for for you. 
 Dear John, we cannot be married on the twentieth, we must 
 part." 
 
 " Charlotte ! " he stepped b-^k a pace or two in his 
 astonishment, and her arms fell heavily to her sides. 
 " Charlotte ! " he repeated ; he had failed to understand 
 her. He gave a short laugh. 
 
 She began to tremble when she heard him laugh, and 
 seeing a chair near, she sunk into it. " Yes, John, we must 
 part," she repeated. 
 
 He went down on his knees then by her side, and looked 
 into her face. " My poor darling, you are really not well ; 
 you are in trouble, and don't know what you are saying. 
 Tell me all your trouble, Charlotte, but don't mind those 
 other words. It is impossible that you and I can part. Have 
 we not plighted our troth before God ? We cannot take 
 that back. Therefore we cannot part." 
 
 " In heart we may be one, but outwardly we must part," 
 she repeated, and then she began to cry feebly, for she was 
 all unstrung. Hinton's words were too much for her.
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. jgj 
 
 " Tell me all," he said then, very tenderly. 
 
 " John, a dark thing was kept from me, but I have dis 
 covered it. My father is dying. How can I marry on the 
 twentieth, when my father is dying ? " 
 
 Hinton instantly felt a sense of relief. Was this all the 
 meaning of this great trouble ? This objection meant, at the 
 most, postponement, scarcely that, when Charlotte knew all. 
 
 " How did you learn that about your father ? " he said. 
 
 " I went to see some poor people yesterday, and they 
 told me ; but that was not enough. To-day lavished the 
 great doctor. My father has seen Sir George Anderson ; he 
 told me all. My father is a dying man. John, can you ask 
 me to marry when my father is dying ? " 
 
 " I could not, Charlotte, if it were not his own wish." 
 
 ' His own wish ? " she repeated. 
 
 " Yes ! some time ago he told me of this ; he said the 
 one great thing he longed for was to see you and me you 
 and me, my own Charlotte husband and wife, before he died." 
 
 " Why did he keep his state of health as a secret from 
 me ? " 
 
 " I begged of him to tell you, but he wanted you to be 
 his own bright Charlotte to the end." 
 
 Then Hinton told her of that first interview he had with 
 her father. He told it well, but she hardly listened. Must 
 she tell him the truth after all ? No ! she would not. During 
 her father's life-time she would shield him at any cost. After 
 wards, ah ! afterwards all the world would know. 
 
 When Hinton had ceased speaking, she laid her hand on 
 his arm. " Nevertheless, my darling, I cannot marry next 
 week. I know you will fail to understand me. I know my 
 father will fail to understand me. That is hard the hard 
 est part, but I am doing right. Some day you will acknowl 
 edge that. With my father dying I cannot stand up in white 
 and call myself a bride. My marriage-day was to have been 
 the entrance into Paradise to me. With a funeral so near, 
 and so certain, it cannot be that. John John I cannot 
 I cannot. We must not marry next week." 
 
 " You put it off, then ? You deny your dying father his 
 dearest wish ? That is not like you, Charlotte." 
 
 " No, it is unlike me. Everything, always, again, will be 
 unlike me. If you put it so, I deny my father his dearest 
 wish." 
 
 " Charlotte, I fail to understand you. You will not marry 
 during your father's life-time. But it may be very quiet very
 
 184 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 very quiet, I can manage that ; and you need not leave 
 him, you can still be altogether his daughter, and yet make 
 him happy by letting him feel that you are also my wife ; 
 that I have the right to shield you, the right to love and 
 comfort you. Come, Charlotte ! come, my darling ! we won't 
 have any outward festivity, any outward rejoicing. This is 
 but natural, this can be managed, and yet we may have that 
 which is above and beyond it all one another. We may be 
 one in our sorrow instead of our joy." 
 
 "Oh! if it could be," she sobbed; and now again she 
 laid her head on his shoulder. 
 
 " It shall be, Charlotte ; we will marry like that on the 
 twentieth. I will manage it with your father." 
 
 " No John ! no, my dearest, my best beloved, I cannot 
 be your wife. Loving you as I never never loved you 
 before, I give you up ; it is worse than the agony of death to 
 me. But I give you up." 
 
 " You postpone our marriage during your father's life 
 time ? " 
 
 " I postpone it I do more I break it off. Oh ! John, 
 don't look at me like that ; pity me pity me, my heart will 
 break." 
 
 But he had pushed her a little away from him. Pale as 
 death he rose to his feet. " Charlotte ! you are deceiving 
 me ; you have another reason for this ? " 
 
 " If you will have it so," she said. 
 
 " You are keeping a secret from me." 
 
 " I do not say so, but you are likely enough to think this," 
 she repeated. 
 
 " Can you deny it ? " 
 
 " I will not try, I know we must part." 
 
 " If this is so, we must. A secret between husband and 
 wife is fatal." 
 
 " It would be, but I admit nothing, we cannot be husband 
 and wife." 
 
 " Never, Charlotte ? " 
 
 " Never ! " she said. 
 
 Hinton thought for a moment, and then he came up and 
 again took her hand. " Lottie, tell me that secret ; trust 
 me ; I know there is a secret, tell it to me, all of it, let me 
 decide whether it must part us." 
 
 " I cannot, my darling my darling I can say nothing, 
 explain nothing, except that you and I must part."
 
 HOW IT A^L CAME ROUND. ^5 
 
 " If that is so, we must," he said. 
 
 He was pained, shocked, and angry, beyond words. He 
 left the room and the house without even another look. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 " I LOVE HIM," SHE ANSWERED. 
 
 THAT evening Charlotte came softly into her father's 
 study and sat down by his side. She had not appeared at 
 dinner-time, sending another excuse. She was not very well, 
 she said ; she would see her father later in the evening. But 
 as she could not eat, she did not care to come to dinner. 
 She would like to see her father quite alone afterwards. 
 Charlotte had worded this verbal message with great care, 
 for she wished to prepare her father for something of extra 
 importance. Even with the tenderest watching it was im 
 possible to avoid disturbing him a little, and she wished to 
 prepare him for the very slight but unavoidable shock she 
 must give. Jasper dined at Prince's Gate as usual. But 
 after dinner he went away. And Charlotte, when she knew 
 this, instantly went down to her father. She was now per 
 fectly calm. For the time being had forgotten herself 
 absolutely. Nothing gives outward composure like self- 
 forgetfulness, like putting yourself in your fellow-man's place. 
 Charlotte had done this when she stepped up to her old 
 father's side. She had dressed herself, too, with special 
 thought for him. There was a muslin frock, quite clear and 
 simple, which he had loved. It was a soft Indian fabric, 
 and clung to her fine figure in graceful folds. She had 
 made Ward iron it out, and had put it on. Of late she had 
 considered it too girlish, but to-night she appeared in it 
 knowing it would please the eyes for which it was worn. 
 
 Mr. Harman was chilly and sat by the fire. As usual the 
 room was softly but abundantly lit by candles. Charlotte 
 loved light, and, as a rule, hated to talk to any one without 
 looking at that person fully. But to-night an opposite 
 motive caused her to put out one by one all the candles. 
 
 " Does not the room look cosy with only the firelight ? " 
 she said. And then she sat down on a low stool at her 
 father's feet.
 
 1 86 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 " You are better now, my love. Tell me you are better," 
 he said, taking her hand in his. 
 
 " I am well enough to sit and talk to you, father," she 
 said. 
 
 " But what ailed you, Lottie ? You could not come to 
 dinner either yesterday or to-day; and I lemember you 
 looked ill this morning. What is wrong ? " 
 
 " I felt troubled, and that has brought on a headache. 
 But don't let us talk about me. I mean, I suppose we must 
 after a little, but not at first." 
 
 " Whom shall we talk about first ? Who is more impor 
 tant ? Is it Hinton ? You cannot get me\.Q think that Char 
 lotte." 
 
 " You are more important. I want to talk about you." 
 
 Now she got hold of his hand, and, turning round, gazed 
 firmly into his face. 
 
 " Father, you have troubled me. You have caused my 
 headache." 
 
 Instantly a startled look came into his eyes ; and she, 
 reading him now as, alas ! she knew how to do but too well 
 hastened to soothe it. 
 
 " You wanted to send me away, to make me less your 
 own, if that were possible. Father, I have come here to 
 night to tell you that I am not going away that I am all 
 your own, even to the end." 
 
 " My own to the end ? Yes, you must always be that. 
 But what do you mean ? " 
 
 She felt the hand she held trembling, and hastened to 
 add, 
 
 " Why did you keep the truth from me ? Why did you 
 try to deceive me, your nearest and dearest, as to your state 
 of health ? But I know it all now. I am not going away 
 from you." 
 
 " You mean you mean, Charlotte, you will not marry 
 Hinton next week '' 
 
 " No, father." 
 
 " Have you told him ? " 
 
 " Yes." ' 
 
 " Charlotte, do you know the worst about me ? " 
 
 " I know all about you. I went to see Sir George An 
 derson this morning. I forced from him the opinion he has 
 already given to you. He says that I cannot keep you long. 
 But while I can, we will never part." 
 
 Mr. Harman's hand had now ceased to tremble. It lay
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 187 
 
 warm and quiet in his daughter's clasp. After a time he 
 said 
 
 " Put your arms round me darling." 
 
 She rose to her feet, clasped her hands round his neck, 
 and laid her head on his shoulder. In this position he kissed 
 first her bright hair, then her cheek and brow. 
 
 " But I want my little girl to leave me," he said. " Ill 
 ness need not make me selfish. You can still be my one 
 only dear daughter, and yet be Hinton's wife." 
 
 " I am your only dear daughter," she repeated. " Never 
 mind about my being any man's wife." She tried to smile as 
 she resumed her seat at his feet. 
 
 Mr. Harman saw the attempt at a smile, and it instantly 
 strengthened him to proceed. 
 
 " Charlotte, I am not sorry that you know that which I 
 had not courage either to tell you or to cause another to tell 
 you. I am yes, I am dying. Some day before long I must 
 leave you. my darling. I must go away and return no more. 
 But before I die I want to see you Hinton's wife. It will 
 make me happier to see this, for you love him, and he can 
 make you happy. You do love him, Charlotte ? " 
 
 "Yes, I love -him," she answered. 
 
 " Then we will not postpone the marriage. My child 
 shall marry the man she loves, and have the strength of his 
 love in the dark days that must follow ; and in one week you 
 will be back with me, no less my child because you are Hin- 
 tons's wife." 
 
 " Father, I cannot." 
 
 " Not if I wish it, dear if I have set my heart on it ? " 
 " I cannot," she repeated. 
 
 She felt driven to her wits' end, and pressed her hands to 
 her face. 
 
 " Charlotte, what is the meaning of this ? There is more 
 here than meets the eye. Have you and Hinton quar 
 relled ? " 
 
 " No, except over this. And even over this it takes two 
 to make a quarrel. I cannot marry next week ; I have told him 
 so. He is vexed, and you you are vexed. Must I break 
 my heart and leave you ? You have always given me my 
 own way ; give it now. Don't send me away from you. It 
 would break my heart to marry and leave you now." 
 
 " Is this indeed so, Charlotte ? " he said. " Would you 
 with your whole heart rather put it off ? " 
 
 "With my whole, whole heart, I would rather," she said.
 
 1 88 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 " I will not urge it. I cannot ; and yet it destroys a 
 hope which I thought might cheer me on my dying bed." 
 
 " Never mind the hope, father ; you will have me. I shall 
 not spend that week away from you." 
 
 " No, that week did seem long to look forward to." 
 
 " Ah ! you are glad after all that I am to be with you," 
 she said. "You will let me nurse you and care for you. You 
 will not force yourself to do more than you are able. Now 
 that I know all, I can take such care of you, and the thought 
 of that will make me happier by and by." 
 
 " It is a relief that you know the worst," said Mr. Har- 
 man, but he did not smile or look contented ; he, as well as 
 Hinton, felt that there was more in this strange desire of 
 Charlotte's than met the eye. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 " YOU DON'T WANT MONEY ? " 
 
 SANDY WILSON having again very carefully read Mr. 
 Harman's will, felt much puzzled how to act. He was an 
 honest, upright, practical man himself. The greatness of the 
 crime committed quite startled him. He had no sympathy 
 for the wicked men who had done the deed, and he had the 
 very keenest sympathy for those against whom the deed was 
 done. His little orphan and widowed sister and her baby 
 child were the wronged ones. The men who had wronged 
 her he had never seen. He said to himself that he had no 
 sympathy, no sympathy whatever for Mr. Harman. What if 
 he was a dying man, was that fact to screen him ? Was he 
 to be allowed to go down to his grave in peace, his gray head 
 appearing to be to him a crown of glory, honored by the 
 world, cheered for his great success in life ? Was all this to 
 be allowed to continue when he was worthy not of applause 
 but of hisses, of the world's most bitter opprobrium ? " 
 
 And yet Sandy felt that, little or indeed no pity as he had 
 for this most wicked man, even if Charlotte had not come to 
 him and pleaded with eyes, voice, and manner he could 
 scarcely have exposed Mr. Harman. He could scarcely, after 
 hearing that great doctor's verdict, have gone up to the old
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. iSg 
 
 man and said that which would hurry him without an instant's 
 time for repentance, to judgment. 
 
 Alexander Wilson believed most fully in a judgment to 
 come. When he thought of it now, a certain sense of relief 
 came over him. He need not trouble so sorely ; he might 
 leave this sinner to his God. It is to be feared that he 
 thought more of God's justice than of His loving mercy and 
 forgiveness, as he decided to leave John Harman in His 
 hands. 
 
 That evening at six o'clock he was to be again with Char 
 lotte Home. For Charlotte Harman's sake, he had denied 
 himself that pleasure the night before ; but this evening the 
 solitary man might enjoy the keen pleasure of being with his 
 very own. Mrs. Home was his nearest living relation the 
 child of his own loved sister. He did not know yet whether 
 he could love her at all as he had loved his little Daisy ; but 
 he felt quite sure that her children would twine Jhemselves 
 round his heart ; for already the remembrance of Daisy 
 Home was causing it to beat high with pleasure. 
 
 As the hour approached for his visit, he loaded himself 
 with presents not only for the children, but for the whole 
 family. He said to himself with much delight, that however 
 much Mr. Harman's will might be tied up for the present, 
 yet Sandy Wilson's purse was open. He had far less idea 
 than Charlotte Harman what children really liked, but he 
 loaded himself with toys, cakes, and sweeties ; and for his 
 special pet Daisy over and above the other two he bought 
 the very largest doll that a Regent Street shop could furnish 
 him with. This doll was as heavy as a baby, and by no 
 means so beautiful to look at as its smaller companions. But 
 Sandy was no judge in such matters. 
 
 With his presents for the adults of the party he was more 
 fortunate. For his niece he purchased a black silk, which 
 in softness, lustre, and quality could not be surpassed ; for 
 Mr. Home he bought two dozen very old port ; for Anne, a 
 bright blue merino dress. 
 
 These goods were packed into a four-wheeler, and, punc 
 tually at six o'clock, that well-laden cab drew up at 10, Tremins 
 Road. Three eager pairs of eyes watched the unpacking, 
 for the three pretty children, dressed in their best, were in 
 the dining-room ; Mr. Home was also present, and Charlotte 
 had laid her tea-table with several unwonted dainties in hon 
 or of her uncle's visit. Anne, the little maid, was fluttering 
 about ; that well-laden cab had raised her spirits and her
 
 190 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 hopes. She flew in and out, helping the cabby to bring the 
 numerous parcels into the hall. 
 
 "Ah! Annie, my girl, here's something for you," said 
 Uncle Sandy, tossing her dress to her. After which, it is to 
 be feared, Anne went off her head for a little bit. 
 
 The children, headed by their mother, came into the little 
 hall to meet and welcome their uncle. He entered the din 
 ing-room with Daisy riding on his shoulder. Then before 
 tea could even be thought of, the presents must be discussed. 
 The cakes, the sweeties, the toys were opened out ; the chil 
 dren scampered about, laughed, shouted, and kissed the old 
 Australian. Never in all his life had Uncle Sandy felt so 
 happy. 
 
 Over an hour passed in this way, then the mother's firm 
 voice was heard. The little heads were raised obediently. 
 Good-night kisses were given, and Harold, Daisy, and little 
 Angus were led off to their nursery by the highly flushed and 
 excited Anne. 
 
 The tea which followed and the quiet talk were nearly as 
 pleasant, and Uncle Sandy so enjoyed himself, that for a 
 time he completely forgot old Harman's will, his own half 
 promise, Charlotte Harman's despair. 
 
 It was all brought back to him, however, and by the 
 Homes themselves. The tea things had been removed, the 
 gas was lit, the curtains drawn, and Charlotte Home had in 
 sisted on her old uncle seating himself in the one easy-chair 
 which the room possessed. She herself stood on the hearth 
 rug, and glancing for a moment at her husband she spoke. 
 
 " Uncle Sandy, it is so good to have you back again, and 
 Angus and I are so truly glad to welcome my dear mother's 
 brother to our home, that we think it hard to have to touch 
 on anything the least gloomy to-night. Just a word or two 
 will be sufficient, and then we must drop the subject for 
 ever." 
 
 Uncle Sandy raised his wrinkled old face. 
 
 " Ah," he said. " If there's anything unpleasant, have it 
 cut by all means out and over that's my own motto." 
 
 " We spoke the other night," continued Charlotte, " about 
 my dear mother. I told you that she was poor that she had 
 to do with poverty, from the hour of my father's death until the 
 end of her own life. It is all over for her now, she is at rest. 
 If plenty of money could be found for her she would not need 
 it. When I told you the story you expressed a doubt that all 
 v.'as not right ; you said it was absolutely impossible that my
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 191 
 
 father could have left my mother nothing ; you aid that 
 either the will was i ampered with or not acted on. Well, 
 Uncle Sandy, I agree with you. I had long felt that some 
 thing was not right." 
 
 " Ay, ay, my girl ; I said before, you had a brain in your 
 head and a head on your shoulders. Trust Uncle Sandy not 
 to know a clever woman when he sees her." 
 
 " Well, uncle, I can say all the rest in a very few words. 
 You said you could investigate the matter ; that you could 
 discover whether any foul play had been committed. I asked 
 you not to do so until I saw you again ; I now ask you not 
 to do so at all ; to let the whole matter rest always. In this 
 I have my husband's sanction and wish." 
 
 "Yes, Lottie has my full approval in this matter," said 
 Mr. Home, coming forward and laying his hand on his wife's 
 shoulder. " We don't want money, we would rather let the 
 matter rest." 
 
 " You don't want money ! " said Uncle Sandy ,gazing hard 
 from the ethereal wornlooking man, to the woman, tall and 
 thin, in her rusty dress, with every mark of poverty showing 
 in thin cheek, in careworn eyes, in labor-stained hands. 
 " You don't want money ! " he repeated. " Niece Charlotte, 
 I retract what I said of you I thought you were not quite a 
 fool. As to you, Home, I don't pretend to understand you. 
 You don't want money ? " 
 
 Mr. Home smiled. Charlotte bent down and kissed her 
 old uncle's brow. 
 
 " Nevertheless, you will do what we wish, even though 
 you don't understand," she said. 
 
 Uncle Sandy took her hand. 
 
 "Sit down near me, Niece Charlotte," he said. "And 
 as to you, Home, you have a long story to hear. After you 
 have heard it, it will be time enough to discuss your proposi 
 tion. The fact is, Charlotte, I disobeyed you in part. You 
 asked me to do nothing in this matter until we met again. I 
 did nothing to compromise you ; but, nevertheless, I was not 
 idle, I wanted to set my own mind at rest. There was an 
 easy way of doing this which I knew of, and which I won 
 dered had not occurred to you. Charlotte, I went yesterday 
 to Somerset House ; doubtless, you know nothing of what 
 took me there. I can soon enlighten you. In a certain 
 part of that vast pile, all wills are obliged to be kept. Any 
 one who likes may go there, and, by paying the sum of one
 
 192 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUXD. 
 
 shilling, read any will they desire. I did so. I went to Som 
 erset House and I saw your father's will." 
 
 " Yes," said Charlotte. Whatever her previous resolution, 
 she no doubt felt keenly excited now. " Yes," she repeated, 
 " you read my father's will." 
 
 " I read it. I read it in a hurry yesterday ; to-day I saw 
 it again and read it carefully. There is no flaw in it ; it is a 
 will that must stand, that cannot be disputed. Charlotte, you 
 were right in your forebodings. Niece Charlotte, you and 
 your mother, before you, were basely robbed, cruelly wronged ; 
 your dead father was just and upright ; your living brothers 
 are villains ; your father left, absolutely to your mother 
 first, and to you at her death, the sum of twelve hnndred a 
 year. He left to you both a large enough sum of money to 
 realize that large yearly income. You were robbed of it. 
 Do you know how ? " 
 
 "No," said Charlotte. She said that one little word 
 almost in a whisper. Her face was deadly pale. 
 
 " That money was left in your father's will in trust ; it 
 was confided to the care of three men, whose solemn duty it 
 was to realize it for your mother first, afterwards for you and 
 your children. Those men were called trustees ; t\vo of them, 
 Charlotte, were your half-brothers, John and Jasper Harman ; 
 the other was your mother's only living brother, Sandy Wil 
 son. These trustees were false to you : two of them by sim 
 ply ignoring the trust and taking the money to themselves ; 
 the other, by pretending to be dead when he ought to have 
 been in England attending to his duty. The Harmans, the 
 other trustees, so fully believed me to be dead that they 
 thought their sin would never be found out. But they reck 
 oned without their host, for Sandy has returned, and the 
 missing trustee can act now. Better, late than never eh, 
 Niece Charlotte ? " 
 
 " My poor mother ! " said Charlotte, " my poor, poor 
 mother ! " 
 
 She covered her face with her hands. The suddenness 
 and greatness of the crime done had agitated her. She was 
 very much upset. Her husband came again very near and 
 put his hand on her shoulder. His face, too, was troubled. 
 
 " It was a terrible sin," he said, " a terrible sin to lie on 
 these men's breasts for three and twenty years. God help 
 these sinners to repentance ! " 
 
 " Yes, God help them," repeated Uncle Sandy, " and also 
 those the" have wronged. But now look up, Charlotte, for I
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND, 
 
 193 
 
 have not told you all. A man never sins for himself alone ; 
 if he did it would not so greatly matter, for God and the pangs 
 of an evil conscience would make it impossible for him to get 
 off scot free ; but I found it out in the bush, where, I can 
 tell you, I met rough folks enough the innocent are dragged 
 down with the guilty. Now this is the case here. In expos 
 ing the guilty the innocent must suffer. I don't mean you, 
 my dear, nor my poor little wronged Daisy. In both your 
 cases the time for suffering, I trust, is quite at an end, but 
 there is another victim." Here Uncle Sandy paused, and 
 Charlotte, having recovered her composure, stood upright on 
 the hearthrug ready to listen. " When I went to Somerset 
 House yesterday, I had, in order to obtain a sight of Mr. 
 Harman's will, to go through a little ceremony. It is not 
 necessary to go into it. I had to get certain papers, and take 
 orders to certain rooms. All this was the little form imposed 
 on me^ by the Government for my curiosity. At last I was 
 told to go to a room, called the reading room, and asked to 
 wait there until the will was brought to me. It was a small 
 room, and I sat down prepared to wait patiently enough. 
 There were about half-a-dozen people in the room besides 
 myself, some reading wills, others waiting until they were 
 brought. One woman sat at the table exactly opposite to me. 
 She was the only woman in the room at the time, and per 
 haps that fact made me first notice her ; but when I looked 
 once, I could not have been old Sandy Wilson without want 
 ing to look again. I have a weakness for fine women, and 
 this woman was fine, in the sense that makes you feel that 
 she is lovable. Ske was young, eager-looking. I have no 
 doubt her features were handsome, but it was her open, almost 
 childlike expression which attracted most. She was essen 
 tially a fine creature, and yet there was a peculiar childish 
 innocence about her, that made old Sandy long to protect her 
 on the spot. I was looking at her, and hoping she would 
 not notice it and think old Sandy Wilson a bore, when a man 
 came into the room and said something to the clerk at the 
 desk. The clerk turned to me and said, ' The will of the 
 name of Harman is being read at this moment by some one 
 else in the room.' Instantly this girl looked up, her eyes 
 met mine, her face grew all one blaze of color, though she 
 was a pale enough lass the moment before, and a frightened 
 expression came into her eyes. She looked down again at 
 once, and went on reading in a hurried, puzzled way, as if 
 she was scarcely taking in much. Of course I knew she had
 
 194 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 the will, and I did not want to hurry or confuse her, so I pre 
 tended to turn my attention to something else. It must have 
 been quite a couple of minutes before 1 looked again, and 
 then I confess that I am not easily startled, but I did have 
 to smother an exclamation the poor girl must have discov 
 ered the baseness and the fraud in those two minutes. Had 
 she been any other but the plucky lass she is, she would 
 have been in a dead faint on the floor, for I never, never in 
 all my pretty vast experience, saw a living face so white. I 
 could not help looking at her then, for I was completely fas 
 cinated. She went on reading for half a minute longer; then 
 she raised her eyes and gazed straight and full at me. She 
 had big, open gray eyes, and a moment before, they were full 
 of innocence and trust like a child's, now there was a wild 
 anger and despair in them. She was quite quiet however., 
 and no one else in the room noticed her. She pushed the 
 will across the table to me and said, " That is Mr. Harman's 
 will," then she put on her gloves quite slowly and drew down 
 her veil, and left the room as sedately and quietly as you 
 please. I just glanced my eye over the will. I took in the 
 right place and saw the shameful truth. I was horrified 
 enough, but I could not wait to read it all. I gave the will 
 back intending to go to it another time, for I felt I must 
 follow that girl at any cost. I came up to her in Somerset 
 House square. I did not care what she thought ; I must 
 speak to her; I did. Poor lass! I think she was quite 
 stunned. She did not resent the liberty old Sandy had 
 taken. When I asked her to wait and let me talk to her she 
 turned at once I have not lived in the bush so long without 
 being, I pride myself, sharp enough in reading character. I 
 saw the girl, proud girl enough at ordinary times, was in 
 that state of despair which makes people do desperate things. 
 She was defiant, and told more than I expected. She was 
 Miss Harman Charlotte Harman, by the way, she said. 
 Yes ; her father had stolen that money ; would I like to see 
 him ? he lived in such a place ; his name was so- and-so. 
 Yes ; she was his only child. Her manner was so reckless, 
 so defiant, and yet so full of absolute misery, that I could do 
 nothing but pity her from my very heart. I forgot you, 
 Niece Lottie, and your rights, and everything but this fine 
 creature stricken so low through another's sins. I said, 
 ' Hush, you shall say no more to-day. You are stunned, you 
 are shocked, you must have time to think ; I won't remem 
 ber a thing you say about your father now. Go home and
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. jgij 
 
 come back again to-morrow,' I said ; ' sleep over it, and I will 
 sleep over it, and I will meet you here to-morrow, when you 
 are more calm." She agreed to this and went away. I felt 
 a little compunction for my own softness during that evening 
 and night, Niece Charlotte, I felt that I was not quite true to 
 you ; but then you had not seen her face, poor brave young 
 thing, poor young thing ! " 
 
 Here Uncle Sandy paused and looked hard from his niece 
 to her husband. Charlotte's eyes were full of tears, Mr. 
 Home was smiling at him. There was something peculiar 
 in this man's rare smiles which turned them into blessings. 
 They were far more eloquent than words, for they were fed 
 from some illumination of strong approval within. Uncle 
 Sandy, without understanding, felt a warm glow instantly 
 kindling in his heart. 
 
 Charlotte said, " Go on," in a broken voice. 
 
 " To-day, at the appointed hour, I met her again," pro 
 ceeded the Australian. " She was changed, she was com 
 posed enough now, she was on her guard, she did not win 
 my sympathy so much as in her despair. She was quite open, 
 however, as to the nature of the crime committed, and told 
 me she knew well what a sin her father had been guilty of. 
 Suddenly she startled me by saying that she knew you, Char 
 lotte. She said she wished she could see you now. I asked 
 her why. She said, ' That I might go down on my knees to 
 her.' I was surprised at such words coming from so proud 
 a creature. I said so. She repeated that she would go down 
 on her knees that she might the better plead for mercy. I 
 was beginning to harden my old heart at that, and to think 
 badly of her, when she stopped rne, by telling me a strange 
 and sad thing. She said that she had discovered something, 
 something very terrible, between that hour and yesterday. 
 Her father had been ill for some time, but the worst had 
 been kept from her. She said yesterday that a poor person 
 let her know quite accidentally that he was not only ill but 
 dying. She went alone that morning to consult a doctor, 
 one of those first-rate doctors whose word is law. Mr. Har- 
 man, it seemed, unknown to her, was one of this man's 
 patients. He told her that he was hopelessly ill ; that he 
 could only live for a few months, and that any shock might 
 end his days in a moment. She then told this doctor in 
 confidence something of what she had discovered yesterday, 
 he said, ' As his medical man, I forbid you to tell to your 
 father this discovery you have made ; if you do so he will 

 
 196 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUXD. 
 
 die instantly.' Miss Harman told me this strange tale, and 
 then she began to plead with me. She begged of me to 
 show mercy ; not to do anything in this matter during the few 
 months which still remained of her father's life. Afterwards, 
 she promised to restore all, and more than all of what had 
 been stolen. I hesitated ; I scarcely knew how to proceed. 
 She saw it and exclaimed, ' Do you want me to go on my 
 knees to you ? I will this moment, and here.' Then I said 
 1 could do nothing without consulting you, I could do noth 
 ing without your consent. Instantly the poor thing's whole 
 face changed I never saw such a change from despair to re 
 lief. She held out her hand to me ; she said she v> as safe ; 
 she said she knew you; and tliatwilh you she was safe. She 
 said she never saw any one in her life seem to want money 
 so badly as you ; but for all that, with you she was quite 
 safe. She looked so thankful. ' I can cry now,' she said as 
 she went away." Uncle Sandy paused again, and again 
 looked at his niece and her husband. " I told her that I 
 would come to you to-night," he said, " that I would plead 
 her cause, and I have, have I not ? " 
 
 "Well and nobly," answered Mrs. Home. "Angus, 
 think of her trusting me ! I am so glad she could trust me. 
 Indeed she is safe with us." 
 
 " How soon can you go to her in the morning, Lottie ? " 
 asked the curate. 
 
 " With the first dawn I should like tp go, I only wish I 
 could fly to her now. Oh, Angus ! what she must suffer ; 
 and next Tuesday is to be her wedding-day. How my heart 
 does ache for her ! But I am glad she trusts me." 
 
 Here Mrs. Home become so excited that a great flood of 
 tears came into her eyes. She must cry them away in private. 
 She left the room, and the curate, sitting down, told to Uncle 
 Sandy how Charlotte Harman had saved little Harold's life. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 LOVE BEFORE GOLD. 
 
 FOR the first time in all her life, Mrs. Home laid her 
 head on her pillow with the knowledge that she was a rich 
 woman. Those good things which money can buy could be 
 hers ; her husband need want no more ; her children might
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 197 
 
 be so trained, so nurtured, so carefully tended that their 
 beauty, their beauty both physical and moral, would be seen 
 in clearest lustre. How often she had dreamed of the pos 
 sibility of such a time arriving, and now at last it had come. 
 Ever since her dying mother had told her own true history, 
 she had dwelt upon this possible moment, dwelt upon it 
 with many murmurings, many heart frettings. Could it be 
 realized, she would be the happiest of women. Then she 
 had decided to give it all up, to put the golden dream quite 
 out of her life and, behold ! she had scarcely done so before it 
 had come true, the dream was a reality^ the riches lay at 
 her feet. In no way through her interference had this come 
 about. Yes, but in the moment of her victory the woman 
 who had so longed for money was very miserable ; like 
 Dead Sea apples was the taste of this eagerly desired fruit. 
 She was enriched through another's anguish and despair, 
 through the wrecking of another's happiness, and that other 
 had saved the life of her child. Only one thing comforted 
 Charlotte Home during the long hours of that weary night ; 
 Charlotte Hannan had said. 
 
 " With her I am safe ; dearly as she loves money, with 
 her I am quite safe." 
 
 Mrs. Home thought the slow moments would never fly 
 until she was with the sister friend, who in her own bitter 
 humiliation and shame could trust her. In the morning, 
 she and her husband had a talk together. Then hurrying 
 through her household duties, she started at a still very 
 early hour for Prince's Gate. She arrived there before ten 
 o'clock, and as she mounted the steps and pulled the pon 
 derous bell she could not help thinking of her last visit ; she 
 had felt sore and jealous then, to-day she was bowed down by 
 a sense of unworthiness and humility. Then, too, she had 
 gone to visit this rich and prosperous young woman dressed 
 in her very best, for she said to herself that whatever her 
 poverty, she would look every inch the lady; she looked 
 every inch the lady to-day, though she was in her old and 
 faded merino. But that had now come to her which made 
 her forget the very existence of dress. The grand footman, 
 however, who answered her modest summons, being obtuse 
 and uneducated, saw only the shabby dress; he thought she 
 was a distressed workwoman, he had forgotten that she had 
 ever come there before. When she asked for Miss Harman, 
 he hesitated and was uncertain whether she could see his 
 young lady ; finally looking at her again, he decided to trust
 
 I9 8 HOW I r ALL CAME KOUXD. 
 
 her so far as to allow her to wait in the hall while he went 
 to inquire. Charlotte gave her name, Mrs. Home, and he 
 went away. When he returned there was a change in his man 
 ner. Had he begun to recognize the lady under the shabby 
 dress , or had Charlotte Harman said anything ? He took 
 Mrs. Home up to the pretty room she had seen before, and 
 left her there, saying that Miss Ilannan would be with her in 
 few moments. The room looked just as of old. Charlotte, 
 as she waited, remembered that she hixj been jealous of this 
 pretty room. It was as pretty to-day, bright with fl<. 
 gay with sunshine ; the same love-birds were in the same 
 cage, the same canary sang in the same window, the same 
 parrot swung lazily from the same perch. Over the mar.iel- 
 piece hung the portrait in oils of the pretty baby, who \\ t 
 was not so pretty as hers. Charlotte remembered how she 
 had longed for these pretty things for her children, but all 
 desire for them had left her now. There was the rustling of 
 a silk dress heard in the passage, and Charlotte Harman 
 carelessly, but richly attired, came in. There was, even 
 in their outward appearance, the full contrast between 
 the rich and the poor observable at this moment, for 
 Charlotte Harman, too, had absolutely forgotten her dress, 
 and had allowed Ward to put on what she chose. When 
 they were about to reverse positions, this rich and this 
 poor woman stood side by side in marked contrast. Char 
 lotte Harman looked proud and cold ; in the moment 
 when she came to plead, she held her head high. Charlotte 
 Home, who was to grant the boon, came up timidly, 
 almost humbly. She took the hands of this girl whom 
 she loved, held them firmly, then gathering sudden courage, 
 there burst from her lips just the last words she had meant 
 at this moment to say. 
 
 " How much I love you ! how much I love you ! " 
 As these fervent, passionate words were almost flung 
 at her, Charlotte Harman's eyes began suddenly to dilate. 
 After a moment she said under her breath, in a startled kind 
 of \\hisper? 
 
 'You know all?" 
 
 ' I know everything." 
 
 ' Then you you will save my father ? " 
 
 ' Absolutely. You need fear nothing from me or mine ; 
 in this we are but quits. Did not you save Harold ? " 
 
 " Ah," said Charlotte Harman ; she took no notice 
 of her friend and guest, she sat down on the nearest chair
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUA T D. 
 
 199 
 
 and covered her face. When she raised her head, Mrs. 
 Home was kneeling by her side. 
 
 "Charlotte," said Miss Harman there was a change 
 in her, the proud look and bearing were gone " Charlotte," 
 she said, " you and I are one age, but you are a mother ; 
 may I lay my head on your breast just for a moment ? " 
 
 " Lay it there, my darling. As you have got into my 
 heart of hearts, so would I comfort you." 
 
 " Ah, Charlotte, how my heart has beat ! but your love 
 is like a cool hand laid upon it, it is growing quiet." 
 
 " Charlotte, you are right in reminding me that I am a 
 mother. I must treat you as I would my little Daisy. 
 Daisy trusts me absolutely and has no fear ; you must trust 
 me altogether, and fear nothing." 
 
 " I do. I fear nothing when I am with you. Charlotte, 
 next Tuesday was to have been my wedding-day." 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 " But it is all on an end now ; I broke off my engagement 
 yesterday. And yet, how much I love him ! Charlotte, 
 don't look at me so pityingly." 
 
 " Was I doing so ? I was wondering if you slept last 
 night." 
 
 " Slept ! No, people don't sleep when their hearts beat 
 as hard as mine did, but I am better now." 
 
 " Then, Charlotte, I must prescribe for you, as a mother. 
 For the next two hours you are my child and shall obey me ; 
 we have a great deal to say to each other ; but first of all, 
 before we say a single word, you must lie on this sofa, and 
 I will hold your hand. You shall try and sleep." 
 
 " But can you spare the time from your children ? " 
 
 " You are my child now ; as long as you want me I will 
 stay with you. See, I am going to draw down the blinds, 
 and I will lock the door ; you must not be disturbed." 
 
 It was thus that these two spent the morning. When 
 Charlotte Harman awoke some hours later, quiet and re 
 freshed, they had a long, long talk. That talk drew their 
 hearts still closer together ; it was plain that such a paltry 
 thing as money could not divide these friends.
 
 200 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 THE FATE OF A LETTER. 
 
 HINTON had left the Harmans' house, after his strange 
 interview with Charlotte, with a stunned feeling. It is 
 not too much to say of this young man that he utterly failed 
 to realize what had befallen him. He walked like one 
 in a dream, and when he reached his lodgings in Jer- 
 myn Street, and sat down at last by his hearth, he thought 
 of himself in a queer way, as if he were some one else ; a 
 trouble had come to some one else ; that some one 
 was a friend of his so he was called on to pity him. Grad 
 ually, however, it dawned upon him that the friend was 
 unpleasantly close, that the some one else reigned as 
 lord of his bosom. It was he he himself he was called 
 on to pity. It was on his, hitherto so prosperous, young 
 head that the storm had burst. Next Tuesday was to 
 have been his wedding-day. There was to be no wed 
 ding. On next Tuesday he was to have won a bride, a 
 wife ; that other one dearer than himself was to give herself to 
 him absolutely. In addition to this he was to obtain for 
 tune : and fortune was to lead to far dearer, far nobler fame. 
 But now all this was at an end ; Tuesday was to pass as 
 any other day gray, neutral-tinted, indifferent, it was 
 to go over his head. And why ? This was what caused 
 the sharpest sting of the anguish. There seemed no 
 reason for it all. Charlotte's excuse was a poor one ; it 
 had not the ring of the true metal about it. Unaccustomed 
 to deceive, she had played her part badly. She had given 
 an excuse ; but it was no excuse. In this Hinton was 
 not blinded, even for a moment. His Charlotte ! There, 
 seemed a flaw in the perfect creature. His Charlotte 
 had a second time turned away her confidence from him. 
 Yes, here was the sting ; in her trouble she would not let 
 him comfort her. What was the matter ? What was the 
 mystery? What was the hidden wrong? 
 
 Hinton roused himself now. As thought and clearness 
 of judgment came more vividly back to him, his anger 
 grew and his pity lessened. His mind was brought to
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 2 oi 
 
 bear upon a secret, for there was a hidden secret. His 
 remembrance travelled back to all that had happened 
 since the day their marriage was fixed since the day 
 when he first saw a troubled look on Charlotte's face 
 and she had told him, though unwillingly, that queer story 
 of Mrs. Home's. Yes, of course, he knew there was a 
 mystery a strange and dark mystery ; like a coward 
 he had turned away from investigating it. lie had seen 
 Uncle Jasper's nervous fear ; he had seen Mrs. Home's 
 poverty ; he had witnessed Mr. Harman's ill-concealed 
 disquietude all this he had seen, all this he had known. 
 But for Charlotte's sake, for he had shut his eyes ; Char 
 lotte's sake he had forbidden his brain to think or his hands 
 to work. 
 
 And now now ah ! light was dawning. Charlotte had 
 fathomed what he had feared to look at. Charlotte had seen 
 the dread reality. The secret was disgraceful. Nothing else 
 could so have changed his one love. Nothing but disgrace, 
 the disgrace of the one nearest to her, could bring that look 
 to her face. Scarcely had he thought this before a memory 
 came to him. He started to his feet as it came back. Char 
 lotte had said, " Before our wedding-day I will read my grand 
 father's will." Suppose she had done so, and her grand 
 father's will had been what? Hinton began to see reason 
 now in her unaccountable determination not to see Webster. 
 She had doubtless resolved on that very day to go to Somer 
 set House and read that fatal document. Having made up 
 her mind she would not swerve from her purpose. Then, 
 though she was firm in her determination, her face had been 
 bright, her brow unfurrowed, she had still been his own dear 
 and happy Charlotte. He had not seen her again until she 
 knew all. She knew all, and her heart and spirit were alike 
 broken. As this fact became clear to Hinton, a sense of 
 relief and peace came over him ; he began once more to un 
 derstand the woman he loved. Beside the darkness of mis 
 understanding her, all other misunderstandings seemed light. 
 She was still his love, his life ; she was still true to herself, 
 to t-_e beautiful ideal he had enthroned in his heart of hearts. 
 Poor darling ! she would suffer ; but he must escape. Loving 
 him as deeply, as devotedly as ever, she yet would give him 
 up, rather than that he should share in the downfall of her 
 house. Ah ! she did not know him. She could be great ; 
 but so also could he. Charlotte should see that her love was 
 no light thing for any man to relinquish : she would find that
 
 202 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 it weighed heavier in the balance than riches, than fame ; 
 that disgrace even could not crush it down. Knowing all, 
 he would go to her ; she should not be alone in her great, 
 great trouble ; she should find out in her hour of need the 
 kind of man whose heart she had won. His depression left 
 him as he came to this resolve, and he scarcely spent even 
 an anxious night. On the next day, however, he did not go 
 to Charlotte ; but about noon he sat down and wrote her the 
 following letter : 
 
 " MY DARLING : 
 
 " You gave me up yesterday. I was I don't mind tell 
 ing you this now stunned, surprised, pained. Since then, 
 however, I have thought much ; all my thought has been 
 about you. Thought sometimes leads to light, and light has 
 come to me. Charlotte, a contract entered into by two takes 
 two to undo. I refuse to undo this contract. Charlotte, I 
 refuse to give you up. You are my promised wife ; our banns 
 have been read twice in church already. Have you forgot 
 ten this ? In the eyes of both God and man you are almost 
 mine. To break off this engagement, unless I, too, wished 
 it, would be, whatever your motive, a sin. Charlotte, the 
 time has come, when we may ruin all the happiness of both 
 our lives, unless very plain words pass between us. I use 
 very plain words when I tell you that I most absolutely refuse 
 to give you up. That being so, whatever your motive, you 
 are committing a sin in refusing to give yourself to me. My 
 darling, it is you I want, not your money you not not 
 But I will add no more, except one thing. Charlotte, I went 
 this morning to Somerset House, and I read yoitr grand 
 father's will. 
 
 " Now, what hour shall I come to you ? Any hour you 
 name I will fly to you. It is impossible for you to refuse 
 what I demand as a right. But know that, if you do refuse, 
 I will come notwithstanding. 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 "JOHN HINTON." 
 
 This letter, being directed, was quickly posted, and m 
 due time reached its address at Prince's Gate. 
 
 Then a strange thing happened to it. Jasper Harman, 
 passing through the hall, saw the solitary letter waiting for 
 his niece. It was his habit to examine every letter that 
 came within his reach ; he took up this one for no particular 
 reason, but simply from the force of this long established
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 203 
 
 habit. But having taken it in his hand, he knew the writing. 
 The letter was from Hinton, and Charlotte had told him 
 had just told him that her engagement with Hinton was 
 broken off, that her wedding was not to be. Old Jasper was 
 beset just now by a thousand fears, and Charlotte's manner 
 and Charlotte's words had considerably added to his alarm. 
 There was a mystery ; Charlotte could not deny that fact. 
 This letter might elucidate it might throw light where so 
 much was needed. Jasper Harman felt that the contents of 
 Hinton's letter might do him good and ease his mind. With 
 out giving himself an instant's time for reflection, he took the 
 letter into the dining-room, and, opening it, read what was 
 meant for another. He had scarcely done so before Char 
 lotte unexpectedly entered the room. To save himself from 
 discovery, when he heard her step, he dropped the letter 
 into the fire. Thus Charlotte never got her lover's letter. 
 
 Hinton, bravely as he had spoken, was, nevertheless, 
 pained at her silence. After waiting for twenty-four hours 
 he, however, resolved to be true to his word. He had said 
 to Charlotte, " If you refuse what I demand as a right, never 
 theless I shall exercise my right. I will come to you." But 
 he went with a strange sinking of heart, and when he got to 
 Prince's Gate and was not admitted he scarcely felt surprised. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 "THE WAY OF TRANSGRESSORS." 
 
 IT is one of those everlasting truths, which experience 
 and life teach us every day, that sin brings its own punishment, 
 virtue its own reward : peace, the great divine reward of con 
 science to the virtuous ; misery and despair, and that con 
 stant apprehension which dreads discovery, and yet which in 
 itself is worse than discovery, to the transgressors. 
 
 "The way of transgressors is hard." 
 
 That Bible text was proving itself once more now in the 
 cases of two old men. John Harman was sinking into his 
 grave in anguish at the thought of facing an angry God : 
 Jasper Harman was preparing to fly from what, alas ! he 
 dreaded more, the faces of his angry fellow-creatures.
 
 304 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 Yes ; it had come to this with Jasper Harman ; England 
 had become too hot to hold him ; better fly while he could. 
 Ever since the day Hinton had told him that he had really 
 and in truth heard of the safe arrival of the other trustee, 
 Jasper's days and nights had been like hell to him. In the 
 morning, he had wondered would the evening find him still 
 a free man ; in the evening, he had trembled at what might 
 befall him before the morning dawned. Unaccustomed to 
 any mental anguish, his health began to give way . his heart 
 beat irregularly, unevenly , he lost his appetite ; at night he 
 either had bad dreams or he could not sleep. This change 
 began to tell upon his appearance ; his hair grew thinner and 
 whiter, he stooped as he walked, there was very little appa 
 rent difference now between him and John. 
 
 He could not bear the Harman's house, for there he 
 might meet Hinton. He dreaded his office in the City, for 
 there the other trustee might follow him and publicly expose 
 him. He liked his club best ; but even there he felt scarcely 
 safe, some one might get an inkling of the tale, there was no 
 saying how soon such a story, so strange, so disgraceful, per 
 taining to so well-known a house as that of Harman 
 Brothers, might get bruited about. Thus it came to pass 
 that there was no place where this wretched old man felt 
 safe ; it became more and more clear to him day by day that 
 England was too hot to hold him. All these growing feel 
 ings culminated in a sudden accession of terror on the day 
 that Charlotte, with her strangely changed face, had asked 
 him the truth with regard to her father's case, when, with 
 the persistence of almost despair, she had insisted on know 
 ing the very worst ; then had quickly followed the announce 
 ment that her marriage had been broken off by herself ; that 
 it was postponed, her father thought, simply for the short re 
 maining span of his own life ; but Charlotte had taken little 
 pains to conceal from Uncle Jasper that she now never meant 
 to marry Hinton. What was the reason of it all ? Jasper 
 Harman, too, as well as Hinton, was not deceived by the 
 reason given. There was something more behind. What 
 was that something more ? 
 
 In his terror and perplexity, Jasper opened Hinton's 
 letter. One sentence in that letter, never meant for him, 
 burnt into the unhappy man as the very fire of hell. 
 
 " I went this morning to Somerset House, and I read 
 your grandfather's will." 
 
 Then Jasper's worst fears had come true ; the discovery
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 205 
 
 was made ; the hidden sin brought to the light, the sinners 
 would be dragged any moment to punishment. 
 
 Jasper must leave England that very night. Never again 
 could he enter his brother's house. He must fly ; he must 
 fly at once and in secret, for it would never do to take any 
 one into his confidence. Jasper Harman had a hard and evil 
 heart ; he was naturally cold and unloving ; but he had one 
 affection, he did care for his brother. In mortal terror 
 as he was, he could not leave that dying brother without bid 
 ding him good-bye. 
 
 John Harman had not gone to the City that day, and when 
 Charlotte left the room, Jasper, first glancing at the grate to 
 make sure that Hinton's letter was all reduced to ashes, stole, 
 in his usual soft and gliding fashion, to John's study. He 
 was pleased to see his brother there, and alone. 
 
 " You are early back from the City, Jasper," said the 
 elder brother. 
 
 " Yes ; there was nothing to keep me this afternoon, so I 
 did not stay." 
 
 The two old men exchanged a few more commonplaces. 
 They were now standing by tlie hearth. Suddenly John 
 Harman, uttering a half-suppressed groan, resumed his seat. 
 
 " It is odd," he said, " how the insidious something which 
 men call Death seems to grow nearer to me day by day. 
 Now, as we stood together, I felt just a touch of the cold 
 hand ; the touch was but a feather weight, but any instant it 
 will come down like a giant on its prey. It is terrible to 
 stand as I do, looking into the face of Death ; I mean it is 
 terrible for one like me." 
 
 " You are getting morbid, John," said Jasper ; " you always 
 were given to look on the dismals. If you must die, as I 
 suppose and fear you must, why don't you rouse yourself and 
 enjoy life while you may ? " 
 
 To this John Harman made no answer. After a moment 
 or two of silence, during which Jasper watched him nervous 
 ly, he said, 
 
 " As you have come back so early from the City, can you 
 give me two hours now ? I have a great deal I want to say to 
 you." 
 
 "About the past ? " questioned Jasper. 
 
 " About the past." 
 
 Jasper Harman paused and hesitated ; he knew well that 
 he should never see his brother again ; that this was his last 
 request. But dare he stay ? Two hours were very precious,
 
 2 o6 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 and the avenger might even r.o'.v - . the door. No; he 
 could not waste time so precious in ibtu.ing to an old, old 
 tale. 
 
 " Will two ho . /cuing do equally \vell, John ? " 
 
 " Yes , -i you prefer it. I generally give the evening to 
 Charlotte ; but this evening, if it suits you better." 
 _ will go now, then," said Jasper. 
 
 .rlotte has told you of her resolve ? ' ; 
 
 " Yes, and I have spoken to her; but she :. - obstinate 
 ninx." 
 
 " Do not call her so ; it is because of her love fc-- ne. I am 
 -orry that she will not marry at once ; but it is not ; i,fter all, a 
 ong postponement and it is I own, a relief, not ;c ~ave to 
 ;nceal my state of health from her." 
 
 " It is useless arguing with a woman," s:.!:! usper. 
 ,11, good-bye, John." 
 
 "Good-bye," said the elder Harman, in some su/o:ise 
 ..Jiat Jasper's hand was held out to him. 
 
 Jasper's keen eyes looked hard into John's for a moment, 
 ..-Je wrung the thin hand and left the room. He had left for 
 :ver the one human being he loved, and even in his thrcai 
 ./as a lump caused by something else than fear. But in the 
 ctreet and well outside that luxurious home, his love sank out 
 zl sight and his fear returned ; he must get out of England 
 jhat very night, and he had much to do. 
 
 He pulled out his watch. Yes, there was still time. 
 Hailing a passing hansom he jumped into it, and drove to 
 his bank. There, to the astonishment of the cashier, he drew 
 all the money he kept there. This amounted to some thou 
 sands. Jasper buttoned the precioiis notes into a pocket-book 
 Then he went to his lodgings anu began the task of tearing 
 up letters and papers which 'he feared might betray hirr. 
 Hitherto, all through his life he had kept these things pre 
 cious ; but now they all went, even to his mother's portrait ana 
 the few letters she had written to him when a boy at school. 
 Even he sighed as he cast these treasures into the fire and 
 watched them being reduced to ashes ; but though they had 
 gone with him from place to place in Australia, and he had 
 hoped never ';o part from them, he must give them up now, 
 for, innocent ?.s they looked, they might appeal against him. 
 He must give ip all the past, name and all, for was he not 
 flying from the avengers ? flying because o? Ms sir?.? Oh f 
 surely the way of transgressors was haH
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 CHARLOTTE HARMAN's COMFORT. 
 
 JASPER HARMAN did not come to his brother's house that 
 night, but about th; time he might expected tc arrive there 
 came a note from him instead. It was plausibly written, and 
 gave a plausible excuse for his absence. He told John of 
 sudden tiding^ with regard to some toreign ousmess These 
 tidings were really true. Jasper said that a confidential c^erl: 
 had gone to the foreign port where tney dealt to .nquir? r to 
 this specia^ matter, but that ne tnougnt it best, as the ~t?vces 
 at issue were large, to go also himself, to inquire personal. 
 He would not oe long away, &c. &c. He would write when 
 to expect his return. It was a letter so cleverly Dtit together, 
 as to cause no alarm to any one. J ohn Harman reac it, foid- 
 ed it up, and tola Charlotte that they need not expec' Jasper n 
 Jinnee's Gate for at least a week. The week passed, and 
 though Jasper had neither come nor written, there was ro ?.n- 
 Xiety felt on his account. in the mean time affairs had out 
 wardly calmec down m Prince s Gate. The agitation, which 
 hac oeen feit even oy the numblest servant m tne establish 
 ment aaa ceased. Everything nad returned tc its accustom- 
 ea groove. The nine days' wonder of that put off wedding 
 nar 1 ceased to be a wonder. It stiL, it is true, gave zest to 
 conversation in the servants' hall ; out. upstairs it was never 
 mentioned. The even routine of daily life haa resumed its 
 sway, ana things looked something as as they did before, ex 
 cept that Mr. Harman PTCW t^ all eyer perceptibly weaker 
 that Charlotte was very grav, and pale and quiet, that old 
 Uncle Jasper was no longer in and out of the house, and that 
 John Hinton never came near it. The luxurious house in 
 Prince's Gate was unquestionably very dull ; but otherwise 
 no one could guess that there was anything specially amiss 
 there. 
 
 On a certain morning, Charlotte got up, put on her walk 
 ing things, and went out. She had not been out of doors for 
 a week, and a sudden longing to be alone in the fresh outer 
 world came over her too strongly to be rejected. She called
 
 20 8 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUXD. 
 
 a hansom and once more drove to her favorite Regent's Park. 
 The park was now in all the full beauty and glory of its spring 
 dress, and Charlotte sat down under the green and pleasant 
 shade of a wide spreading oak-tree. She folded her hands 
 in her lap and gazed straight before her. She had lived 
 throught one storm, but she knew that another was before 
 her. The sky overhead was still gray and lov.-erinr^ ; there 
 was scarcely even peace in this brief lull in the tempest. In 
 the first sudden fierceness of the storm she had acted nobly 
 and bravely, but now that the excitement v. as pasi, 
 coming to her a certain hardening of heart, and she was 
 beginning to doubt the goodness of God. At first, most trr.ly 
 she had scarcely thought of herself at all, but it was impossi 
 ble as the days went on for her not to make a moan over her 
 own altered life. The path before her looked very dark, and 
 Charlotte's feet had hitherto been unaccustomed to gloom. 
 She was looking forward to the death, the inevitable and 
 certainly approaching death of her father. That was bad, 
 that was dreadful ; but bad and dreadful as it would be to 
 say good-bye to the old man, what must follow would be 
 worse ; however she might love him, however tenderly she 
 might treat him, during his few remaining days or weeks of 
 life, when all was over and he could return no more to receive 
 men's praise or blame, then she must disgrace him, she must 
 hold him up for the world's scorn. It would be impossible 
 even to hope that the story would not be known, ana once 
 known it would heap dishonor on the old head she loved. 
 For Charlotte, though she saw the sin, though the sin itself 
 was most terrible and horrible to her, was still near enough 
 to Christ in her nature to forgive the sinner. She had suf 
 fered ; oh, how bitterly through this man ! but none the less 
 for this reason did she love him. But there was another 
 cause for her heartache ; and this was more personal. Hinton 
 and she were parted. That was right. Any other course for 
 her to have pursued would have been most distinctly wrong. 
 But none the less did her heart ache and feel very sore ; for 
 how easily had Hinton acquiesced in her decision ! She did 
 not even know of his visit to the house. That letter, which 
 would have been, whatever its result, like balm to her wound 
 ed spirit, had never reached her. Hinton was most plainly 
 satisfied that they should meet no more. Doubtless it was 
 best , doubtless in the end it would prove the least hard 
 course ; but none the less did hot tears fall now ; none the
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 209 
 
 less heavy was her heart. She was wiping away a tear or 
 two, and thinking these very sad thoughts, when a clear little 
 voice in her ear startled her. 
 
 " My pretty lady ! " said the sweet voice, and looking round 
 Charlotte saw little Harold Home standing by her side. 
 Charlotte had not seen Harold since his illness. He had grown 
 taller and thinner than of old, but his loving eyes were fixed 
 on her face, and now his small brown hands beat impatiently 
 upon her knees. 
 
 " Daisy and Angus are just round the corner," he whisper 
 ed. " Let us play a game" of hide and seek, shall we ? " 
 
 He pulled her hand as he spoke, and Charlotte got up to 
 humor him at once. They went quickly round to the other 
 side of the great oak-tree, Harold sitting down on the grass 
 pulled Charlotte to his side. 
 
 " Ah ! don't speak," he said, and he put his arms round 
 her neck. 
 
 She found the feel of the little arms strangely comforting, 
 and when a moment or two afterwards the others discovered 
 them and came close with peals of merry laughter, she 
 yielded at once to Harold's eager request. 
 
 " May they go for a walk for half an hour, and may I 
 stay with you, pretty lady ? " 
 
 " Yes," she answered, stooping down to kiss him. 
 
 Anne promised to return at the right time, and Charlotte 
 and Harold were alone. The boy, nestling close to her side, 
 began to chatter confidentially. 
 
 " I'm so glad I came across you," he said; "you looked 
 very dull when I came up, and it must be nice for you to 
 have me to talk to, and 'tis very nice for me too, for I am 
 fond of you." 
 
 " I am glad of that, Harold," said Charlotte. 
 
 " But I don't think you are quite such a pretty lady as 
 you were," continued the boy, raising his eyes to her face 
 and examining her critically. " Mr. Hinton and I used to 
 think you were perfectly lovely ! You were so brighi, yes, 
 bright is the word. Something like a dear pretty cherry, or 
 like my little canary when he's singing his very, very 
 best. But you ain't a bit like my canary to-day ; you have 
 no sing in you to-day ; ain't you happy, my pretty lady ? " 
 
 " I have had some trouble since I saw you last, Harold," 
 said Charlotte. 
 
 " Dear, dear ! " sighed Harold, " everybody seems to 
 fcave lots of trouble. I wonder why. No ; I don't think
 
 2io HOW JT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 Mr. Hinton would think you pretty to-day. But," as a sud 
 den thought and memory came over him " I suppose you 
 are married by this time ? Aren't you married to my Mr. 
 Hinton by this time ? 
 
 " No, dear," answered Charlotte. 
 
 " But why ? " questioned the inquisitive boy. 
 
 " I am afraid I cannot tell you that, Harold." 
 
 Harold was silent for about half a' minute. He was sit 
 ting down on the grass close to Charlotte, and his head was 
 leaning against her shoulder. After a moment he continued 
 with a sigh, 
 
 " I guess he's very sorry. He and I used to talk about 
 you so at night when I had the fever. I knew then he was 
 fond of you, nearly as fond as I am myself." 
 
 " I am glad little Harold Home loves me," said Charlotte, 
 soothed by the pretty boy's talk, and again she stooped 
 down to kiss him. 
 
 "But even-body does," said the boy. "There's father 
 and mother, and my Mr. Hinton and me, myself, and above 
 all, the blessed Jesus." 
 
 A strange feeling, half pleasure, half surprise, came over 
 Charlotte. 
 
 " How do you know about that last ? " she whispered. 
 
 " Of course I know," replied Harold. " I know quite well. 
 \ heard father and mother say it ; I heard them say it quite 
 plainly one day, ' She's one of those blessed ones whom 
 Jesus Christ loves very much.' Oh dear ! I wish the chil 
 dren weren't back so dreadfully soon." 
 
 Yes, the children and Anne had returned, and Harold 
 had to say good-bye, and Charlotte herself had to retrace 
 her steps homewards. But her walk had not been for noth 
 ing, and there was a new peace, a new quiet, and a new hope 
 in her heart. The fact was, she just simply, without doubt 
 or difficulty, believed the child. Little Harold Home had 
 brought her some news. The news was strange, new, and 
 wonderful ; she did not doubt it. Faithful, and therefore full 
 of faith, was this simple and upright nature. There was no 
 difficulty in her believing a fact. What Harold said was a 
 fact. She was one of those whom Jesus loved. Straight did 
 this troubled soul fly to the God of consolation. Her religion 
 from being a dead thing began to live. She was not friend 
 less, she was not alone, she had a friend who, knowing abso 
 lutely all, still loved. At that moment Charlotte Harman 
 put her hand into the hand of Christ.
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 2 I1 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 THE CHILDREN'S ATTIC. 
 
 IT was one thing for Alexander Wilson to agree to let 
 matters alone for the present, and by so doing to oblige both 
 Charlotte Home and Charlotte Harman, but it was quite an 
 other thing for him to see his niece, his own Daisy's child, 
 suffering from poverty. Sandy had been accustomed to 
 roughing it in the Australian bush. He had known what it 
 was to go many hours without food, and when that food 
 could be obtained it was most generally of the coarsest and 
 commonest quality. He had known, too, what the cold of 
 lying asleep in the open air meant. All that an ordinary 
 man could endure had Sandy pulled through in his efforts to 
 make a fortune. He had never grumbled at these hard 
 ships, they had passed over him lightly. He would, he con 
 sidered, have been less than man to have complained. But 
 nevertheless, when he entered the Home's house, and took 
 possession of the poorly-furnished bedroom, and sat down 
 day after day to the not too abundant meals ; when he saw 
 pretty little Daisy cry because her mother could not give her 
 just what was most nourishing for her breakfast, and Harold, 
 still pale and thin, having to do without the beef-tea which 
 the doctor had ordered for him ; when Sandy saw these 
 things his heart waxed hot, and a great grumbling fit took 
 possession of his kindly, genial soul. This grumbling fit 
 reached its culminating point, when one day mother, chil 
 dren, and maid all out he stole up softly to the children's 
 nursery. This small attic room, close to the roof, low, 
 ^..sufficiently ventilated, was altogether too much for Sandy. 
 The time had come for him to act, and he was never the man 
 10 shirk action in any way. Charlotte Harman was all very 
 well ; that dying father of hers, whom he pronounced a most 
 atrocious sinner, and took pleasure in so thinking him, he 
 also was well enough, but everything could not give way to 
 them. Though for the present Mr. Harman's money could 
 not be touched for the Home's relief, yet Sandy's own purse 
 was open, and that purse, he flattered himself, was somewhat
 
 2i2 HOW IT ALL CAMi: RO( .\D. 
 
 comfortably lined. Yes, he must do something, and at once. 
 Having examined with marked disgust the children's attic, 
 he marched down the street. Tremins Road was long and 
 narrow, but leading out of it wa? a row of fine new houses. 
 These houses were about double the size of number ten, 
 were nicely finished, and though many of them were already 
 taken, two or three had boards up, announcing that 'they 
 were still to let. Sandy saw the agent's name on the board, 
 and went off straight to consult with him. The result of this 
 consultation was that in half an hor.r he and the agent were 
 all over the new house. Sandy went down to the basement, 
 and thought himself particularly knowing in poking his nose 
 into corners, in examining the construction of the kitchen- 
 range, and expecting a copper for washing purposes to be 
 put up in the scullery. Upstairs he selected a large and 
 bright room, the \vindov.-s of which commanded a peep of 
 distant country. Here his pretty little Pet Daisy might play 
 happily, and get back her rosy cheeks, and sleep well at 
 night without coming downstairs heavy-eyed to breakfast. 
 Finally he took the house on the spot, and ordered in paper- 
 ers and painters for the following Monday. 
 
 He was asked if he would like to choose the papers. 
 "Certainly," he replied, inwardly resolving that the nursery 
 should be covered with pictures. He appointed an hour on 
 Monday for his selections. This day was Saturday. He then 
 went to the landlord of No. 10, Tremins Road, and made an 
 arrangement for the remainder of the Homes' lease. This 
 arrangement cost him some money, but he reflected again 
 with satisfaction that his purse was well lined. -So far he had 
 conducted his plans without difficultv. But his next step was 
 not so easy ; without saying a word to eiiher Charlotte or 
 her husband, he had deprived them of one home, while pro 
 viding them with another. No doubt the new home was 
 vastly superior to the old. But still it came into his mind 
 that they might consider his action in the light of a liberty ; 
 in short, that this very peculiar and unworldly couple mi^ht 
 be capable of taking huff and might refuse to go at his bid 
 ding. Sandy set his wits to work over this problem, and 
 finally he concocted a scheme. He must come round this 
 pair by guile. He thought and thought, and in the evening 
 when her husband was out he had a long talk with his niece. 
 By a few judiciously chosen words he contrived to frighten 
 Charlotte about her husband's health. He remarked that 
 he looked ill, worn, very much older than his years. He
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 213 
 
 said, with a sigh, that when a man like Home broke down 
 he never got up again. He was undermining his constitu 
 tion. When had he had a change ? 
 
 " Never once since we were married," answered the wife 
 with tears in her eyes. 
 
 Sandy shook his head very sadly and gravely over this, 
 and after a moment of reflection brought out his scheme. 
 
 Easter was now over, there was no special press of parish 
 work. Surely Homes' Rector would give him a holiday, and 
 allow him to get away from Monday to Saturday night ? Why 
 not run away to Margate for those six days, and take his wife 
 and three children with him ? No, they need take no maid, 
 for he, Uncle Sandy, having proposed this plan must be 
 answerable for the expense. He would put them all up at a 
 good hotel, and Anne could stay at home to take care of 
 him. Of course to this scheme there were many objections 
 raised. But, finally, the old Australian overruled them each 
 and all. The short leave was granted by the Rector. The 
 rooms at the hotel which commanded the best sea-view were 
 taken by Sandy, and the Homes left 10 Tremins Road, little 
 guessing that they were not to return there. When he had 
 seen father, mother, and three happy little children off by an 
 early train, Sandy returned quickly to Tremins Road. There 
 he called Anne to him, and unfolded to the trembling and 
 astonished girl his scheme. 
 
 " We have to be in the new house as snug as snug by 
 Saturday night, my girl," he said in conclusion. " We have 
 to bring away what is worth moving of this furniture, and it 
 must all be clean and fresh, for a clean new house. And, 
 look here, Anne, you can't do all the work ; do you happen 
 to know of a good, hard-working girl, who would come and 
 help you, and stay altogether if Mrs. Home happened to like 
 her, just a second like yourself, my lass ? " 
 
 " Oh, please, sir, please, sir," answered Anne, " there's 
 my own sister, she's older nor me, and more knowing. 
 She's real 'andy, and please, sir, she'd like it real awful 
 well." 
 
 " Engage her by all means," said Wilson, " go at once 
 for her. See ; where does she live ? I will pay the cab' 
 fare." 
 
 " Oh, was anything so exactly like the Family Herald" 
 thought Anne as she drove away. 
 
 Uncle Sandy then went to a large West End furniture 
 shop, and chose some sensible and nice furniture. The
 
 214 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 drawing-room alone he left untouched, for he could not pre 
 tend to understand how such a room should be rigged out 
 that must be Charlotte's province. But the nice large din 
 ing-room, the bedrooms, the stairs and hall, were made as 
 swejt and gay and pretty as the West End shopman, who 
 had good taste and <.o whom Uncle Sandy gave carte blanche, 
 could devise. Finally, on Saturday, he went to a florist's 
 and from there filled the windows with flowers, and Anne 
 had orders to abundantly supply the larder and store-room ; 
 and now at last, directions being given for tea, the old man 
 went off to meet his niece, her husband and her children, to 
 conduct them to their new home. 
 
 " Oh, we did have such a time," said Harold, as, brown 
 as a berry, he looked up at his old great-uncle. "Didn't 
 we, Daisy ? " he added, appealing to his small sister, who 
 clung to his hand. 
 
 " Ess, but we 'onted 'oo, Uncle 'Andy," said the small 
 thing, looking audaciously into his face, which she well knew 
 this speech would please. 
 
 " You're just a dear, little, darling duck," said Sandy, 
 taking her in his arms and giving her a squeeze. But even 
 Daisy could not quite monopolize him at this moment. All 
 the success of his scheme depended on the next half-hour, 
 and as they all drove back to Kentish Town, Sandy on the 
 box-seat of the cab, and the father, mother, and three chil 
 dren inside, his heart beat so loud and hard, that he had to 
 quiet it with some sharp inward admonitions. 
 
 " Sandy Wilson, you old fool ! " he said to himself more 
 than once ; " you have not been through the hardships of 
 the Australian bush to be afraid of a moment like this. 
 Keep yourself quiet; I'm ashamed of you." 
 
 At last they drew up at the address Sandy had privately 
 given. How beautiful the new house looked ! The hall 
 door stood open, and Anne's smiling face was seen on the 
 threshold. The children raised a shout at sight of her and 
 the flowers, which were so gay in the windows. Mr. Home 
 in a puzzled kind of way was putting out his head to tell the 
 cabby that he had made a mistake, and that he must jnst 
 turn the corner. Charlotte was feeling a queer little sensa 
 tion of surprise, when Uncle Sandy, with a face almost pur 
 ple with emotion, flung open the door of the cab, took Daisy 
 in his arms, and mounting her with an easy swing on to his 
 shoulder said to Charlotte,
 
 HO W IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 215 
 
 " Welcome, in the name of your dear, dead mother, 
 Daisy Wilson, to your new home, Niece Lottie." 
 
 The children raised a fresh shout. 
 
 " Oh, come, Daisy," said Harold ; she struggled to the 
 ground and the two rushed in. Anne came down and took 
 the baby, and Mr, and Mrs. Home had no help for it but to 
 follow in a blind kind of way. Uncle Sandy pushed his 
 niece down into one of the hall chairs. 
 
 " There ! " he said ; " don't, for Heaven's sake, you two 
 unpractical, unworldly people, begin to be angry with me. 
 That place in Tremins Road was fairly breaking my heart, 
 and I could not stand it, and 'tis well I do believe 'tis 
 let, and you can't go back to it, and this house is yours, 
 Niece Charlotte, and the furniture. As to the rent, I'll be 
 answerable for that, and you won't refuse your own mother's 
 brother. The fact was, that attic where the children slept 
 was too much for me, so I had to do something. Forgive 
 me if I practised a little bit of deception on you both. Now, 
 I'm off to an hotel to-night, but to-morrow, if you're not too 
 angry with your mother's brother, I'm coming back for good. 
 Kept a fine room for myself, I can tell you. Anne shall 
 show it to you. Trust Sandy Wilson to see to his own com 
 forts. Now good-bye, and God bless you both." 
 
 Away he rushed before either of the astonished pair had 
 time to get in a word. 
 
 " But I do think they'll forgive the liberty the old man 
 took with them," were his last waking thoughts as he closed 
 his eyes that night. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 HE WEPT. 
 
 MR. HARMAN was beginning to take the outward circum 
 stances of his life with great quietness. What, three months 
 before, would have caused both trouble and distress, now 
 was received with equanimity. The fact was, he felt him 
 self day by day getting so near eternity, that the things of 
 time, always so disproportionately large to our worldly minds, 
 were assuming to him their true proportions.
 
 216 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 John Harman was being led by a dark road of terrible 
 mental suffering to his God ; already he was drawing near, 
 and the shadow of that forgiveness which would yet encircle 
 him in its perfect rest and peace was at hand. 
 
 Days, and even weeks, went by, and there was no news 
 of Jasper. John Harman would once have been sorely per 
 plexed, but now he received the fact of his brothers absence 
 with a strange quietness, even apathy. Charlotte's po.-i- 
 poned marriage, a little time back, would have also fretted 
 him, but believing surely that she would be happy after his 
 death, he did not now trouble; and he could not help 
 owning to himself that the presence of his dearly loved 
 daughter was a comfort too great to be lightly dis 
 pensed with. He was too much absorbed with him 
 self to notice the strangeness of Hinton's absence, and 
 he did not perceive, as "he otherwise would have done, that 
 Charlotte's face was growing thin and pale, and that there 
 was a subdued, almost crushed manner about the hitherto 
 spirited creature, which not even his present state of health 
 could altogether account for. 
 
 Yes, John Harman lived his self-absorbed life, going day 
 by day a little further into the valley of the shadow of death. 
 The valley he was entering looked very dark indeed to the 
 old man, for the sin of his youth was still unforgiven, and he 
 could not see even a glimpse of the Good Shepherd's rod and 
 staff. Still he was searching day and night for some road of 
 peace and forgiveness ; he wanted the Redeemer of all the 
 world to lay His hand upon his bowed old head. The mis 
 take he was still making was this he would not take God's 
 way of peace, he must find his own. 
 
 One evening, after Charlotte had left him, he sat for a 
 long time in his study lost in thought. After a time he rose 
 and took down once more from the shelf the Bible which he 
 had opened some time before ; then it had given him the re 
 verse of comfort, and he scarcely, as he removed it from the 
 place where he had pushed it far back out of sight, knew 
 why he again touched it. He did, however, take it in his 
 hand, and return with it to his chair. He drew the chrir up 
 to the table and laid the old Bible upon it. He opened it 
 haphazard ; he was not a man who had ever studied or 
 loved the Bible ; he was not acquainted with all its contents 
 and the story on which his eyes rested came almost with the 
 freshness of novelty.
 
 HO IV IT ALL CAME ROUND. 2 1 7 
 
 *' Two men went up into the Temple to pray ; the one a 
 Pharisee, and the other a publican. 
 
 " The publican would not lift up so much as his eyes unto 
 heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful 
 to me, a sinner. 
 
 " I tell you, this man went down to his house justified 
 rather than the other." 
 
 John Harman read the story twice. 
 
 " This man went down to his house justified rather than 
 the other." 
 
 The other ! he fasted, and gave alms, and thanked God 
 that he was not as this publican this publican, who was a 
 sinner. 
 
 But the Bible words were clear enough and plain enough. 
 He, the sinner, was justified. 
 
 John Harman covered his face with his hands. Suddenly 
 he fell on his knees. 
 
 " God be merciful to me a sinner," he said. 
 
 He said the few words twice aloud, in great anguish of 
 spirit, and as he prayed he wept. 
 
 Afterwards he turned over the Bible pages again. This 
 time he read the story of Zacchasus. 
 
 " If I have taken anything from any man, I restore him 
 fourfold." 
 
 It was very late when Mr. Harman at last went to bed, 
 but he slept better that night than he had done for years. 
 He was beginning to see the possible end. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 HOME'S SERMON. 
 
 IT was impossible for the Homes to refuse Uncle Sandy's 
 kindness. Their natural pride and independence of char 
 acter could not stand in the way of so graciously and grace 
 fully offered a gift. When the old man came to see them the 
 next day, he was received with all the love and gratitude he 
 deserved. If he could give well, Charlotte and her husband 
 knew how to receive well. He now told his niece plainly 
 that he had come to pass the remainder of his days with her 
 and hers ; and father, mother, and children welcomed him 
 with delight.
 
 2 1 8 HOW IT ALL CAME RO UND. 
 
 Charlotte was now a very happy woman. The new and 
 pretty house was delightful to her. She began to understand 
 what it was not to have to look twice at a pound, for Uncle 
 Sandy's purse was for ever at her 'command. When she went 
 with her old uncle to choose the furniture for the new draw 
 ing room, she laughed so merrily and seemed so gay that 
 Uncle Sandy informed her that she had already lost five years 
 of her age. Harold and Daisy used to look into her face at 
 this time, and say to one another, "Isn't our mother pretty ?" 
 For, indeed, the peace in her heart, and the little unexpected 
 glow of worldly prosperity which had come into her life, had 
 wonderfully softened and beautified her face. Her eyes, 
 when she looked at her children's blooming faces, were often 
 bright as stars. At all times now they were serene and happy. 
 She had one little cross, however, one small shadow in her 
 happy time. She wanted to be much daily, if possible 
 with Charlotte Harman. Her heart yearned over Charlotte, 
 and she would have almost neglected her children to give 
 her one ray of comfort just now. But Charlotte herself had 
 forbidden this daily intercourse. 
 
 " I love you, Charlotte," she had said, " and I know that 
 you love me. But at present we must not meet. I cannot 
 leave my father to go to see you, and you must not come 
 here, for I cannot risk the chance of seeing you. He may 
 question me, and I shall not be able to answer his questions. 
 No, Charlotte, we must not meet." 
 
 Charlotte Home felt much regret at this. Failing Char 
 lotte Harman. she turned her attention to Hinton. She was 
 fully resolved that no stone should remain unturned by her 
 to enable those two yet to marry, and she thought she might 
 best effect her object by seeing the young man. She wrote 
 to him, asking him to call, telling him that she had much of 
 importance to tell him ; but both from his private address 
 and also from his chambers the letters were, in due course 
 of time, returned. Hinton was not in town, and had left no 
 clue to his whereabouts. Thus she was cut off from helping, 
 in any way, those who were in great darkness, and this fact 
 was an undoubted sorrow to her. Yes, Mrs, Home was full 
 of pity for Charlotte, full of pity for Charlotte's lover. But 
 it is to be feared that both she and Uncle Sandy retained a 
 strong sense of indignation towards the one who had caused 
 the anguish towards the one, therefore, on whom the 
 heaviest share of the punishment fell. Very terrible was it 
 for Charlotte, very terrible for Hinton. But were they asked
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 219 
 
 to tell their true feeling towards old John Harman, they 
 might have whispered, " Serve him right." There was one, 
 however, besides his daughter, whose warmest sympathies, 
 whose most earnest and passionate prayers were beginning 
 day by day and night by night, to centre more and more 
 round the suffering and guilty man, and that one was the 
 curate, Home. Angus Home had never seen John Harman, 
 but his sin and his condition were ever before him. He was 
 a dying man, and he was a sinner. With strong tears and 
 lamentation did this man cry to God for his fellow man. 
 His tears and his prayers brought love for the sinner. An 
 gus Home would have gladly died to bring John Harman 
 back to God. 
 
 One Saturday night he sat up late over his sermon. He 
 was not an eloquent preacher, but so earnest was his nature, 
 so intense his realization of God's love and of the things un 
 seen, that it was impossible for his words not to be winged with 
 the rare power of earnestness, He was neither gifted with 
 language nor with imagination ; but he could tell plain truths 
 in such a way that his hearers often trembled as they listened. 
 At such times he looked like an avenging angel. For the 
 man, when he felt called on to rebuke sin, was very jealous 
 for his God. Then, again, he could whisper comfort ; he 
 could bring down Heaven, and looked, when he spoke of 
 the land which is very far off, as though even now, and even 
 here, his eyes were seeing the King in His beauty. Never 
 theless, so little was that real power of his understood, so 
 much better were empty words gracefully strung together 
 preferred, that Home was seldom asked to preach in the 
 large parish church. His congregation were generally the 
 very poorest of his flock. These very poor folks learned to 
 love their pastor, and for them he would very gladly spend 
 and be spent. He was to preach to-morrow in a small iron 
 building to these poor people. He now sat up late to pre 
 pare his sermon. He found himself, however, sadly out of 
 tune for this work. He took his Bible in hand and turned 
 page after page ; he could find no suitable text ; he could 
 fix his attention on no particular line of argument. He un 
 locked a drawer, and took from thence a pile of old sermons ; 
 should he use one of these ? He looked through and through 
 his store. None pleased, none satisfied him. Finally, 
 overcome by a sudden feeling, he forgot his sermon of to 
 morrow. He pushed his manuscripts aside, and fell on his 
 knees. He was in terror about the soul of John Harman,
 
 220 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUXD. 
 
 and he prayed for him in groans that seemed almost as 
 though they must rend the heavens in their pleadings for a 
 reply. " Lord, spare the man. Lord, hear me ; hear me 
 when I plead with Thee. It was for sinners such as he Thou 
 didst die. Oh, spare ! oh, save ! save this great sinner. 
 Give me his soul, Lord. Lord, give me his soul to bring to 
 Thee in Heaven." He went up to bed in the early hours of 
 the May morning quite exhausted. He had absolutely for 
 gotten his sermon. He had not prepared a word for his con 
 gregation for the next day. Before he went to church he 
 remembered this. The was no help for it now. He could 
 but put two of his already prepared sermons in his pocket and 
 set out. He was to read the service as well as to preach the 
 sermon. There were about sixty poor people present. Char 
 lotte and the children went to the parish church. There was 
 not a really well-dressed person in all his congregation. He 
 had just finished reading the Ab. - hition when a slight stir 
 near the door attracted his attention. He raised his eyes to 
 see the verger leading up the centre aisle an old man with 
 bowed head and silver hair, accompanied by a young woman. 
 The young woman Home recognized at a glance. She was 
 Charlotte Harman ; the old man then was her father. He 
 did not ask himself why they had come here or how, but in 
 stantly he said to his own heart, with a great throb of ecstatic 
 joy, "God has heard my prayer; that soul is to be mine." 
 When he mounted the pulpit stairs he had absolutely forgot 
 ten his written sermons. For the first time he stood before 
 his congregation without any outward aid of written 
 words, or even notes. He certainly did not need them, for 
 his heart was full. Out of that heart, burning with love so 
 intense as to be almost divine, he spoke. I don't think he 
 used any text, but he told from beginning to end the old, old 
 tale of the Prodigal Son. He told it as, it seemed to his 
 congregation, that wonderful story had never been told since 
 the Redeemer Himself had first uttered the words. He de 
 scribed the far country, the country where God was not ; and 
 the people were afraid and could scarcely draw their breath. 
 Then he told of the Father's forgiveness and the Father's 
 welcome home ; and the congregation, men and women alike, 
 hid their faces and wept. Added to his earnestness God had 
 given to him the great gift of eloquence to-day. The people 
 said afterwards they scarcely knew their pastor. There was 
 not a dry eye in his church that morning.
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 2 2I 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 A SINNER. 
 
 HOME went back to his new and pretty house and sat 
 down with his wife and children, and waited. He would not 
 even tell Charlotte of these unlooked-for additions to his 
 small congregation. When she asked him if he had got on 
 well, if his sermon had been a difficulty, he had answered, 
 with a light in his eyes, that God had been with him. After 
 this the wife only took his hand and pressed it. She need 
 question no further : but even she wondered at the happy 
 look on his face. 
 
 He had two more services for that day, and also schools 
 to attend, and through all his duties, which seemed to come 
 without effort or annoyance, he still waited. He knew as 
 well as if an angel had told him that he should see more 
 of Mr. Harman. Had he been less assured of this 
 he would have taken some steps himself to secure a, 
 meeting ; he would have gone to the daughter, he would 
 have done he knew not what. But having this firm assur 
 ance, he did not take any steps ; he believed what God 
 wished him to do was quietly to wait. 
 
 When he went out on Monday morning he left word with 
 his wife where he might be found without trouble or delay, 
 if wanted. 
 
 " Is any one ill in the congregation ? " she inquired." 
 
 "Some 'one is ill, but not in the congregation," he an 
 swered. 
 
 He came home, however, late on Monday night, to find 
 that no one had sent, no one in particular had inquired for 
 him. Still his faith was not at all shaken ; he still knew that 
 Harman's soul was to be given to him, and believing that he 
 would like to see him, he felt that he should yet be sum 
 moned to his side. 
 
 On Tuesday morning prayers were to be read in the little 
 iron church. Never full even on Sundays, this one week 
 day service was very miserably attended. Home did not 
 often take it, the duty generally devolving on the youngest
 
 222 HOW IT ALL CAME FOUXD. 
 
 curate in the place. He was hurrying past to-day, having 
 many sick and poor to attend to, when he met young Daven 
 port a curate only just ordained. 
 
 " I am glad I met you," said the young man, coming up 
 at once and addressing the older clergyman with a troubled 
 face. " There would not have been time to have gone round 
 to your place. See, I have had a telegram ; my father is ill. 
 I want to catch a train at twelve o'clock to go and see him ; 
 I cannot if I take this service. Will it be possible for you 
 to do the duty this morning ? " 
 
 " Perfectly possible," answered Home heartily. " Go 
 off at once, my dear fellow j I will see to things for you un 
 til you return." 
 
 The young man was duly grateful, and hurried away at 
 once, and Home entered the little building. The moment 
 he did so he saw the reason of it all. Mr. Harman was in 
 the church ; he was in the church and alone. His daughter 
 was not with him. There was no sermon that day, and the 
 short morning prayers were quickly over. The half-dozen 
 poor who had come in went out again ; but Mr. Harman did 
 not stir. Home took off his surplice, and hurried down the 
 church. He meant now to speak to Mr. Harman, if Mr. 
 Harman did not speak to him ; but he saw that he would 
 speak. As he approached the pew the white-headed old 
 man rose slowly and came to meet him. 
 
 " Sir, I should like to say a few words to you." 
 
 'As many as you please, my dear sir; I am quite at 
 your service." 
 
 Home now entered the pew and sat down. 
 
 " Shall we talk here or in the vestry ? " he inquired, after 
 a moment's silence. 
 
 " I thought perhaps you would come to my house later 
 on," said Mr. Harman. " I have a long story to tell you ; 
 I can tell it best at home. I am very ill, or I would come 
 to you. May I expect you this evening ? " 
 
 " I will certainly come," answered Home. " What is 
 your address ? " 
 
 Mr. Harman gave it. Then, after a pause, he added 
 
 " I seek you as a minister." 
 
 " And I come to you as a servant of God," replied the 
 curate, now fixing his eyes on his companion. 
 
 Mr. Harman's gaze did not quail before that steady look. 
 With an unutterable sadness he returned it fully. Then he 
 said,
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 223 
 
 " I came here on Sunday." 
 
 " I saw you," answered Home. 
 
 " Ah ! can it be possible that you preached to me ? " 
 
 " To you, if you think so. I spoke to every sinner in the 
 congregation." 
 
 " You spoke of a land where God is not ; you described 
 the terrible country well." 
 
 " An arid land ? " answered Home. 
 
 " Ay, a thirsty land." 
 
 " Those that find it so generally find also that they are 
 being led back to a land where God is." 
 
 " You believe, then, in the forgiveness of sin ? " 
 
 " If I did not I should go mad." 
 
 " My good sir, you are not much of a sinner." 
 
 " I am a sinner, sir ; and if I were not if I dared to 
 lift up my eyes to a holy, a righteous God, and say, ' I am 
 pure' I yet, if I did not believe as fully as I am now sitting 
 by your side in the perfect forgiveness of sin, I yet should 
 go mad ; for I have seen other men's sins and other men's 
 despair ; I should lose my reason ^for their sakes, if not for 
 my own." 
 
 " Should you, indeed ? You see now before you a de 
 spairing man and a dying man." 
 
 " And a sinner ? " questioned Home. 
 
 " Ay, ay, God knows, a sinner." 
 
 "Then I see also before me a man whose despair can be 
 changed to peace, and his sin forgiven. What hour shall I 
 call upon you this evening ? " 
 
 Mr. Harm an named the hour. Then he rose feebly ; 
 Home gave him his arm and conducted him to his carriage ; 
 afterwards he re-entered the church to pray. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 A HIDDEN SIN. 
 
 NfNE o' clock in the evening was the hour named by Mr. 
 Harman, and punctually at that hour Home arrived at 
 Prince's Gate. He was a man who had never been known 
 to be late for an appointment ; for in little things even, this
 
 224 //OH' IT ALL CAME ROUXI\ 
 
 singular man was faithful to the very letter of the trust. 
 This nice observance of his passed word, in a great measure 
 counteracted his otherwise unpractical nature. Home was 
 known by all his acquaintances to be a most dependable num. 
 
 Mr. Harman had told Charlotte that he was expecting a 
 friend to visit him. He said he should like to see that friend 
 alone ; but, contrary to his wont, he did not mention his 
 name. This cannot be wondered at, for Mr. Harman km:\v 
 of no connection between the Homes and Charlotte. He 
 had chosen this man of God, above his fellow-men, because 
 he had been haunted and impressed by his sermon, but he 
 scarcely himself even- knew his name. It so happened, how 
 ever, that Charlotte saw Mr. Home entering her father's 
 study. It is not too much to say that the sight nearly took 
 her breath away, and that she felt very considerable dis 
 quietude. 
 
 " Sit here," said Mr. Harman to his guest. 
 
 The room had been comfortably prepared, and when 
 Home entered Mr. Harman got up and locked the door ; 
 then, sitting down opposite to Home, and leaning a little for 
 ward, he began at once without preface or preamble. 
 
 " I want to tell you without reservation the story of my 
 life." 
 
 " I have come to listen," answered Home. 
 
 " It is the story of a sin." 
 
 Home bent his head. 
 
 " It is the story of a suocessfully hidden sin a sin hidden 
 from all the worla for three and twenty years." 
 
 " A crushing weight such a sin must have been," answered 
 the clergyman. " But will you just tell me all from the be 
 ginning ? " 
 
 " I will tell you all from the beginning. A hidden sin is, 
 as you say, heavy enough to crush a man into hell. But I 
 will make no more preface. Sir, I had the misfortune to lose a 
 very noble mother when I was young. When I was ten years 
 old, and my brother (I have one brother) was eight, our 
 mother died ! We were but children, you will say ; but 1 
 don't, even now that I am a dying, sinful old man, forget my 
 mother. She taught us to pray and to shun sin. She also 
 surrounded us with such high and holy thoughts she so 
 gave us the perfection of all pure mother love, that we must 
 have been less than human not to be good boys durinjj her 
 lifetime. I remember even now the look in her eyes when I 
 refused on any childish occasion to follow the good, and
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 22$ 
 
 then chose the evil. I have a daughter one beloved 
 daughter, something like my mother. I have seen the same 
 high and honorable light in her eyes, but never since in any 
 others. Well, my mother died, and Jasper and I had only 
 her memory to keep us right. We used to talk about her often, 
 and often fretted for her as, I suppose, few little boys before 
 or since have fretted for a mother. After her death we were 
 sent to school. Our father even then was a rich man : he 
 was a self-made man ; he started a business in a small way 
 in the City, but small beginnings often make great endings, 
 and the little business grew, and grew, and success and wealth 
 came almost without effort. Jasper and I never knew what 
 poverty meant. I loved learning better than my brother did, 
 and at the age of eighteen, when Jasper went into our father's 
 business, I was sent to Oxford. At twenty-two I had taken 
 my degree, and done so, not perhaps brilliantly, but with 
 some honor. Any profession was now open to me, and my 
 father gave me full permission to choose any walk in life I 
 chose ; at the same time he made a proposal. He was no 
 longer so young as he had been ; he had made his fortune ; he 
 believed that Jasper's aptitude for business excelled his own. 
 If we would become partners in the firm which he had made, 
 and which was already rising into considerable eminence, 
 he would retire altogether. We young men should work the 
 business in our own way. He was confident we should rise 
 to immense wealth. While making this proposal our father 
 said that he would not give up his business to Jasper alone. 
 If both his sons accepted it, then he would be willing to 
 retire, taking with him a considerable sum of money, but 
 still leaving affairs both unencumbered and flourishing. 
 ' You are my heirs eventually.' he said to us both ; ' and now 
 I give you a week to decide.' At the end of the allotted 
 time we accepted the offer. This was principally Jasper's 
 doing, for at that time I knew nothing of business, and had 
 thought of a profession. Afterwards I liked the counting- 
 house, and became as absorbed as others in the all-engross 
 ing accumulation of wealth. Our father had taken a very 
 large sum of money out of the business, and it was im 
 possible for us not to feel for a time a considerable strain ; 
 but Jasper's skill and talent were simply wonderful, and suc 
 cess attended all our efforts. 
 
 " Two years after I joined the business, I married my 
 Charlotte's mother. I was a wealthy man even then. 
 Though of no birth in particular, I was considered gentle-
 
 22 6 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 manly. I had acquired that outward polish which a university 
 education gives ; I was also good-looking. With my money, 
 good looks, and education, I was considered a match for the 
 proud and very poor daughter of an old Irish baronet. She 
 had no money ; she had nothing but her beautiful face, her 
 high and honorable spirit, her blue blood. You will say, 
 'Enough!' Ay, it was more than enough. She made me 
 the best, the truest of wives. I never loved another woman. 
 She was a little bit extravagant. She had never known 
 wealth until she became my wife, and wealth, in the most 
 innocent way in the world, was delightful to her. While 
 Jasper saved, I was tempted to live largely. I took an ex 
 pensive house there was no earthly good thing I would not 
 have given to her. She loved me ; but, as I said, she was 
 proud. Pride in birth and position was perhaps her only 
 fault. I was perfect in her eyes, but she took a dislike to 
 Jasper. This I could have borne, but it pained me when I 
 saw her turning away from my old father. I dearly loved 
 and respected my father, and I wanted Constance to love 
 him, but she never could be got to care for him. It was at 
 that time, that that thing happened which was the beginning 
 of all the after darkness and misery. 
 
 " My father, finding my proud young wife not exactly to 
 his taste, came less and less to our house. Finally, he 
 bought an old estate in Hertfordshire, and then one day the 
 news reached us that he had engaged himself to a very young 
 girl, and that he would marry at once. There was nothing 
 wrong in this marriage, but Jasper and I chose to consider 
 it a sin. We had never forgotten our mother, and we thought 
 it a dishonor to her. We forgot our father's loneliness. 
 In short, we were unreasonable and behaved as un 
 reasonably as unreasonable men will on such occasions. 
 Hot and angry words passed between our father and our 
 selves. We neither liked our father's marriage nor his 
 choice. Of course, we were scarcely likely to turn the old 
 man from his purpose, but we refused to have any 
 thing to do with his young wife. Under such circumstances 
 we had an open quarrel. Our father married, and we did 
 not see him for years. I was unhappy at this , for I loved 
 my father. Before his second marriage, he always spent 
 from Saturday to Monday at our house, and though my own 
 wife not caring for him greatly marred o T p!j;ist:re, yet now 
 that the visits had absolutely ceased I mis=ed them I missed 
 the gray head and the shrewd, old, kindly face ; and often,
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 227 
 
 very often, I almost resolved to run down into Hertfordshire 
 and make up my quarrel. I did not do so, however ; and 
 as the years went on, I grew afraid to mention my father's 
 name to either my wife or brother. Jasper and I were at 
 this time deeply absorbed in speculation ; our business was 
 growing and growing ; each thing we embarked in turned out 
 well ; we were beginning quite to recover from the strain 
 which our father's removal of so large a sum of money had 
 caused. Jasper was a better man of business than I was. 
 Jasper, though the junior partner, took the lead in all plans. 
 He proposed that an Australian branch of our business should 
 be opened. It was done, and succeeded well. 
 
 " About this time we heard that a little son had arrived 
 at the Hermitage in Hertfordshire. He did not live long. 
 We saw his birth announced in The Times. It may have 
 been some months later, though, looking back on it, it seems 
 but a few days, that the birth was followed by the death. A 
 year or two passed away, and my wife and I were made 
 happy by the arrival of our first child. The child was a 
 daughter. We called her Charlotte, after my much-loved 
 mother. Time went on, until one day a telegram was put 
 into my hand summoning my brother and myself to our 
 father's deathbed. The telegram was sent by the young 
 wife. I rushed off at once ; Jasper followed by the next 
 train. 
 
 The hale old man had broken up very suddenly at last, 
 and the doctor said he had but a few days to live. During 
 those few days, Jasper and I scarcely left his bedside ; we 
 were reconciled fully and completely, and he died at last 
 murmuring my own mother's name and holding our hands. 
 
 It was during this visit that I saw the little wife for the 
 first time. She was a commonplace little thing, but pretty 
 and very young ; it was impossible to dislike the gentle 
 creature. She was overpowered with grief at her husband's 
 death. It was impossible not to be kind to her, not to com 
 fort her. There was one child, a girl of about the age of my 
 own little Charlotte. This child had also been named 
 Charlotte. She was a pale, dark-eyed child, with a certain 
 strange look of my mother about her. She was not a 
 particle like her own. My father loved this little creature, 
 and several times during those last days of his he spoke of 
 her to me. 
 
 " ' I have called her after your own mother,' he said. ' I 
 love my second wife ; but the Charlotte of my youth can never
 
 22 8 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND 
 
 be forgotten. I have called the child Charlotte ; you have 
 called your daughter Charlotte. Good ! let the two be 
 friends.' 
 
 " I promised readily enough, and I felt pity and interest for 
 the little forlorn creature. I also, as I said, intended to be 
 good to the mother, who seemed to me to be incapable of 
 standing alone. 
 
 " Immediately after my father's death and before the fu 
 neral, I was summoned nastily to town. My wife was dan 
 gerously ill. A little dead baby had come into the world, 
 and for a time her life was despaired of ; eventually she got 
 better ; but for the next few days I lived and thought 
 only for her. I turned over all business cares to Jasper. I 
 was unable even to attend our father's funeral. I never day 
 or night left Constance's bedside. I loved this woman most 
 devotedly, most passionately. During all those days wlu'ii 
 her life hung in the balance, my time seemed one long prayer 
 to God. ' Spare her, spare her precious life at any cost, at 
 any cost.' Those were the words, for ever on my lips. The 
 prayer was heard ; I had my wife again. For a short time 
 she was restored to me. I have often thought since, was 
 even that precious life worth the price I paid for it ? " 
 
 Here Mr. Harman paused. Some moisture had gathered 
 on his brow ; he took out his handkerchief to wipe it away. 
 A glass of water stood by his side ; he drank a little. 
 
 " I am approaching the sin," he said addressing the clergy 
 man. " The successfully buried sin is about to rise from its 
 grave ; pardon me if I shrink from the awful sight." 
 
 " God will strengthen you, my dear sir," answered Home. 
 *' By your confession, you are struggling back into the right 
 path. What do I say ? Rather you are being led back by 
 God himself. Take courage. Lean upon the Almighty arm 
 Your sin will shrink in dimensions as you view it ; for be 
 tween you and it will come forgiveness." 
 
 Mr. Harman smiled faintly, After another short pause, 
 he continued. 
 
 " On the day on which my dear wife was pronounced out 
 of danger, Jasper sent for me. My brother and I had ever 
 been friends, though in no one particular were we alike. 
 During the awful struggle through which I had just passed. 
 I forgot both him and my father. Now I remembered him 
 and my father's death, and our own business cares. A thou 
 sand memories came back to me. When he sent for me I 
 left my wife's bedside and went down to him. I was feeling
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 229 
 
 weak and low, for I had not been in bed for many nights, 
 and a kind of reaction had set in. I was in a kind of state 
 when a man's nerves can be shaken, and his whole moral 
 equilibrium upset. I do not offer this as an excuse for what 
 followed. There is no excuse for the dark sin ; but I do 
 believe enough about myself to say that what I then yielded 
 to, I should have been proof against at a stronger physical 
 moment. I entered my private sitting-room to find Jasper 
 pacing up and down like a wild creature. His eyes were 
 bloodshot, his hair tossed. He was a calm and cheerful per 
 son generally. At this instant, he looked like one half bereft 
 of reason. ' Good heavens ! what is wrong ? ' I said. I was 
 startled out of myself by his state of perturbation. 
 
 " We are ruined ; that is what is wrong,' answered 
 Jasper. 
 
 " He then entered into particulars with which I need not 
 trouble you. A great house, one of the greatest and largest 
 houses in the City, had come to absolute grief ; it was bank 
 rupt. In its fall many other houses, ours amongst them, 
 must sink. 
 
 " I saw it all quite plainly. I sat down quiet and stunned ; 
 while Jasper raved and swore and paced up and down the 
 room, I sat still. Yes we were, beggars, nothing could save 
 the house which our father had made with such pride and 
 care. 
 
 " After a time I left Jasper and returned to my wife's 
 room. On the way I entered the nursery and paid my pretty 
 little Charlotte a visit. She climbed on my knee and kissed 
 me, and all the time I kept saying to myself, ' The child is a 
 beggar, I can give her no comforts ; we are absolutely in 
 want.' It was the beginning of the winter then, and the 
 weather was bitterly cold. The doctor met me on the thres 
 hold of my wife's room ; he said to me, ' As soon as ever she is 
 better, you must either take or send her out of England. 
 She may recover abroad ; but to winter in this climate, in her 
 present state, would certainly kill her.' How bitter I felt ; 
 for was I not a beggar ? How could I take my wife away ? 
 I sat down again in the darkened room and thought over the 
 past. Hitherto the wealth, which was so easily won, seemed 
 of comparatively small importance. It was easy with a full 
 purse to wish, then to obtain. I had often, wondered at 
 Constance's love for all the pretty things with which I de 
 lighted to surround her, her almost childish pleasure in the 
 riches which had come to her. She always said to me at 
 such times :
 
 230 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME KOUXD. 
 
 riches which had come to her. She always said to me at 
 such times : 
 
 " ' But I have known such poverty ; I hate poverty, and I 
 love, I love the pretty things of life.' 
 
 "This very night, as I sat by her bedside, she opened her 
 lovely eyes and looked at me and said : 
 ^ " ' John, I have had such a dream so vivid, so, so terrible. 
 I thought we were poor again poorer than I ever was even 
 with my father , so poor, John, that I was hungry, and you 
 could give me nothing to eat. I begged you to give me food. 
 There was a loaf in a shop window, such a nice crisp loaf ; 
 and I was starving. When you snid yoq had no money, I 
 begged of you to steal that loaf. You would not, you would 
 not, and at last I lay down to die. Oh ! John, say it was a 
 dream.' 
 
 " ' Of course it was only a dream, my darling ! ' I an 
 swered, and I kissed her and soothed her, though all the 
 time my heart felt like lead. 
 
 " That evening Jasper sent for me again. His manner 
 now was changed. The wildness and despair had left it. 
 He was his old, cool, collected self. He was in the sort of 
 mood when he always had an ascendency over me the sort 
 of mood when he showed that wonderful business faculty for 
 which I could not but admire him. 
 
 " * Sit down, John,' he said, ' I have a great deal to say to 
 you. There is a plan in my head. If you will agree to act 
 with me in it, we may yet be saved.' 
 
 " Thinking of my Constance lying so ill upstairs, my heart 
 leaped up at these words. 
 
 " ' What is 5'our plan ? ' I said. ' I can stay with you for 
 some time. I can listen as long as you like.' 
 
 " ' You hate poverty ? ' said Jasper. 
 
 " 4 Yes,' I said, thinking of Constance, ' I hate it.' 
 
 " ' If you will consent to my scheme ; if you will consent 
 before you leave this room, we need not sink with Cooper. 
 Cooper and Bennett.' 
 
 " ' I will listen to you,' I said. 
 
 " ' You have always been so absorbed lately in your wife,' 
 continued Jasper, ' that you have, I really believe, forgotten 
 our father's death : his funeral was last Thursday. Of course 
 you could not attend it. After the funeral I read the will.' 
 
 " ' Yes,' I said, ' I had really forgotten my father's will. 
 He left us money ? ' I said. ' I am glad ; it will keep us
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND 
 
 231 
 
 from absolute want. Constance need not be hungry after 
 all. 
 
 " My brother looked at me. 
 
 " ' A little money has been left to us,' he said, ' but so 
 little that it must go with the rest. In the general crash 
 those few thousands must also go. John, you remember 
 when our father took that very large sum out of the business, 
 he promised that we should be his heirs. It was a loan for 
 his lifetime.' 
 
 " ' He had not married then,' I said. 
 
 " ' No,' answered Jasper, ' he had not married. Now that 
 he has married he has forgotten all but this second wife. 
 He has left her, with the exception of a few thousands, the 
 whole of that fine property. In short, he has left her a sum 
 of money which is to realize an income of twelve hundred a 
 year.' 
 
 " Yes,' I said, wearily. 
 
 "Jasper looked at me very hard. I returned his gaze. 
 
 " ' That money, if left to us, would save the firm. Quite 
 absolutely save the firm in this present crisis j he said, slowly and 
 emphatically. 
 
 " ' Yes,' I said again. I was so innocent, so far from 
 what I since became, at that moment, that I did not in the 
 least understand my brother. 'The money is not ours,' 
 I said, seeing that his eyes were still fixed on me with a 
 greedy intense light. 
 
 " ' If my father were alive now,' said Jasper, rising to his 
 feet and coming to my side, ' if my father were alive now, he 
 would break his heart, to see the business which he made 
 with such pride and skill, come to absolute grief. If my 
 father were still alive ; if that crash had come but a fortnight 
 ago, he would say, ' Save the firm at any cost." 
 
 "'But he is dead,' I said, 'we cannot save the firm. 
 What do you mean, Jasper? I confess I cannot see to 
 what you are driving.' 
 
 " ' John,' said my brother, ' you are stupid. If our father 
 could speak to us now, he would say, ' Take the money, all 
 the money I have left, and save the firm of Harman 
 Brothers.' 
 
 " ' You mean,' I said, 'you mean that we we, are to steal 
 that money, the money left to the widow, and the fatherless ? ' 
 
 " I understood the meaning now. I staggered to my 
 feet. I could have felled my brother to the ground. He was 
 my brother, my only brother; but at that moment, so
 
 232 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 true were my heart's instincts to the good and right, that 1 
 loathed him. Before however, I could say a word, or utter 
 a reproach, a message came to me from my wife. I was 
 wanted in my wife's room instantly, she was excited, she was 
 worse. 1 flew away without a word. 
 
 " Come back again, I will wait for you here,' called af 
 ter me my brother. 
 
 " I entered Constance's room. I think she was a little 
 delirious. She was still talking about money, about being 
 hungry and having no money to buy bread. Perhaps a pre 
 sentiment of the evil news had come to her. I had to soothe, 
 to assure her that all she desired should be hers. I even 
 took my purse out and put it into her burning hand. At last 
 she believed me ; she fell asleep with her hand in mine. I 
 dared not stir from her ; and all the time as I sat far into the 
 night, I thought over Jasper's words. They were terrible 
 words, but I could not get them out of my head, they were 
 burning like fire into my brain. At last Constance awoke ; 
 she was better, and I could leave her. It was now almost 
 morning. I went to my study, for I could not sleep. To my 
 surprise, Jasper was still there. It was six hours since I had 
 left him, but he had not stirred. 
 
 "John," he said, seeing that I shrank from him, 'you 
 must hear me out. Call my plan by as ugly a name as you 
 like, no other plan will save the firm. John, will you hear 
 me speak ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, I will hear you,' I said. I sank down on the 
 sofa. My head was reeling. Right and wrong seemed con 
 fused. I said to myself, My brain is so confused with grief 
 and perplexity that it is no matter what Jasper says just now, 
 for I shall not understand him. But I found to my surprise 
 almost to my horror, that I understood with startling clear 
 ness every word. This was Jasper's plan. There were three 
 trustees to the will ; I was one, my brother Jasper another, 
 a third was a man by the name of Alexander Wilson. He 
 was brother to my father's second wife. This Alexander 
 Wilson I had never seen. Jasper had seen him once. He 
 described him to me as a tall and powerful man with red 
 hair. ' He is the other trustee,' said my brother, ' and he 
 is dead.' 
 
 " ' Dead ! ' I said, starting. 
 
 " ' Yes, he is without doubt dead ; here is an account of 
 his death.' 
 
 "Jasper then oper>ed an Australian paper and showed me
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 2 33 
 
 the name, also the full account of a man who answered in 
 all particulars to the Alexander Wilson named as a third 
 trustee. Jasper then proceeded to unfold yet further his 
 scheme. 
 
 " That trustee being dead, we were absolute masters of 
 the situation, we could appropriate that money. The widow 
 knew nothing yet of her husband's will ; she need never 
 know. The sum meant for her was, under existing circum 
 stances, much too large. She should not want, she should 
 have abundance. But we too should not want. Were our 
 father living he would ask us to do this. We should save 
 ourselves and the great house of Harman Brothers. In 
 short, to put the thing in plain language, we should, by 
 stealing the widow's money, save ourselves. By being faith 
 less to our most solemn trust, we could keep the filthy lucre. 
 I will not say how I struggled. I did struggle for a day ; 
 in the evening I yielded. I don't excuse myself in the very 
 least. In the evening I fell as basely as a man could fall. I be 
 lieve in my fall I sank even lower than Jasper. I said to 
 him, ' I cannot bear poverty, it will kill Constance, and 
 Constance must not die ; but you must manage everything, 
 I can go into no details ; I can never, never as long as I 
 live, see that widow and child. You must see them, you 
 must settle enough, abundance on them, but never mention 
 their names to me. I can do the deed, but the victims must 
 be dead to me. 
 
 To all this Jasper promised readily enough. He prom 
 ised and acted. All went, outwardly, smoothly and well ; 
 there was no hitch, no outward flaw, no difficulty, the firm 
 was saved ; none but we two knew how nearly it had been 
 engulfed in hopeless shipwreck. It recovered itself by 
 means of that stolen money, and flew lightly once again over 
 the waters of prosperity. Yes, our house was saved, and 
 from that hour my happiness fled. I had money, money in 
 abundance and to spare ; but I never knew another hour, 
 day or night, of peace. I had done the deed to save my 
 wife, but I found that, though God would give me that 
 cursed wealth, He yet would take away my idol for whom I 
 had sacrificed my soul. Constance only grew well enough 
 to leave England. We wintered abroad, and at Cannes, sur 
 rounded by all that base money could supply, she closed her 
 eyes. I returned home a widower, and the most wretched 
 man on the face of the earth. Soon after, the Australian 
 branch of our business growing and growing, Jasper found it
 
 234 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 well to visit that country. He did so, and stayed away many 
 years. Soon after he landed, he wrote to tell me that he 
 had seen the grave of Alexander Wilson ; that he had made 
 many inquries about him, and that now there was not the 
 least shadow of doubt that the other trustee was dead. He 
 said that our last fears of discovery might now rest. 
 
 " Years went by, and we grew richer and richer ; all we 
 put our hands to prospered. Money seemed to grow for us 
 on every tree. I could give my one child all that wealth 
 could suggest. She grew up unsullied by what was eating 
 into me as a canker. She was beautiful alike in mind and 
 body ; she was and is the one pure and lovely thing left to 
 me. She became engaged to a good and honorable man. 
 He had, it is true, neither money nor position, but I had 
 learned, through all these long years of pain, to value such 
 things at their true worth. Charlotte should marry where 
 her heart was. I gave her leave to engage herself to Hinton. 
 Shortly after that engagement, Jasper, my brother, returned 
 from Australia. His presence, reminding me, as it did, day 
 and night, of my crime, but added to my misery of soul. 
 I was surprised, too, to see how easily what was dragging 
 me to the very gate of hell seemed to rest on him. I could 
 never discover, narrowly as I watched him, that he was any 
 thing but a happy man. One evening, after spending some 
 hours in his presence, I fainted away quite suddenly. I was 
 alone when this fainting fit overtook me. I believe I was 
 unconscious for many hours. The next day I went to con 
 sult a doctor. Then and there, in that great physician's 
 consulting-room, I learned that I am the victim of an incur 
 able complaint ; a complaint that must end my life, must 
 end it soon, and suddenly. In short, the doctor said to me, 
 not in words, but by look, by manner, by significant hand 
 pressure, and that silent sympathy which speaks a terrible 
 fact. ' Prepare to meet thy God.' Since the morning I left 
 the doctor's presence I have been trying to prepare ; but be 
 tween God and me stands my sin. I cannot get a glimpse 
 of God. I wait, and wait, but I only see the awful sin of 
 my youth. In short, sir, I am in the far country where God 
 is not." 
 
 " To die so would be terrible," said Mr. Home. 
 
 "To die so will be terrible, sir ; in, short, it will be hell." 
 
 " Do not put it in the future tense, Mr. Harman, for you 
 that day is past." 
 
 " What do you mean ? "
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 235 
 
 " I mean that even now, though you know it not, you are 
 no longer in the far country. You are the prodigal son if; 
 you like, but you are on the road back to the Father. You 
 are on the homeward road, and the Father is looking out for 
 you. When you come to die you will not be alone, the hand 
 of God will hold yours, and the smile of a forgiving God will 
 say to you, as the blessed Jesus said once to a poor sinful 
 woman, who yet was not half -as great a sinner as you are, 
 ' Thy sins, which are many, are forgiven thee." 
 
 " You believe then in the greatness of my sin ? " 
 
 " I believe, I know that your sin was enormous ; but so 
 also is your repentance," 
 
 "God knows I repent," answered Mr. Harman. 
 
 " Yes ; when you asked me to visit you, and when you 
 poured out that story in my ears, your long repentance and 
 anguish of heart were beginning to find vent." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean that you will make reparation." 
 
 " Ay, indeed I am more than willing. Zacchaeus restored 
 fourfold." 
 
 " Yes, the road for you, straight to the bosom of the 
 Father, is very prickly and full of sharp thorns. You have 
 held a high character for honor and respectability. You 
 have a child who loves you, who has thought you perfect. 
 You must step down from your high pedestal. You must 
 renounce the place you have held in your child's heart. In 
 short, you mus't let your only child, and also the cold, cen 
 sorious world, see you as God has seen you for so long." 
 
 " I don't mind the world, but my child my only child," 
 said Mr. Harman, and now he put up his trembling hands 
 and covered his face. "That is a very hard road," he said 
 after a pause. 
 
 v " There is no other back to the Father," answered the 
 clergyman. 
 
 " Well, I will take it then, for I must get back to Him. 
 You are a man of God. I put myself in your hands. What 
 am I to do ? " 
 
 " You put yourself not into my hands, sir, but into 
 the loving and merciful hands of my Lord Christ. The 
 course before you is plain. You must find out those you 
 have robbed ; you must restore all, and ask these wronged 
 ones' forgiveness. When they forgive, the peace of God 
 will shine into your heart."
 
 236 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 il You mean the widow and the child. But I do not know 
 anything of them ; I have shut my eyes to their fate." 
 
 " The widow is dead, but the child lives ; I happen to 
 know her ; I can bring her to you." 
 
 " Can you ? How soon ? " 
 
 " In an hour and a half from now if you like. I should 
 wish you to rest in that peace I spoke of before morning. 
 Shall I bring her to-night ? " 
 
 " Yes, I will see her ; but first, first, will you pray with 
 me?" 
 
 Mr. Home knelt down at once. The gray-headed and 
 sinful man knelt by his side. Then the clergyman hurried 
 away to fetch his wife. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 THE PRINCE OF PEACE. 
 
 IT was very nearly midnight when Mr. Home, entering 
 the sitting-room where his wife waited up for him, asked 
 her to come with him at once. 
 
 " There is a hansom at the door," he said, " put on your 
 bonnet and come. I will tell you all as we drive along ; 
 come at once, we have not a moment to lose." 
 
 Charlotte Home, accustomed as Home's wife to imperative 
 demands, only thought of a night's nursing of some specially 
 poor patient. She rose without a word, and in two minutes 
 they were driving, as fast as a fleet horse could take them 
 to Prince's Gate. 
 
 " Charlotte," said her husband, taking her hand, "God 
 has heard my prayer, God has given me the man's soul." 
 
 " Whose soul, my dearest ? " 
 
 " The soul of John Harman. Charlotte, I have prayed 
 as I never prayed before in all my life for that guilty and 
 troubled sinner's soul. I have been in an agony for it ; it 
 has seemed to me at times that for this lost and suffering 
 brother I could lay down my very life. On Sunday last I 
 went to conduct sen-ice in the small iron church, I tried 
 the night before to prepare a sermon ; no thought would 
 come to me. I tried at last to look up an old one ; no old
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 237 
 
 sermon would commend itself. Finally I dropped all 
 thought of the morrow's sermon and spent the greater part 
 of the night in prayer. My prayer was for this sinner, and 
 it seemed to me, that as I struggled and pleaded, God the 
 Father and God the Son drew nigh. I went to bed with a 
 wonderfully close sense of their presence. At morning 
 prayers the next day, Miss Harman and her father entered 
 the church. You may well look at me in surprise, Charlotte, 
 but when I saw them I felt quiet enough ; I only knew that 
 God had sent them. For the first time in my life I preached 
 without note or written help. I felt, however, at no loss for 
 words ; my theme was the Prodigal Son. I thought only of 
 Mr. Harman ; I went home and continued to pray for him. 
 On Tuesday morning that is, this morning he was again 
 at the church. After the prayers were over he waited to 
 speak to me : he asked me to visit him at his own house this 
 evening. I went there ; I have been with him all the even 
 ing ; he told me his life story, the bitter story of his fall. I 
 am now come for you, for he must confess to you you are 
 the wronged one." 
 
 " I am going to see John Harman, my half-brother who 
 has wronged me ? " said Mrs. Home ; " I am going to him 
 now without preparation ? Oh ! Angus, I cannot, not to 
 night, not to-night." 
 
 " Yes, dear, it must be to-night ; if there is any hardness 
 left in your heart it will melt when you see this sinner, whom 
 God has forgiven." 
 
 " Angus, you are all tenderness and love to him ; I can 
 not aspire to your nature, I cannot. To this man, who has 
 caused such misery and sin, I feel hard. Charlotte I pity, 
 Charlotte I love ; but this man, this man who deliberately 
 could rob my dead mother ! It is against human nature to 
 feel very sorry for him." 
 
 " You mean to tell me, Charlotte, that you refuse to for 
 give him ? " 
 
 "No; eventually you will conquer me; but just now, I 
 confess, my heart is not full of pity." 
 
 Mr. Home thought for a moment. He was pained by his 
 wife's want of sympathy. Then he reflected that she had 
 not seen Mr. Harman. It was plain, however, that they 
 must not meet until her spirit towards him had changed. 
 
 " Do not stop at Prince's Gate," he called out to the 
 cabby, " drive on until I ask you to stop." 
 
 During the drive that followed, he told his wife Mr. Har-
 
 238 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 man's story. He told it well, for when he had finished, 
 Charlotte turned to him eyes which had shed some tears. 
 
 " Does Charlotte know of this ? " she said. 
 
 " I do not think so. Will you come to Mr. Harrrfan 
 now ? " 
 
 " Yes. I will come on one condition 1 " 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 " That I may see Charlotte afterwards." 
 
 " I am sure that can be managed." 
 
 Then Mr. Home desired the cabby to stop at Prince's 
 Gate. A sleepy-looking servant waited up for them. He 
 manifested no surprise at sight of the lady and gentleman at 
 such an hour. Mr. Home took his wife's hand, and the ser 
 vant led them straight to his master's study. 
 
 " I have told her the story," said Mr. Home ; " she is 
 
 your father's child, she comes to " Here the clergyman 
 
 paused and looked at his wife, he wanted the word " forgive " 
 to come from her own lips. Mrs. Home had grown white to 
 her very lips. Now instead of replying, she fell upon her 
 knees and covered her face. 
 
 " Charlotte," said Mr. Harman, "can you do what this 
 clergyman wants ? Can you forgive the sin ? " There was 
 no answer ; Mrs. Home was sobbing aloud. " I have robbed 
 you, I have robbed you most cruelly. My dying father asked 
 me to be good to you ; I have been worse than cruel. You 
 see before you an old, old man, as great a sinner as can be 
 found on God's earth. Can you forgive me ? Dare I ask it ? 
 At last, at last I make full reparation ; I repent me, in dust 
 and ashes ; I repent, and I restore all fourfold." But here 
 Charlotte Home had risen suddenly to her feet. She came 
 up close to Mr. Harman, and taking his hand raised it to her 
 lips. 
 
 " My husband has told me all. I, I quite forgive you," 
 she said. 
 
 Mr. Harman glanced at the clergyman. " Your hus 
 band ? " he said. 
 
 " Yes ; she is my wife," answered Mr. Home. " Sir, you 
 heard my wife say that she quite forgives. You may go to 
 rest to-night, with a very peaceful heart ; the peace of God 
 which passes all understanding may encompass your pillow 
 to-night. It is late and you have gone through much, may I 
 go with you to your room ? There will be many explanations 
 yet to make ; but though a clergy-man, I am also in seme 
 measure a physician. I see you can go through no more
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 2 39 
 
 emotion to-night, rest satisfied that all explanations can wait 
 till to-morrow." 
 
 " I will go with you," answered Mr. Harman, " but may 
 I first thank your wife ? " Charlotte Home's bonnet had 
 fallen off as she knelt on the floor, now suddenly a withered 
 and trembling hand was placed on her head. " God bless 
 you ! Even from a sinner like me, such words from a full 
 heart must be heard." 
 
 " Ay," said Mr. Home, in a loud, exultant voice, " the 
 Prince of peace and forgiveness has come into this house to 
 night." 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 CHARLOTTE'S ROOM. 
 
 MR. HOME and Mr. Harman went away together, and 
 Charlotte was left alone in the study. By the profound still 
 ness which now reigned in the house she guessed that every 
 one had gone to bed. The servant who had admitted them 
 at so late an hour had looked sleepy as he had done so. 
 Doubtless Mr. Harman had desired him not to wait longer. 
 Charlotte felt there was no use in ringing a bell. She 
 scarcely knew her way about this great house. Nevertheless 
 she must find Charlotte ; she could not wait until the morn 
 ing to throw her arms round her neck. She took one of the 
 candles from the mantelpiece and began her tour through 
 the silent house. She felt strangely timid as she commenced 
 this midnight pilgrimage. The softly-carpeted stairs echoed 
 back no footfall ; she passed door after door. At last she 
 recognized Charlotte's own private sitting-room, she had been 
 there two or three times, but had never seen the room where 
 her friend slept. A corridor, however, ran directly from this 
 sitting-room, and Charlotte saw a closed door at the further 
 end. "That must be the room," she said to herself, and 
 she went straight towards it. The door was closed, but 
 Charlotte heard a faint sound within. Instantly on hearing 
 it she knocked lightly, but distinctly. There was a quick 
 sound of hurried and surprised feet, and Charlotte Harman 
 opened the door. Her eyes were heavy and red, as though
 
 240 MOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 she had been weeping. Her face was pale. She had not 
 begun to undress. 
 
 " Charlotte ; Charlotte Home ! " she exclaimed. " Oh, 
 what is wrong ? My father ! " 
 
 " Nothing is wrong, dear Charlotte, dear, dear Charlotte ; 
 but may I come in ? I have a great deal to tell you." 
 
 " Oh, I shall be glad ! but how astonished I am to see 
 you. I could not sleep. Yes, come in, you shall keep me 
 company. Charlotte, you have been crying. Charlotte, 
 there is something wrong." 
 
 " You may well be surprised to see me here," said Mrs. 
 Home , " but, strange as it may seem, things are more right 
 than wrong. My husband came first, then he brought me." 
 
 " Yes, I saw Mr. Home early in the evening. I saw him 
 go into my father's study. When he went away I went there 
 myself ; but the door was locked, and my father called out 
 from within, ' Not to-night, my child , don't sit up for me, 
 come to me in the morning, I would rather be alone to-night.' 
 He never before refused to see me to say good-night. I 
 went to my room. I could not rest. Everything seems very 
 dark. I have been crying, and now you have come. Oh, 
 Charlotte ! what is the meaning of it all ? " 
 
 " The meaning is good, Charlotte ; but good or bad, you 
 have to thank yourself for it. Why did you take your father 
 to my husband's church on Sunday ? " 
 
 " He came to me on Sunday morning," answered Miss 
 Harman. " He said he would like to go to church with me. 
 He never did go to church with me never, for many months. 
 I asked him where he would go. He said he would leave it 
 to me. Then it flashed across me that he did not know Mr. 
 Home, also that I had never heard Mr. Home preach. I re 
 solved to go to his church. We drove to Kentish Town. I 
 made a few inquiries. I found out the little church where 
 your husband told the people of his congregation how best 
 to live, how best to die. Ah, Charlotte ! he did preach to 
 us. What a man he is ! " 
 
 " He realizes the absolute daily presence of God more 
 perfectly than any man I ever met," answered the wife. 
 " My dear, it was God himself led you to my husband's church 
 on Sunday. Your father went there again to-day. After the 
 service he stopped to speak to Angus. He asked him to 
 come to him this evening. This evening he told my 
 husband all ; all the story of his sin, his repentance. Angus 
 heard all, and when it was over he sent for me. I saw your
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 241 
 
 father. Charlotte, your father may have been a sinner, but 
 with such sinners, as he was once, the New Jerusalem will be 
 filled by and by. Ah ! thank God for the peace I saw on his 
 face before I left him. Do you know that he put his hand on 
 my head and blessed me. Angus is with him now, and I 
 have come to you." 
 
 "My father has told all !" said Charlotte Harman. Her 
 face could scarcely grow any whiter. She made no further 
 exclamation, but sat quiet. Charlotte Home, having told her 
 story, watched her face. Suddenly, with tears springing to 
 ber eyes, she turned to the wife and mother who stood by her 
 side. 
 
 " Charlotte, how hard my heart has been ! I have passed 
 through some dreadful weeks. Oh ! how heavy was my 
 burden, how heavy was my heart ! My heart was growing 
 very hard ; but the hardness has gone now. Now, Charlotte, 
 I believe, I believe fully what your little Harold said to me 
 some weeks ago." 
 
 " What did he say to you, dearest ? " 
 
 " He said that Jesus Christ loved me very much. Yes, I 
 believe Jesus does love me very much. Oh, Charlotte ! do 
 you know that I am tired and rested, and I want to sleep al 
 together. Will you lie down beside me ? You will not leave 
 me to-night ? " 
 
 " No, darling ; I will not leave you to-night." 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 HOW SANDY WILSON SPEAKS OUT HIS MIND. 
 
 EARLY in the morning, the father and daughter met. Not 
 very many words passed between them. Mr. Harman knew 
 that Mrs. Home had told Charlotte all. Now, coming to his 
 side, she put her arms about him, and knelt, looking into his 
 face. 
 
 " Charlotte, you know what I have been/' he said. 
 
 " Father, I know what you are now," she answered. 
 
 After these few words, she would scarcely allow him to 
 speak again, for he was very weak, too weak to leave his bed ; 
 but later on, in the course of the day, they had a long talk 
 together, and Charlotte told her father of her own suffering
 
 2 4 2 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 during the past weeks. There was no longer need of con 
 cealment between them, and Charlotte made none. It was 
 a very few days later that two trustees of the late Mr. 
 Harman's will saw each other for the first time. 
 
 Sandy Wilson had often looked forward to the moment 
 when he could speak out his mind as to the enormity of the 
 crime committed by Mr. Harman. Hitherto, this worthy man 
 had felt that in this respect circumstances had been hard on 
 him. His Daisy, his pretty little gentle sister, had been 
 treated as hardly, as cruelly, as woman could be treated, and 
 yet the robber for was he not just a common robber ? had 
 got off scot free ; he was to get off scot free to the very end ; 
 he was to be let die in peace ; and afterwards, his innocent 
 child, his only daughter, must bear the brunt of his misdeeds. 
 She must be put to grief and shame, while he, the one on 
 whose head the real sin lay, escaped. Sandy felt that it 
 would have been some slight relief to his wounded feelings 
 if he could find some one to whom he could thoroughly and 
 heartily abuse Mr. Harman. But even this satisfaction was 
 denied him. Mr. Home was a man who would listen to abuse 
 of none ; and even Charlotte, though her eyes did flash when 
 his name was mentioned, even she was simply silent, and to 
 all the rest of the world Sandy must keep the thing a secret. 
 
 There was no doubt whatever that when, the day after 
 Mr. Harman's confession, the Homes came to Uncle Sandy 
 and told him, not only all, but also that at any moment he 
 might receive a summons to visit Mr. Harman, he felt a 
 sense of exultation ; also that hisexulation was caused, not by 
 the fact that his niece would now get back her own, for he had 
 supplied her immediate need for money, but by the joyful 
 sense that at last, at last, he, Sandy, could speak out his full 
 mind. He could show this bad man, about whom every one 
 was so strangely, so absurdly silent, what he thought of his 
 conduct to his dear little sister. He went away to Prince's 
 Gate, when at last the summoms came, bristling over with a 
 quite delightful sense of power. How well he would speak ! 
 how cleverly he would insert the arrow of remorse into that 
 cruel heart ! As he entered the house he was met by Miss 
 Harman. She held out her hand to him without a word, and 
 led him to the door of her father's study. Her eyes, however, 
 as she looked at him for a moment, were eloquent. Those 
 eyes of hers had exercised a power over him in Somerset 
 House ; they were full of pleading now. He went into Mr. 
 Harman's presence softened, a little confused, and with his
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 243 
 
 many excellent to the point, and scathing, remarks running 
 riot in his brain. 
 
 Thus it came to pass that Sandy said no word of reproach 
 to the broken-down man who greeted him. Nay, far from 
 reproaching, he felt himself sharing in the universal pity. 
 Where God's hand was smiting hard, how could man dare to 
 raise his puny arm ? 
 
 The two trustees, meeting for the first time after all these 
 years, talked long over that neglected, that unfulfilled trust, 
 and steps were put in train to restore to Charlotte Home what 
 had for so many years been held back from her. This large 
 sum, with all back interest, would make the once poor Char 
 lotte very rich indeed. There would still be, after all was 
 settled, something left for Charlotte Harman, but the posi 
 tions of the two were now virtually reversed. 
 
 " There is one thing which still puzzles me/' said Mr. 
 Harman before they parted. " Leaving my terrible share in 
 this matter alone, my brother and I could never have carried 
 out our scheme if you had not been supposed to be dead. 
 How is it you gave no sign of your existence for three and 
 twenty years ? My brother even wrote me word from Aus 
 tralia that he had himself stood on your grave." 
 
 " He stood on the grave of Sandy Wilson, but never on 
 mine," answered the other trustee. "There was a fellow 
 bearing my name, who was with me in the Bush. He was 
 the same age. He was like me too in general outline ; big, 
 with red hair and all that kind of thing. His name was put 
 into the papers, and I remember wondering if the news would 
 reach home, and if my little Daisy bless her ! would think 
 it was me. I was frightfully poor at the time, I had scarcely 
 sixpence to bless myself with, and somehow, your father, 
 sir, though he did eventually trust me, as circumstances 
 proved, yet he gave me to understand that in marrying the 
 sister he by no means intended to take the brother to his 
 bosom. I said to myself, ' A poor lost dog like Sandy may 
 as well appear to be dead to those at home. I love no one 
 in England but my little Daisy, and she does not need me, 
 she has abundance without me.' So I ceased to write. I 
 had gone to a part of the country where even an English 
 paper reached us but once or twice a year. I heard nothing 
 of the old home ; and by degrees I got out of the habit of 
 writing. I was satisfied to be considered dead. I did wrong, 
 I confess." 
 
 " By coming back, by proclaiming your existence, you
 
 244 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 could have exposed me years ago," said Mr. Harman ; u how 
 I dreaded exposure ; how little I knew, when it did come, 
 that it would fall lightly in comparison with " 
 
 What ? " asked Wilson. 
 
 " The awful frown of God's displeasure. Man, to be shut 
 away from God through your own sin is to be in hell. I have 
 dwelt there for three and twenty years. Until two nights 
 ago, I have known no peace ; now, I know God can forgive 
 even such a sin as mine." 
 
 " I believe you have suffered, Mr. Harman," answered 
 Wilson. " For the matter of that, we are all poor sinners. 
 God have mercy upon us all ! " 
 
 "Amen," said Mr. Harman. 
 
 And that was all the reproof Sandy ever found in his 
 heart to give to his fellow trustee. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 MRS. HOME'S DREAM. 
 
 STILL, there was a weight on Charlotte Home's mind. 
 Much had been given to her, so much that she could scarcely 
 believe herself to be the same woman, who a few short 
 months ago had pawned her engagement ring to buy her 
 little son a pair of shoes. She was now wealthy beyond her 
 wildest dreams ; she was wealthy not only in money but in 
 friends. Charlotte Harman was her almost daily companion. 
 Charlotte Harman clung to her with an almost passionate love. 
 Uncle Sandy, too, had made himself, by his cheerfulness, his 
 generosity, his kindness of nature, a warm place in her affec 
 tions ; and Mr. Harman saw her more than once, and she 
 found that she could love even Mr. Harman. Then how 
 well, how beautiful her children looked ! How nice it was 
 to see them surrounded by those good things of life which 
 despise them as some people will, still add charms to those who 
 possess them ! Above all, how happy her dear husband was ! 
 Angus Home's face was like the sun itself, during the days 
 which followed Mr. Harman's confession. This sunshine 
 with him had nothing to say to the altered and improved 
 circumstances of his life : but it had a great deal to say to
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 245 
 
 the altered circumstances of his mind. God had most sig 
 nally, most remarkably, heard his prayer. He had given to 
 him the soul for which he pleaded. Through all eternity 
 that suffering, and once so sinful, soul was safe. Mr. Home 
 rejoiced over that redeemed soul as one who finds great spoil. 
 Added love to God filled his grateful heart ; his faith in God 
 became more and more, day by day, a mighty power. Thus 
 Charlotte Home was surrounded by as much sunshine as often 
 visits a human being in this mortal life ; yet still this unreason 
 able woman was discontented. The fact was, success had 
 made her bold. She had obtained what her heart had pined 
 for. She wanted another little drop of bliss to complete her 
 overflowing cup. Charlotte Home was unselfish in her joy. 
 There was a shadow on another's brow. She wanted that 
 shadow to depart ; in short, she wanted Hinton and Charlotte 
 to meet ; not only to meet, but as quickly as possible to 
 marry. Charlotte's heart was still with this lover whom she 
 had given up, and who seemed to have forsaken her. Mrs. 
 Home saw this, though on the subject of Hinton Charlotte 
 still refused to speak. She said once, and only once, to her 
 friend : 
 
 " We have parted, we have most absolutely parted. There 
 is no use now looking back on the past ; he must never share 
 my disgrace. Yes, my dear and beloved father has repented 
 nobly : but the disgrace remains. He must never share it. 
 He sees the wisdom of this himself, so we will not speak of 
 him, dear Charlotte ; I can bear it best so." 
 . This little speech was made with great firmness ; but 
 there was a strained look about the lips, and a sorrow about 
 the eyes which Mrs. Home understood very well. She must 
 not speak, but no one could prevent her acting. She re 
 solved to leave no stone unturned to bring these two to 
 gether again. In doing this she would act for the good of 
 two whom she loved, for Hinton was also very dear to her. 
 She could never forget those nights when he sat by the bed 
 of her almost dying child. She could never forget the 
 prompt interference which saved that child's life. She had 
 learned enough of his character, during those few weeks 
 which they had spent together, to feel sure that no disgrace 
 such as Charlotte feared would influence him to cause her 
 pain. It is true she could not in any measure account for 
 his absence and his silence ; but she was quite wise enough 
 and quite clever enough to believe that both could be satis 
 factorily accounted for. She could, however, do nothing
 
 24 6 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 without seeing Hinton. How could she see him ? She had 
 written to his chambers, she had written to his lodgings ; 
 from both addresses had the letters been returned. She 
 thought of advertising. She lay awake at night trying to de 
 vise some scheme. At last one night she had a dream ; so 
 far curious, in that it conducted her to the desired end. She 
 dreamt that Hinton came to Waterloo station, not to remain 
 in London, but to pass through to another part of England. 
 There was nothing more in her dream ; nevertheless, she re 
 solved to go to that station on the next day. Her dream 
 had not even pointed to any particular hour. She looked in 
 Bradshaw, saw when a great express from the south was 
 due, and started off on what might truly be called a wild- 
 goose chase. 
 
 Nevertheless, instinct, if nothing higher, had guided 
 Charlotte Home ; for the first person she saw stepping out 
 of a carriage of this very train was Hinton. She saw Hin 
 ton, he also saw her. 
 
 " You must come with me," she said, going up to him 
 and laying her hand on his arm. " You must come with me, 
 and at once, for God has sent me to you." 
 
 " But I cannot," he answered, " I am catching another 
 train at Euston. I am going on special business to Scot 
 land. It is important. I cannot put it off. I am ever so 
 sorry ; but I must jump into a cab at once." He held out 
 his hand as he spoke. 
 
 Mrs. Home glanced into his face. His face was changed ; 
 it was pale and worn. There was a hard look about both 
 eyes and mouth, which both altered and considerably spoiled 
 his expression. 
 
 " I will not keep you if you still wish to go, after hearing 
 my story," answered Mrs. Home ; " but there will be room 
 for two in your hansom. You do not object to my driving 
 with you to Euston ? " 
 
 Hinton could not say he objected to this, though in his 
 heart he felt both annoyed and surprised. 
 
 As they were driving along. Mrs. Home said, 
 
 " Have you heard anything lately of Mr. Harman ? " 
 
 To this Hinton replied, " I have not ; and pardon me, 
 Mr. Harmon does not interest me." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mrs. Home, " he interests me very much. 
 He he told my husband a strange tale a tale about him 
 self."
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 247 
 
 " Did he confess his guilt ? I know that he is a very 
 sinful man." 
 
 " He has been a great sinner, but he has repented. He 
 has confessed that early and terrible sin of his youth. He 
 has not only confessed, but he is taking steps to make full 
 reparation." 
 
 " Indeed ! then you will come into your rights ? Let me 
 congratulate you." 
 
 " You knew of his sin ? You knew what his sin was Mr. 
 Hinton ? " 
 
 "Yes, I knew." 
 
 " Charlotte had hoped to keep that disgrace from you." 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 " She gave you another reason for breaking off her en 
 gagement ? " 
 
 " Yes, a weak and futile one. She could not expect me 
 to believe it. I did what she had but done before me. I 
 went to Somerset House and saw that will which has been 
 so greatly abused." 
 
 " She never knew that." 
 
 "Pardon me, she did." 
 
 " I fear I must be rude enough to contradict you. She 
 said most distinctly that you were fully satisfied with the 
 reasons she had given for breaking off the engagement, that 
 perhaps you might never now learn what her father had 
 done." 
 
 Hinton looked at his companion in some perplexity. 
 
 " But I wrote to her," he said. " I wrote a letter which, 
 it seemed to me, any woman who had a spark even of kind 
 ness would have answered. In that letter, I told her that I 
 held her to her promise ; that I knew all ; that even if she 
 did not write to me I would call and try to see her. She 
 never replied to my letter, and when, after waiting for 
 twenty-four hours, I went tf> the house, she absolutely refused 
 to see me." 
 
 " She never knew you called," answered Mrs. Home, 
 " and she never got your letter." 
 
 " Good heavens ! how do you know ? " 
 
 " I know her too well ; but I will ask her directly." 
 
 Hinton was silent. 
 
 After a short pause, Mrs. Home broke out passionately, 
 
 '' How dare you insinuate doubts of so noble a creature ? " 
 
 " I could only believe facts." 
 
 " Has a letter never gone astray ? Has a letter never
 
 248 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 failed to reach the hands it was meant for ? Mr. Hinton, I 
 am ashamed of you/ 1 
 
 " If you can prove that she never got it ? " 
 
 " I know she never got it. She. is changed ; her heart 
 is half broken. But I will prove it. I will go to her at once. 
 Are you still going to Scotland ? " 
 
 " I need not go until I hear from you. You have aston 
 ished me greatly." 
 
 " Then drive to my house. Ah ! you do not know our 
 
 new address ; it is ; wait for me there, I will be with 
 
 you in an hour or so." 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 HINTON went to Mrs. Home's house. The children were 
 out, Mr. Home was not visible. Anne, now converted into a 
 neat parlor-maid, received him with broad grins of pleasure. 
 She ushered him into the pretty, newly-furnished drawing- 
 room, and asked him to wait for her mistress. 
 
 " Missis 'ull be back afore long," she said, lingering a 
 little to readjust the blinds, and half hoping, half expecting, 
 Hinton to make some surprised and approving remark on 
 the changed circumstances of the Homes' surroundings. 
 
 He made none, however; and Anne, v.-ith a slight sigh, 
 left him alone. When she did so he rose to his feet and be 
 gan to pace quickly up and down the room. After a time, 
 half an hour or so, he pulled out his watch. Yes, he had al 
 ready lost that express to the north. A good piece of busi 
 ness would probably be also lost. But what matter ! beyond 
 ascertaining the fact that he had missed his train, he did not 
 give the affair another thought. To tell the truth, his mind 
 was agitated, his heart was full ; hope once more peeped 
 upon the horizon of his being. A month ago for it vas 
 quite a month ago now he had received as sharp and cruel 
 a shock as falls on most men. Fortune, love, and trust had 
 all been dashed from the lips which were already so close 
 to the charmed cup that its very flavor was apparent. The
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 249 
 
 cup had never reached the lips of Hinton. Fortune was 
 gone, love was gone ; worst of all, yes, hardest of all, trust 
 was gone. The ideal he had worshipped was but an ideal. 
 The Charlotte he had loved was unworthy. She had re 
 jected him, and cruelly. His letter was unanswered. He 
 himself was refused admittance. Then his pride had risen 
 in revolt. If she could so treat him, he would sue no longer. 
 If she could so easily give him up, he would bow to her de 
 cision. She was not the Charlotte of his love and his dream. 
 But what matter! Other men had come to an ideal and 
 found it but a clay idol. He would recover : he would not 
 let his heart break. He found, however, that he could not 
 stay in London. An uncle of his, his only living near rela 
 tion, was a solicitor in the south of England. Hinton went 
 to visit his uncle. He received him warmly and kindly. He 
 not only promised him work, but kept his word. Hinton took 
 chambers in a fashionable part of the town, and already was 
 not idle. But he was a changed man. That shattered 
 trust was making his spirit very hard. The cynical part of 
 him was being fostered. Mrs. Home, when she looked into 
 his face, was quite right in saying to herself that his ex 
 pression had not improved. No~.v, however, again, as he 
 paced up and down, soft thoughts were visiting him. For 
 what doubts, what blessed doubts had Mrs. Home not insin 
 uated ? How irregularly his heart beat ; how human he felt 
 once more ! Ah ! what sound was that ? A cab had drawn up 
 at the door. Hinton flew to the window ; he saw the soft 
 fawn shade of a lady's dress, he could not see the lady. Of 
 course, it was Mrs. Home returning. What news did she 
 bring ? How he longed to fly to meet her ! He did not 
 do so, however ; his feet felt leaden weighted. He leant 
 against the window, with his back to the door. His 
 heart beat harder and harder : he clenched his hands hard. 
 There was a quick step running up the stairs, a quick and 
 springing step. The drawing-room door was opened and 
 then shut. He heard the rustle of soft drapery, then a hand 
 was laid on his arm. The touch of that hand made him 
 tremble violently. He turned his head, and not Charlotte 
 Home but his Charlotte, beautiful and true, stood by his 
 side. Their eyes met. 
 
 " John ! " she said. 
 
 " My own, my darling ! " he answered. 
 
 In an instant they were clasped in each other's arms.
 
 250 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 That swift glance, which each had given the other, had told 
 
 all. 
 
 ******* 
 
 " John, I never got your letter." 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " John, you doubted me." 
 
 " I did, I confess it ; I confess it bitterly. But not now, 
 not after one glance into your eyes." 
 
 " John, what did you say in that letter ? " 
 
 " That I held you to your sacred promise ; that I refused 
 to give you up." 
 
 " But but you did not know my true reason. You did 
 not know why why " 
 
 " Yes, I knew all. Before I wrote that letter I went to 
 Somerset house. I read your grandfather's will." 
 
 " Ah ! did you did you indeed ? Oh ! what a dreadful 
 time I have gone through." 
 
 " Yes, but it is over now. Mrs. Home told me how your 
 father had repented. The sin is forgiven. The agony is 
 past. What God forgets don't let us remember. Lottie, 
 cease to think of it. It is at an end, and so are our troubles. 
 I am with you again. Oh ! how nearly I had lost you." 
 
 Charlotte's head was on her lover's shoulder. His arm 
 was round her. Charlotte, I repeat what I said in that let 
 ter which never reached you. I refuse to absolve you from 
 your promise. I refuse to give you up. Do you hear ? I 
 refuse to give you up." 
 
 " But, John, I am poor now." 
 
 " Poor or rich, you are yourself, and you are mine. Char 
 lotte, do you hear me ? If you hear me answer me. Tell 
 me that you are mine." 
 
 " I am yours, John " she said simply, and she raised her 
 lips to kiss him. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 BRIDE AND BRIDEGROOM. 
 
 A MONTH after just one month after, there was a very 
 quiet wedding ; a wedding performed in the little church at 
 Kentish Town. The ceremony was thought by the few who 
 
 \vitne?se 1 it V> be, even for that obscure part, a very poor
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 25* 
 
 one. There were no bridesmaids, or white dresses, or. in 
 deed, white favors in any form. The bride wore the plainest 
 gray travelling suit. She was given away by her gray-headed 
 father ; Charlotte Home stood close behind her ; Mr. Home 
 married the couple, and Uncle Sandy acted as best man. 
 Surely no tamer ending could come to what was once meant 
 to be such a brilliant affair. Immediately after the cere 
 mony, the bride and bridegroom went away for two days and 
 Mrs. Home went back to Prince's Gate with Mr. Harman, 
 for she had promised Charlotte to take care of her father un 
 til her return. 
 
 Many changes were contemplated. The grand house in 
 Prince's gate was to be given up, and the Hintons were to 
 live in that large southern town where Hinton was already 
 obtaining a young barrister's great ambition briefs. Mr. 
 Harman, while he lived, was to find his home with his son 
 and daughter. 
 
 Mr. Harman was now a peaceful and happy man, and so 
 improved was his health so had the state of his mind af 
 fected his body, that though he could never hope for cure of 
 his malady, yet Sir George Anderson assured him that with 
 care he might live for a very much longer time than he had 
 thought possible a few months before. Thus death stood 
 back, not altogether thrust aside, but biding its time. 
 
 On the morning of Charlotte's wedding-day there arrived 
 a letter from Jasper 
 
 " So you have told all ? " he said to his brother. " Well, 
 be it so. From the time I knew the other trustee was not 
 dead and had reached England, I felt that discovery was at 
 hand. No, thank you ; I sha>ll never come back to England. 
 If you can bear poverty and public disgrace, I cannot. I 
 have some savings of my own, and on these I can live during 
 my remaining days. Good-bye we shall never meet again 
 on earth ! I repent, do you say, of my share ? Yes, the bus 
 iness turned out badly in the end. What a heap of money 
 those Homes will come in for ! Stolen goods don't prosper 
 with a man ! So it seems. Well, I shall stay out of England." 
 
 Jasper was true to his word. Not one of those who 
 knew him in this tale ever heard of him again. 
 
 Yes, the Homes were now very rich ; but both Mr. and 
 Mrs. Home were faithful stewards of what was lent them 
 from the Lord. Nor did the Hintons miss what was taken 
 from them. It is surely enough to say of Charlotte and her 
 husband that they were very happy.
 
 252 
 
 HOW IT ALL CAME ROUND. 
 
 But as sin, however repented of, must yet reap its own re 
 ward, so in this instance the great house of Harman Brothers 
 ceased to exist. To pay that unfulfilled trust the business 
 had to be sold. It passed into the hands of strangers, and 
 was continued under another name. No one now remembers 
 even its existence. 
 
 THE END.
 
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 Published as follows : 
 
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