“It is I am the debtor, and well I know what it is worth to be so! Their loving kindness and affection have rescued me from the one terror of my life,—the fear of becoming a discontented, incredulous old bachelor. Heaven bless them for it; their goodness has kept me out of that danger.”
“And how are they looking? Is Lucy—” He stopped and looked half ashamed.
“More beautiful than ever,” broke in Fossbrooke. “I think she is taller than when you last saw her, and perhaps a shade more thoughtful looking; and Tom is a splendid fellow. I scarcely know what career he could not follow, nor where he would not seem too good for whatever he was doing.”
“Ah, if I could but tell you how happy you have made me!” muttered Lendrick. “I ought never to have left them,—never broken up my home. I did it unwillingly, it is true; but I ought never to have done it.”
“Who knows if it may not turn out for the best, after all? You need never be separated henceforth. Tom's last letter to me—I 'll bring it over to you to-morrow—tells me what I well knew must befall us sooner or later,—that we are rolling in wealth, have silver enough to pave the streets, and more money than we shall be able to spend—though I once had rather a knack that way.”
“That's glorious news!” said Beattie. “It's our mine, I suppose?” added he, laughing.
“To be sure it is; and I have come prepared to buy you out, doctor, or pay you your first dividend, cent. per cent., whichever you prefer.”
“Let us hear about this mine,” said Beattie.
“I 'd rather talk to you about the miners, Tom and Lucy,” said Fossbrooke.
“Yes, yes, tell us of them. Do they ever talk of the Nest? Do they ever think of the happy days we passed there?” cried Lendrick.