“Oh, I see! the little witch has refused you!” exclaimed old Bertram with a twinkle in his eye. “Come, is it not so?”
“Sir, I have never abused your confidence so far as to seek her hand! I could not make so base a return for your kindness to me.”
“Oh, you have never asked her to marry you! How in the world, then, can you know whether she will accept you or not? or, consequently, whether it will be necessary for you to leave or not?”
“Oh, sir! what is it that you would say?” exclaimed the young man, in quick, broken tones, while his face turned pale with agitation.
“Nonsense, my boy! When I was young a youth didn’t require so much encouragement to woo a maiden. Before you make up your mind to leave me, go and ask Sybil’s consent to the step.”
“Oh, sir! oh, Mr. Berners! do you mean this?” gasped the young man, catching at the back of the chair for support. He was inured to sorrow, but not to joy. And this joy was so sudden and overwhelming that he reeled under it.
“I mean what I say, Mr. Howe. I esteem and respect you. I sanction your addresses to my daughter,” said old Bertram, speaking with more gravity and dignity than he had before displayed.
John Lyon fervently kissed his old friend’s hand, and went immediately in search of Sybil. And that same night, old Bertram had the pleasure of joining their hands together in solemn betrothal.
“And now I can die happy,” said the old man, earnestly; “for it was not another great fortune, but a good husband that I coveted for my darling child.”
Ten days from this night, old Bertram Berners dropped into his last sleep. He was well and happy up to the last hour of his life. The “Wave of Death,” found him in his arm-chair, and bore him off without a struggle to the “Ocean of Eternity.” So old Bertram Berners was gathered to his fathers.