"She cannot harm you, dear, now. The police gave Mrs. Snow a pretty talking to for withholding the evidence she could have given. She is a very subdued woman now, and, I think, is glad to bury herself in Wales as the wife of that rural Dean, Mr. Snow. He will be master in his own house at last, for he knows so much about her that she will not dare to contradict him."
"And Durban?"
"Here he comes. Durban, come here."
The half-caste, his face shining with joy, rolled towards them as stout as ever in spite of his grief. At the expression on the face of his young mistress he stopped short. "She knows?" he asked Vivian timorously.
"Everything," said Beatrice, before Vivian could speak. "And I thank God, Durban, for having given me such a friend!"
"Missy, I loved your father." He dropped on his knees beside the couch and took her hand. "And you do not blame me for having kept you in ignorance?"
"No. The situation was a difficult one. You and Mr. Paslow here were both surrounded by rogues and many dangers. And all your concealments and reluctant confessions were made to save me anxiety, so I thank you, my dear friend, for your kindness I knew you were a good man, even when you accused yourself to save Vivian."
"I could not let him be hanged when you loved him," said Durban, hanging his head.
"You see, Beatrice," said Vivian, smiling, "it is only of you that Durban thinks. I am nowhere."
"When you marry Miss Beatrice," said Durban, rising, with a grave smile, "you will be one with her, and I'll love you both equally. I know you will be happy, missy. After much storm has come the sunshine."