"Oh, must I?" cried the girl in dismay.
"I think so; otherwise I doubt if the marriage would hold good."
"You are right," said Alan, after a pause. "We must do as you say. But I am sorry. I wanted to be married here, and I wanted Phelps to marry us."
"There is no reason against that. Bring him to London and tell him the whole story."
"But I will never be called Marie!"
"No, no; you will always be Sophy to us," said her lover, kissing her. "And we will go abroad with Mr. Beauchamp for our honeymoon."
"With my father!" cried Sophy, embracing the old man; "my dear and only father!"
He sighed as he kissed her good-by. He was devoted to his adopted daughter, and felt deeply parting with her even to so good a fellow as Alan Thorold. But he comforted himself with the thought that they could be much together abroad. And so, taking this cheerful view of the situation which had been created by the villainy of Lestrange, the ex-millionaire, as he may now be called, withdrew to his lodgings. It was there that Alan took leave of him, promising to call the next morning. A thankful heart was Herbert Beauchamp's that night. The sorrow of his life was over, the dark clouds had lifted, and now, under his own name, and with a good income, he could spend the rest of his days in peace. Lestrange had slunk back into the night whence he had emerged, leaving one part of the mystery cleared up by his confession. It still remained to discover who had been the murderer of the unlucky Warrender. And that came to light the very next day.
Alan did not wait until Beauchamp had departed for London to acquaint his revered tutor with all that had taken place. On the afternoon of the next day he proceeded to the Rectory, and told the whole story to the amazed and delighted Phelps, Nothing would serve but that he must go at once to Mrs. Marry's and see with his own eyes the man who had been buried alive. But Alan restrained the Rector's impetuosity by pointing out that Mrs. Marry supposed Brown, the Quiet Gentleman, to be dumb. If by any chance she should hear him speak all secrecy would be at an end.
"Ay, ay," assented Mr. Phelps, "true enough, Alan, true enough. Mrs. Marry is a terrible gossip, and we must keep the matter quiet. I don't want my churchyard to be made the subject of another scandal. But I must see Marlow--I mean Beauchamp. God bless me! I shall never get his name right--may I be forgiven for swearing! Bring him here, Alan--bring him at once. I must see my old friend after all he has suffered."