Leslie gave him the letter, and Vinal read the part referred to.
"What can it mean?" asked Leslie.
"I can't conceive," replied Vinal.
"It is the vase and sun," said Edith Leslie; "the device of his mother's family, the Vassalls."
"Ah," exclaimed Vinal, looking up with a face of mournful interest, "you must be right; the same figures are carved on the tomb of the Vassalls, in the old churchyard at Cambridge."
"They were cut," pursued Miss Leslie, "on a garnet ring, which he always used as a seal."
"I remember his showing me that ring," said her father, "and telling me that it was older than the voyage of the Mayflower. It was a kind of heirloom, which his mother had left him."
"Yes," suggested the sympathizing Vinal, who had long known that Morton used no other seal than this ring; "and the device on it was supposed to be his armorial bearing, and so cut on the gravestone, as it is on the Vassall tomb at Cambridge."
All doubt of Morton's death was now dispelled. His betrothed stored his image in her thoughts, as that of one lost for this world; and Vinal saw the field clear before him. Leslie was failing fast; and, as his life ebbed, his wish for his daughter's marriage with Vinal grew and strengthened. He urged her, daily, to listen to his suit; extolling his favorite's talents, energy, acquirements, and unimpeachable character—praises which she believed to be wholly just. Vinal, on his part, seconded these parental efforts with most earnest, beseeching, not to say abject importunities. The compassion which he contrived to excite, an idea of duty, and an urgent wish to gratify her dying father, at length prevailed with her; and laying before Vinal the true state of her feelings, she consented, on such terms, to accept his suit.
Vinal had gained his point; but he had scarcely done so, when his spirits were dashed by an untoward incident, the nature of which may be guessed hereafter. And, as it never rains but it pours, this reverse of luck was soon followed by a second, of another kind.