The letter closed as follows: "... So it's come at last, sister—and your days of drudgery are past. They will always be a sacred memory to me, for I wonder if any man ever came to his own through as noble sacrifice as has filled all your life for me, yours and mother's. Now, Jessie, be sure and do as I've told you. Sell your business—lock, stock, and barrel—or give it away; make Miss Adair a present of it, or rent it to her, or anything you like. Only one thing remember—you'll rest now, and all my good fortune will be spoiled unless you share it with me.
Your ever loving
"HARVEY."
Even Grey started with surprise when Harvey arrived home that night an hour earlier than usual. And Miss Farringall's face brightened suddenly as Harvey's knock at the door of her sitting-room was followed by the appearance of a very radiant face. He had a letter in his hand.
"I want to speak first," she said impulsively, divining his purpose.
"Yes, Miss Farringall," he said enquiringly.
"It's something I've wanted to ask you for a long time—and I'm going to do it now," she added very softly, rising and moving to the window; "did your mother ever—did she ever speak to you about your father, Harvey?"
Harvey's answer was slow. "Yes," he said at length.
"Did you know he's living?" she asked after a long pause.
"Yes," and Harvey's voice was little more than audible. "My mother told me that when she was dying. Why?" he asked resolutely, moving to where she stood.