Amidst all the stir we had nearly forgotten the sealed packet, which was found to be addressed in Uncle Bernard's handwriting, "To the husband of my niece, Bertha Savell, of King's Court."
Stephen somewhat nervously broke the seals and displayed the contents. They were a closely-written legal document, and a letter addressed to Stephen Hastings, which explained the whole, and ran as follows—
"MY DEAR STEPHEN,—Most likely, when you read this, the hand that penned it will have lost its cunning; but surely a man's last days will be rendered the happier for having done something to promote the prosperity of the young who are to follow him."
"It has needed little penetration on my part to discover your love for my niece, and your worthiness of the regard which she gives you in return. Therefore, I only need to glance a little further into the future, and picture you united to her, for better, for worse."
"I should like to help you; but I want you first to help yourself, and should prefer your marrying with the prospect of having your way to make, except as regards the share of my means which I am sure Norman will give to his sister."
"I know you are hoping to obtain a better position to start with, by going to India, than you could look for here, and I trust you will succeed, because the effort and the success, if attained, will be good for you. But stay in England, that the two last of the Savells may not be parted."
"I know, too, that you will have the choice; because, though I have left King's Court, clear of all incumbrance, to Norman, I have bought a little estate for you, dear Stephen—not for Berty. There is a pretty house upon it, and it is within a convenient distance of London,—where, I presume, you will choose to practise."
"Secure of a modest income, you will be able to turn your talents to account in the best manner."
"Messrs. Partington and Howe, my solicitors, will furnish all particulars, in addition to what this letter and accompanying document give you."
"And now, with a prayer for your lasting happiness, I remain,"
"Sincerely and affectionately yours,"
"BERNARD SAVELL."
So Stephen and I stayed in England, and blessed the memory of him who had been my more than father during his life, and whose kindness had reached us even from beyond the grave. We two are very happy still, and so are Norman and Lucy. I think I may say with confidence that, though we wives are now "into the forties," and much less slender than we were on January 14, 1865, we and our husbands are, in each case, more truly one than we were on the day we became so.
Our double wedding led to two more; for Mr. Fisher met his fate in the person of Stephen's sister, Lilian, and the poetical schoolmaster long since gave up his post to become landlord of the Savell Arms, by marrying the landlady. And as Christmas comes round, the old story of Norman's raid on Her Majesty's mail-bag, and the trouble it caused, is still told, with the trite remark, as a closing sentence, "All's well that ends well."
As a very last word, I should like to add that, though names, place and circumstances are necessarily altered, the main facts of this little chronicle are absolutely true, and that some one, whose real name I could easily give, was placed in precisely the position above narrated through rashly meddling with the mails.
[CHAPTER I.]
"DON'T fret so, Miss Joyce. It grieves me to see you, and crying never yet cured heart ache. When things are at the worst they mend; and if so, better days must be at hand for you."
The speaker, Sarah Keene, was a homely-looking, rather hard-featured woman of fifty, evidently a servant, for she was busily engaged in ironing some dainty laces and muslin. But while her features were rugged, they were expressive of good sense, and full of affectionate sympathy.