“Only,” pursued Adam, “I be glad—­ah! mortal glad, I be,—­as ’tis you, Mr. Belloo sir.  There ain’t a man in all the world,—­or—­as you might say,—­uni-verse, as is so proper as you to be the husband to our Miss Anthea—­as was,—­not nohow, Mr. Belloo sir.  I wish you j’y, a j’y as shall grow wi’ the years, an’ abide wi’ you always,—­both on ye.”

“That is a very excellent thought Adam!” said Bellew, “and I think I should like to shake hands on it.”  Which they did, forthwith.

“An’ now, Mrs. Belloo mam,” Adam concluded, “wi’ your kind permission, I’ll step into the kitchen, an’ drink a glass o’ Prue’s ale—­to your ’ealth, and ’appiness.  If I stay here any longer I won’t say but what I shall burst out a-singing in your very face, mam, for I do be that ’appy-’earted,—­Lord!”

With which exclamation, Adam laughed again, and turning about, strode away to the kitchen with Prudence and the rosy-cheeked maids, laughing as he went.

“Oh my dears!” said little Miss Priscilla, “I’ve hoped for this,—­prayed for it,—­because I believe he is—­worthy of you, Anthea, and because you have both loved each other, from the very beginning; oh dear me; yes you have!  And so, my dears,—­your happiness is my happiness and—­Oh, goodness me! here I stand talking sentimental nonsense while our Small Porges is simply dropping asleep as he stands.”

“’Fraid I am a bit tired,” Small Porges admitted, “but it’s been a magnif’cent night.  An’ I think, Uncle Porges, when we sail away in your ship, I think, I’d like to sail round the Horn first ’cause they say it’s always blowing, you know, and I should love to hear it blow.  An’ now—­Good-night!”

“Wait a minute, my Porges, just tell us what it was the Money Moon said to you, last night, will you?”

“Well,” said Small Porges, shaking his head, and smiling, a slow, sly smile, “I don’t s’pose we’d better talk about it, Uncle Porges, ’cause, you see, it was such a very great secret; an ’sides,—­I’m awful sleepy, you know!” So saying, he nodded slumberously, kissed Anthea sleepily, and, giving Miss Priscilla his hand, went drowsily into the house.

But, as for Bellew it seemed to him that this was the hour for which he had lived all his life, and, though he spoke nothing of this thought, yet Anthea knew it, instinctively,—­as she knew why he had avoided looking at her hitherto, and what had caused the tremor in his voice, despite his iron self-control; and, therefore, now that they were alone, she spoke hurriedly, and at random: 

“What—­did he—­Georgy mean by—­your ship?”

“Why, I promised to take him a cruise in the yacht—­if you cared to come, Anthea.”

“Yacht!” she repeated, “are you so dreadfully rich?”

“I’m afraid we are,” he nodded, “but, at least, it has the advantage of being better than if we were—­dreadfully poor, hasn’t it?”

Now, in the midst of the garden there was an old sun-dial worn by time, and weather, and it chanced that they came, and leaned there, side by side.  And, looking down upon the dial, Bellew saw certain characters graven thereon in the form of a poesy.