Clare was pleased to see me; she cried out in astonishment at my black clothes, so new and glossy.

“Edgar,” she said, “I cannot understand you.  You have money, clothes.  How is it?  What has happened?”

I knelt down by her side and took her in my arms.

“Clare,” I said, “God has been very kind to us.  All of our poverty and privations are ended.  Will you be calm and brave if I tell you what it is?”

“They have taken you into partnership!” she cried, rapturously.  “They have found out how clever and good you are!”

In the midst of my agitation I laughed at this very unbusiness-like idea.

“It is better than that, Clare.  There need be no more business, no more work for me.  You remember hearing my mother speak of my father’s cousin, Sir Barnard Trevelyan, of Crown Anstey?”

“Yes, I remember it,” she said.  “I had almost forgotten.”

“He is dead, and, sad to say, both his sons are dead.  One died with him, and one died years ago.  Now do you understand?”

“No,” she replied.  “They cannot have left us anything, because they did not know us.”

“Sir Barnard and his only son died together, and the heir to Crown Anstey, the title and the whole of that vast fortune is—­myself.”

“You are not jesting, Edgar?”

“No; I am telling you the simple, perfect truth.”  And then, when she had recovered from what to her was really a shock, I gave her the whole history.

“I hope you will like Mademoiselle, Clare.  She is so utterly friendless and alone that, unless we keep her with us, I do not know what is to become of her.”

“I shall be sure to like her,” she said.  “My heart is so full of happiness that I shall love every one.  O, Edgar, if I could but get well!”

Yes, that was the one drawback to our happiness.  The bright, sweet sister, who would have enjoyed our prosperity so much, was a helpless invalid.

That same afternoon I went to the office and invited all my fellow clerks to a sumptuous dinner at a far-famed restaurant.  I made some sad hearts light and happy with my money, thank God!  Poor Stephen Knowsley had a sick mother and was three quarters behind with his rent.  I gave him fifty pounds, and the tears that stood in his eyes were the sweetest thanks man could have.  What gives such pleasure as plenty of money to help one’s friends?

A comfortable invalid carriage was provided for Clare, and the journey did not fatigue her.  We said good-by to the old life, the old privations, the old trials, and embarked on a new, smiling and sunny sea.

Another week saw us comfortably settled at Crown Anstey.  The first bewilderment of our new position passed away, I began to feel more at my ease as master of that magnificent mansion, and on my sister’s calm face I saw already signs of returning health.

We had a grand reception when I returned with Clare to Crown Anstey.  The Anstey church bells pealed out merrily; the servants were all assembled; mademoiselle, fresh and beautiful as a morning star, was in the hall.