that it destroys the validity of any will which he may have made as a single man; and that it renders absolutely necessary the entire re-assertion of his testamentary intentions in the character of a husband.  The statement of this plain fact appeared to overwhelm Mr. Vanstone.  Declaring that his friend had laid him under an obligation which he should remember to his dying day, he at once left the cottage, at once returned home, and wrote me this letter.”

He handed the letter open to Miss Garth.  In tearless, speechless grief, she read these words: 

“MY DEAR PENDRIL—­Since we last wrote to each other an extraordinary change has taken place in my life.  About a week after you went away, I received news from America which told me that I was free.  Need I say what use I made of that freedom?  Need I say that the mother of my children is now my Wife?

“If you are surprised at not having heard from me the moment you got back, attribute my silence, in great part—­if not altogether—­to my own total ignorance of the legal necessity for making another will.  Not half an hour since, I was enlightened for the first time (under circumstances which I will mention when me meet) by my old friend, Mr. Clare.  Family anxieties have had something to do with my silence as well.  My wife’s confinement is close at hand; and, besides this serious anxiety, my second daughter is just engaged to be married.  Until I saw Mr. Clare to-day, these matters so filled my mind that I never thought of writing to you during the one short month which is all that has passed since I got news of your return.  Now I know that my will must be made again, I write instantly.  For God’s sake, come on the day when you receive this—­come and relieve me from the dreadful thought that my two darling girls are at this moment unprovided for.  If anything happened to me, and if my desire to do their mother justice, ended (through my miserable ignorance of the law) in leaving Norah and Magdalen disinherited, I should not rest in my grave!  Come at any cost, to yours ever,

“A.  V.”

“On the Saturday morning,” Mr. Pendril resumed, “those lines reached me.  I instantly set aside all other business, and drove to the railway.  At the London terminus, I heard the first news of the Friday’s accident; heard it, with conflicting accounts of the numbers and names of the passengers killed.  At Bristol, they were better informed; and the dreadful truth about Mr. Vanstone was confirmed.  I had time to recover myself before I reached your station here, and found Mr. Clare’s son waiting for me.  He took me to his father’s cottage; and there, without losing a moment, I drew out Mrs. Vanstone’s will.  My object was to secure the only provision for her daughters which it was now possible to make.  Mr. Vanstone having died intestate, a third of his fortune would go to his widow; and the rest would be divided among his next of kin.  As children born out of wedlock, Mr. Vanstone’s