It is not to be disguised or denied that my spirits weredepressed on my journey to London.

To resign the one cherished purpose of my life, when I hadsuffered so much in pursuing it, and when I had (to allappearance) so nearly reached the realization of my hopes, wasputting to a hard trial a woman's fortitude and a woman's senseof duty. Still, even if the opportunity had been offered to me, Iwould not have recalled my letter to Mr. Playmore. "It is done,and well done," I said to myself; "and I have only to wait a dayto be reconciled to it--when I give my husband my first kiss."

I had planned and hoped to reach London in time to start forParis by the night-mail. But the train was twice delayed on thelong journey from the North; and there was no help for it but tosleep at Benjamin's villa, and to defer my departure until themorning.

It was, of course, impossible for me to warn my old friend of thechange in my plans. My arrival took him by surprise. I found himalone in his library, with a wonderful illumination of lamps andcandles, absorbed over some morsels of torn paper scattered onthe table before him.

"What in the world are you about?" I asked.

Benjamin blushed--I was going to say, like a young girl; butyoung girls have given up blushing in these latter days of theage we live in.

"Oh, nothing, nothing!" he said, confusedly. "Don't notice it."

He stretched out his hand to brush the morsels of paper off thetable. Those morsels raised a sudden suspicion in my mind. Istopped him.

"You have heard from Mr. Playmore!" I said. "Tell me the truth,Benjamin. Yes or no?"

Benjamin blushed a shade deeper, and answered, "Yes."

"Where is the letter?"

"I mustn't show it to you, Valeria."

This (need I say it?) made me determined to see the letter. Mybest way of persuading Benjamin to show it to me was to tell himof the sacrifice that I had made to my husband's wishes. "I haveno further voice in the matter," I added, when I had done. "Itnow rests entirely with Mr. Playmore to go on or to give up; andthis is my last opportunity of discovering what he really thinksabout it. Don't I deserve some little indulgence? Have I no claimto look at the letter?"

Benjamin was too much surprised, and too much pleased with me,when he heard what had happened, to be able to resist myentreaties. He gave me the letter.

Mr. Playmore wrote to appeal confidentially to Benjamin as acommercial man. In the long course of his occupation in business,it was just possible that he might have heard of cases in whichdocuments have been put together again after having been torn upby design or by accident. Even if his experience failed in thisparticular, he might be able to refer to some authority in Londonwho would be capable of giving an opinion on the subject. By wayof explaining his strange request, Mr. Playmore reverted to thenotes which Benjamin had taken at Miserrimus Dexter's house, andinformed him of the serious importance of "the gibberish" whichhe had reported under protest. The letter closed by recommendingthat any correspondence which ensued should be kepta secret from me--on the ground that it might excite false hopesin my mind if I were informed of it.

I now understood the tone which my worthy adviser had adopted inwriting to me. His interest in the recovery of the letter wasevidently so overpowering that common prudence compelled him toconceal it from me, in case of ultimate failure. This did notlook as if Mr. Playmore was likely to give up the investigationon my withdrawal from it. I glanced again at the fragments ofpaper on Benjamin's table, with an interest in them which I hadnot felt yet.

"Has anything been found at Gleninch?" I asked.

"No," said Benjamin. "I have only been trying experiments with aletter of my own, before I wrote to Mr. Playmore."

"Oh, you have torn up the letter yourself, then?"

"Yes. And, to make it all the more difficult to put them togetheragain, I shook up the pieces in a basket. It's a childish thingto do, my dear, at my age--"

He stopped, looking very much ashamed of himself.

"Well," I went on; "and have you succeeded in putting your lettertogether again?"

"It's not very easy, Valeria. But I have made a beginning. It'sthe same principle as the principle in the 'Puzzles' which weused to put together when I was a boy. Only get one central bitof it right, and the rest of the Puzzle falls into its place in alonger or a shorter time. Please don't tell anybody, my dear.People might say I was in my dotage. To think of that gibberishin my note-book having a meaning in it, after all! I only got Mr.Playmore's letter this morning; and--I am really almost ashamedto mention it--I have been trying experiments on torn letters,off and on, ever since. You won't tell upon me, will you?"

I answered the dear old man by a hearty embrace. Now that he hadlost his steady moral balance, and had caught the infection of myenthusiasm, I loved him better than ever.

But I was not quite happy, though I tried to appear so. Struggleagainst it as I might, I felt a little mortified when Iremembered that I had resigned all further connection with thesearch for the letter at such a time as this. My one comfort wasto think of Eustace. My one encouragement was to keep my mindfixed as constantly as possible on the bright change for thebetter that now appeared in the domestic prospect. Here, atleast, there was no disaster to fear; here I could honestly feelthat I had triumphed. My husband had come back to me of his ownfree will; he had not given way, under the hard weight ofevidence--he had yielded to the nobler influences of hisgratitude and his love. And I had taken him to my heartagain--not because I had made discoveries which left him no otheralternative than to live with me, but because I believed in thebetter mind that had come to him, and loved and trusted himwithout reserve. Was it not worth some sacrifice to have arrivedat this result! True--most true! And yet I was a little out ofspirits. Ah, well! well! the remedy was within a day's journey.The sooner I was with Eustace the better.

Early the next morning I left London for Paris by thetidal-train. Benjamin accompanied me to the Terminus.

"I shall write to Edinburgh by to-day's post," he said, in theinterval before the train moved out of the station. "I think Ican find the man Mr. Playmore wants to help him, if he decides togo on. Have you any message to send, Valeria?"

"No. I have done with it, Benjamin; I have nothing more to say."

"Shall I write and tell you how it ends, if Mr. Playmore doesreally try the experiment at Gleninch?"

I answered, as I felt, a little bitterly.

"Yes," I said "Write and tell me if the experiment fail."

My old friend smiled. He knew me better than I knew myself.

"All right!" he said, resignedly. "I have got the address of yourbanker's correspondent in Paris. You will have to go there formoney, my dear; and you _may_ find a letter waiting for you inthe office when you least expect it. Let me hear how your husbandgoes on. Good-by--and God bless you!"

That evening I was restored to Eustace.

He was too weak, poor fellow, even to raise his head from thepillow. I knelt down at the bedside and kissed him. His languid,weary eyes kindled with a new life as my lips touched his. "Imust try to live now," he whispered, "for your sake."

My mother-in-law had delicately left us together. When he saidthose words the temptation to tell him of the new hope that hadcome to brighten our lives was more than I could resist.

"You must try to live now, Eustace," I said, "for some one elsebesides me."

His eyes looked wonderingly into mine.

"Do you mean my mother?" he asked.

I laid my head on his bosom, and whispered back--"I mean yourchild."

I had all my reward for all that I had given up. I forgot Mr.Playmore; I forgot Gleninch. Our new honeymoon dates, in myremembrance, from that day.

The quiet time passed, in the by-street in which we lived. Theouter stir and tumult of Parisian life ran its daily coursearound us, unnoticed and unheard. Steadily, though slowly,Eustace gained strength. The doctors, with a word or two ofcaution, left him almost entirely to me. "You are his physician,"they said; "the happier you make him, the sooner he willrecover." The quiet, monotonous round of my new life was far fromwearying me. I, too, wanted repose--I had no interests, nopleasures, out of my husband's room.

Once, and once only, the placid surface of our lives was justgently ruffled by an allusion to the past. Something that Iaccidentally said reminded Eustace of our last interview at MajorFitz-David's house. He referred, very delicately, to what I hadthen said of the Verdict pronounced on him at the Trial; and heleft me to infer that a word from my lips, confirming what hismother had already told him, would quiet his mind at once andforever.

My answer involved no embarrassments or difficulties; I could anddid honestly tell him that I had made his wishes my law. But itwas hardly in womanhood, I am afraid, to be satisfied with merelyreplying, and to leave it there. I thought it due to me thatEustace too should concede something, in the way of an assurancewhich might quiet _my_ mind. As usual with me, the words followedthe impulse to speak them. "Eustace," I asked, "are you quitecured of those cruel doubts which once made you leave me?"

His answer (as he afterward said) made me blush with pleasure."Ah, Valeria, I should never have gone away if I had known youthen as well as I know you now!"

So the last shadows of distrust melted away out of our lives.

The very remembrance of the turmoil and the trouble of my pastdays in London seemed now to fade from my memory. We were loversagain; we were absorbed again in each other; we could almostfancy that our marriage dated back once more to a day or twosince. But one last victory over myself was wanting to make myhappiness complete. I still felt secret longings, in thosedangerous moments when I was left by myself, to know whether thesearch for the torn letter had or had not taken place. Whatwayward creatures we are! With everything that a woman could wantto make her happy, I was ready to put that happiness in perilrather than remain ignorant of what was going on at Gleninch! Iactually hailed the day when my empty purse gave me an excuse forgoing to my banker's correspondent on business, and so receivingany letters waiting for me which might be placed in my hands.

I applied for my money without knowing what I was about;wondering all the time whether Benjamin had written to me or not.My eyes wandered over the desks and tables in the office, lookingfor letters furtively. Nothing of the sort was visible. But a manappeared from an inner office: an ugly man, who was yet beautifulto my eyes, for this sufficient reason--he had a letter in hishand, and he said, "Is this for you, ma'am?"

A glance at the address showed me Benjamin's handwriting.

Had they tried the experiment of recovering the letter? and hadthey failed?

Somebody put my money in my bag, and politely led me out to thelittle hired carriage which was waiting for me at the door. Iremember nothing distinctly until I open ed the letter on my wayhome. The first words told me that the dust-heap had beenexamined, and that the fragments of the torn letter had beenfound.