"I never could find out," confessed Durham.
"Then I can tell you, Durham. Michael saw him in New York."
"Where?"
"In some low slum, very ragged and poor. He didn"t see Michael, or he might have troubled him. He has taken to drink, I believe--Beryl I mean--so some day he will die, and a nice fate awaits him where he will go," said Miss Berengaria, grimly.
Durham rose and removed his straw hat. "Well," said he, looking down on the two ladies, "the whole case is over and ended. I don"t see why we should revive such very unpleasant memories. The past is past, so let it rest. Bernard has the t.i.tle and the money and----"
"Here"s Lucy," said Alice, rising. "Dear girl, how sweet she looks!"
It was indeed Lucy tripping across the lawn in the lightest of summer frocks. She looked charming, and greeted Alice with a kiss. "I am so anxious," she whispered. "The train will be in soon."
"You are anxious to see Conniston?" said Miss Berengaria.
"Yes. And I am also anxious to hand the Hall over to Bernard. I have had a lot of trouble looking after it. Haven"t I, Mr. Durham?"
Durham bowed. "You have been an admirable Lady of the Manor," he said.
"But soon you will be Lady Conniston."
"And Alice will be Lady of the Manor," laughed Lucy. "Oh, by the way, Mr. Durham, I forgot to tell you that Signor Tolomeo called at the Hall yesterday. He thought Bernard was back, and came to thank him for his allowing him an income."
"I thought he had gone back to Italy," said Durham.
"He is going next week, and talks of marriage."
"I don"t envy his wife," said Miss Berengaria, rising. "Girls, come into the house to see that everything is prepared for our heroes."
The girls laughed and tripped away. Durham left the garden and drove to the station to fetch back Conniston and Bernard. They did not come by that train, however, much to the disappointment of those at the Bower.
It was seven before they arrived, and then the three ladies came out to meet them on the lawn.
"Dear Alice," said Bernard, who had his arm in a sling, but otherwise looked what Conniston called "fit!", "how glad I am to see you!"
"And you, Lucy," said Conniston, taking his sweetheart in his arms.
"Really," cried Miss Berengaria, while Durham stood by laughing, "it is most perplexing to a.s.sist at the meeting of a quartette of lovers. Gore, how are you? Conniston, your fever has pulled you down. I hope you have both sown your wild oats and have come back to settle for good."
"With the most charming of wives," said d.i.c.k, bowing. "We have."
Miss Berengaria took Durham"s arm. "I must look out a wife for you, sir," she said, leading him to the house. "Come away and let the turtle-doves coo alone. I expect dinner will be late."
And dinner was late. Conniston, with Lucy on his arm, strolled away in the twilight, but Bernard and Alice remained under the elm. When it grew quite dusk a red light was seen shining from the window of the drawing-room. Gore pointed it out.
"That is the signal Lucy used to set in the window at the Hall to show that all was well," he said, putting his unwounded arm round the girl, "and now it gleams as a sign that there is a happy future for you and I, dearest."
"A red light is a danger signal," said Alice, laughing.
"This is the exception that proves the rule," said Gore. "It once led me into trouble, but now it shines upon me with my arms around you. Thank Heaven that, after all our trouble, we are at last in smooth waters.
There"s the gong for dinner."
Alice laughed. "A prosaic ending to a pretty speech," she said.