income too. Yes, sir. Give them my cordial
consent, and, in case it may be useful to them—
this."

He fumbled in his pocket, took out an old
purse, and counted out into my hand, with an
air of great magnificence, five dirty pound notes.
Which was all that I or anybody else ever saw of
the money of the Herr von Stein.

When I gave them, with his message, to
Dorothy, she crumpled them up in her fingers,
with a curious sort of smile, but she never spoke
one word.

Uncle Adam has been at many a marriage,
showy and quiet, gay and grave, hearty and heartless,
but he is ready to declare, solemnly, that he
never saw one which touched him so much as
that brief ceremony, which took place at the
bedside of John Stone, the trapeze performer. It
did not occupy more than ten minutes, for in the
bridegroom's sad condition the slightest agitation
was to be avoided. My housekeeper and myself
were the only witnesses, and the whole proceeding
was made as matter-of-fact as possible.

The bride's wedding dress was the shabby old
black gown, which she had never taken off for
three days and nights, during which she, my
housekeeper, and I, had shared incessant watch
together; her face was very worn and weary, but
her eyes were bright, and her voice steady. She
never faltered once till the few words which make
a Scotch marriage were ended, and the minister
—himself not unmoved—had shaken hands with
her and wished her every happiness.

"Is it all done?" said she, half bewildered.

"Ay, lassie," answered my old housekeeper,
"ye're married, sure enough."

Dorothy knelt down, put her arms round
Johnny's neck, and laid her head beside him on
the pillow, sobbing a little, but softly even now.

"Oh my dear, my dear! nothing can ever part
us more."

The wonderful circus of Herr von Stein has
left our town a long time ago. It took its
departure, indeed, very soon after the dreadful
trapeze accident, which of course got into all the
local papers, and was discussed pretty sharply
all over the country. Nay, the unfortunate
Signor Uberto, alias John Stone, had the honour
of being made the subject of a Times leader, and
there was more than one letter in that paper
suggesting a subscription for his benefit. But it
came out somehow that his father was a circus
proprietor of considerable means, and so the
subscription languished, never reaching beyond
thirty odd pounds, with which benevolence the
public was satisfied.

I believe John Stone was satisfied too, that
is, if he ever heard of it, which is doubtful; for
during the earlier weeks and months of his
illness his wife took care to keep everything painful
from him; and so did I, so long as they

remained under my roof. This was a good
deal longer than was at first intended, for my
housekeeper became so attached to Mrs. John
Stone, that she could not bear to let them go.
And the poor fellow himself was, as Dorothy had
promised, "no trouble," almost a pleasure in the
house, from his patience, sweetness, and
intelligence.

When they left me, they went to a small lodging
hard by, where the wife set up dressmaking, and
soon got as much work as ever she could
do, among my patients, and the townspeople
generally. For some enthusiastic persons took
an interest in her, and called her " a heroine;"
though, I confess, I myself always objected to
this, and never could see that she had done any
more than what was the most right and natural
thing for a woman to do, supposing women were
as they used to be in my young days, or as I used
to think them.

But, heroine or not, Dorothy prospered. And
in process of time her love was rewarded
even beyond her hopes. Her husband's
mysterious affliction gradually amended. He began
to use his feet, then his legs, and slowly
recovered, in degree, the power of walking. Not
that he ever became a robust man; the shock of
his fall, acting on an exceedingly delicate and
nervous frame, seemed to have affected all the
springs of life; but he was no longer quite
invalided and helpless, and by-and-by he began
anxiously to seek for occupation. I hardly
know which was the happiest, himself or Dorothy,
when I succeeded in getting him employment as
a writer's copying clerk, with as much work as
filled up his time, and saved him from feeling,
what he could not but feel—though I think he
did not feel it very painfully, he loved her so—
that his wife was the sole bread-winner.

When I go to see them now, in their cheery
little home of two rooms, one devoted to
dressmaking, the other, half kitchen, half bedroom,
in which John sits, and where Dorothy, with her
usual habit of making the best of things, has
accommodated Scotch ways to her English notions
of comfort and tidiness—I say, when I go to see
these two, so contented, and devoted to one
another, I often think that among many fortunate
people, I have seen far less happy couples than
John and Dorothy.

NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS,
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," "Copper-field," &c.
Now publishing, PART X., price 1s., of
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
London : CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.

On the 26th of January will be published, bound in cloth,
price 5s. 6d.,
THE TWELFTH VOLUME.