Brighton; and, rejecting the old woman's
statement that the town began with a P, I
prepared, at once, to start for that fashionable
watering-place. A. few minutes before I
sent for the cab, a letter without a signature,
written in a strange hand, and directed to
me, arrived through the post. Its contents
were as follows:—

Beware of Mr. Sandford, who is nothing but a
respectable adventurer. Far from having any
objection to your marriage with his daughter, he is
only too anxious to bring about the match; but, in
such a way that no questions shall be asked
concerning his child's prospects or wedding portion.
Pause, and reflect. YOUR WELL-WISHER.

I treated this base missive with the
contempt it deserved. If it had contained any
libel upon her whom I was flying to meet, I
would have found out the writer at any cost;
but, as it merely confined itself to remarks
upon her parent, I put it in my pocket, and
thought no more about it. In a few hours I
was at Brighton, gazing upon the sad sea
waves.

                              X.

THE afternoon and evening passed wearily
enough; for she was not to be seen. I sought
her on the beach—the promenade—the
Downs— and in the assembly rooms, but
without success. I felt that I was rash in
betraying my arrival in places where I might
be discovered by Mr. Sandford; but I could
not control my impatience until the morning.
As dusk approached I gave up the search
and settled down to a late and solitary dinner
in the melancholy coffee-room of my hotel.
The cutlet was tough; the wine was hot
and acid; the waiter painfully obsequious; a
clock was ticking with maddening regularity,
and, a fellow-visitor, who ought to have been
sociable, was glaring at me ever and anon,
from an opposite table. At times the thought
came across me that I might have been
deceived by the advertisement, and my only
comfort was to stick it before me against
the cruet-stand, and read it all through the
meal.

At last the morning came, and, at the
appointed time, I hastened to the pier. The
direction was right. I was not deceived.
She stood before me, more lovely than ever.
I asked, after the first salutations were over,
at what hotel or lodging they were staying;
and was answered, "At neither."

"Where then," I inquired, perceiving some
hesitation on the part of the lovely Emma,
"if not at one of these usual places?"

"At an uncle's, Edwin," she replied, in a
sorrowful tone; "would that it had been
otherwise."

"Tell me more, Emma," I replied, "for
there is something which you are concealing
from me."

"It is a cousin, Edwin."

"A cousin, Emma!"

"Yes. They call him refined: because he
does nothing but smoke, play at billiards,
and spend half his time in a yacht; but he
is no favourite of mine; and rather than
marry him—"

"Marry him, Emma! Surely your father
can have no such design?"

"It is too true, Edwin; and, any day, I may
be compelled to bid adieu to you for ever."

"This shall not be! Fly with me, Emma;
—fly from this fashionable and detestable
place."

"I cannot, Edwin. Where can I go?—
unless—"

"Speak; I will take you anywhere; but
fly, and fly at once."

"To my aunt Buckram's, then. She will
do anything I ask her."

In a few hours we had reached the desired
haven in London; and the next morning saw
us man and wife.

                                    XI.

MY honeymoon was not without its
troubles, though my wife was not the cause
of them. My friend, Mr. Nickel (whom I
suspected of having written the anonymous
letter), departed one morning from his post
as my factory-inspector, with a considerable
sum of money which he never accounted for.
On the next day to the one on which he left
the country, my father-in-law, Mr. Sandford,
made his appearance; calling upon us
suddenly as we were seated at breakfast.

"I come here," he said, "in no spirit of
enmity. You have acted without my
consent; but I freely forgive you. The portion
I might have given my daughter, Emma, if
the marriage had been conducted in the
regular way, will now remain a secret until
alter my death."

After we had thanked him for his kindness,
and had wished him a life as long as
Methuselah's, he continued:—

"I am not surprised that your inspector,
Mr. Nickel, betrayed his trust, and embezzled
your property. I knew him some years
ago, and I never had a favourable opinion of
him."

"Is it possible?" I exclaimed.

"You are young and inexperienced," he
continued; "and I am a man of the world.
Go and enjoy yourselves, while you can, and,
repugnant as the bone-boiling establishment
is to me, I will look after your interests as
a father."

"Mr. Sandford," I replied, "I cannot allow
this generous sacrifice. After all that you
have said regarding this repulsive business—"

"I only do my duty," he interrupted. "One
member of my family has already become
your partner for life. I propose to join the
firm also. From this hour you will consider
me your acting partner."

And he became a partner; I scarcely
know how. Sometimes I think of the anonymous