Away in the pleasant village of Twickenham, at the end of a broad lane turning out of the high-road, stands, shut in by heavy iron gates and in the midst of a large and exquisitely-kept garden, a bluff, red-faced, square-built old-fashioned house. From its windows you look across a broad level mead to the shining Thames, winding like a silver thread amongst the rich pasture-grounds, while from the tall elms, planted with forethought more than a century ago to serve as a screen against the north-east wind, comes the cawing of a colony of rooks, who there have established their head-quarters. Over all, house and garden, river and rookery, mead and landscape, there is an air of peace and prosperity, wealth and comfort, calm and repose. Far away on the horizon a lowering gray cloud shows where the great metropolis seethes and smokes; but so far as freshness and pure air are concerned, you might be in the very heart of the country.  
Creeping down the great staircase, and sliding along the broad open balustrade, comes a slim elegant little girl of about eight years old, who slips out through the open dining-room window, and running across the garden to the iron gates, peers long and earnestly down the lane. The little girl is disappointed apparently, for when she turns away, she walks soberly back to the house, and stationing herself at the bottom of the staircase, calls out, 'There is no sign of him yet, papa!'
 
'Well,' cries a cheery voice from the upper floor, 'there's plenty of time for him to come yet, little Bell! you are such an impatient little woman.' And with these words, Humphrey Statham walks out on to the landing in his dressing-gown and with a book in his hand.
 
Three years have passed away since the occurrences narrated in the last chapter. They have left but little mark on our old friend; he is a little more bald, perhaps, and there are, here and there, patches of gray in the roots of his crisp beard, but his eyes are as bright and his manner as cheery as ever.
 
'You are such an impatient little woman,' he repeated, pulling the child towards him and kissing her forehead.
 
'No, I am not,' said Bell; 'not impatient generally, poppy, only I want to see the gentleman, and you never will talk to me when you've got a book in your hand.'
 
'Between you and your mamma, what is one to do?' said Humphrey Statham, laughing. 'Mamma wants me to read to her, you want me to play with you, and it is impossible to please both at the same time.'
 
'We both want you, because we're both so fond of you, pappy darling,' said Bell, putting up her face again to be kissed, 'and you ought to be pleased at that. There, I declare then I did hear wheels.' And the child breaks away from Humphrey's grasp, and again rushes to the gate.
 
She is right this time. A fly is driving away, and the gentleman who has alighted from it stands waiting for admittance. A man with a thin face, clean-cut features, and light hair, dressed entirely in black and with a deep mourning band round his hat. He started violently at the sight of the child, but recovered himself with an effort.
 
'You are little Bell?' he said, putting out his hand.
 
'Yes,' she replied, sliding her little fingers into his, and looking up fearlessly into his face. 'I am little Bell, and you are Mr. Gurwood. I know you! Papa and mamma have been expecting you, O, ever so long.'
 
The child pulled him gently towards the house, and he had scarcely crossed the threshold when he was seized in Humphrey Statham's hearty grasp.
 
'Martin, my dear old friend--at last. We thought you would never come, we have waited for you so long.'
 
'So Bell tells me,' said Martin, returning his friend's pressure; 'but you see here I am. You're not looking a bit changed, Humphrey! And your wife?'
 
'Alice! Here she is to answer for herself.'
 
Yes, she was there, more lovely than ever, Martin thought, in the mellowed rounded beauty of her form, and with the innocent trusting expression in her eyes still unchanged.
 
 
Let us, unseen by them, stand by the two old friends as they sit that evening over their wine, in the broad bay-window looking towards the sunset, and from their conversation glean our final records.
 
'And you are very happy, Humphrey?' asked Martin.
 
'Happy!' cried Humphrey Statham; 'my dear Martin, I never knew what happiness was before. I rather think,' he continued, with a smile, 'that laziness may have something to do with it. You see, Alice doesn't care much about my being absent for the whole of the day, as I should necessarily be if I attended strictly to busin............