At last there came a day when Hannah Jerrold sat in the yew-shaded garden at Stoneleigh, on the same bench where Archie once lay sleeping, with Daisy at his side keeping the flies from him. Archie and Daisy were dead, and Hannah Jerrold, whose life had reached out and laid hold upon theirs, was there in the old home to make restitution, and coming to her down the walk were Grey and Bessie, whose face was wonderfully beautiful as she lifted it to her husband, and said something which made him stoop down and kiss the sweet mouth from which the old, tired look had nearly vanished.
She was so happy now, this little Welsh girl, who had borne so much, and suffered so much, and it seemed to Hannah as she drew near as if a halo of joy shone in her deep blue eyes and irradiated every feature of her lovely countenance.
"Oh, it is so nice to be home again, and the old place is so dear to me," she said, as she sat down by Hannah upon the bench, "I half wish we were going to stay here, though I like America very much, and shall in time, become as genuine a Yankee as Grey himself. You know he is in a way a cosmopolitan."
They had taken Anthony and Dorothy completely by surprise, for although Bessie had written to them of her engagement, she had said nothing of coming home, as she did not then expect to do so. But circumstances had changed, and the old couple were just sitting down to their frugal breakfast of bread and tea when a carriage from the station drove into the park, and in a moment Bessie was in Dorothy's arms, laughing and crying and talking in the same breath, presenting Hannah as her husband and her husband as her Aunt Hannah, in her joy and excitement at being home once more.
It did not take long to explain why they had come, to the old people, who entered heart and soul into the matter Anthony offering to go at once to Carnavon and hunt up some one who could swear to the hand-writing of Joel Rogers and help to prove the will, while Dorothy said she had no doubt that among some papers, bills and receipts which had belonged to Bessie's grandmother and which were still lying in an old writing-desk where Daisy had put them when her mother died, there were letters from Joel to his sister, which proved to be a fact.
"I remember him well, though he was a good bit older than I am," Anthony said. "A little sandy-haired man, very kind-hearted and honest, though rather touchy and quarrelsome if he had too much beer in him, I shouldn't wonder but he died in some spree brought on by drink."