"Your niece has brought you a nephew, sir," said Gilbert.
The Captain threw aside his paper, and stretched out both his hands to
the young man.
"My dear boy, I cannot tell you how happy this makes me!" he cried.
"Didn't I promise you that all would go well if you were patient? My
little girl is wise enough to know the value of a good man's love."
"I am very grateful, uncle George," faltered Marian, taking shelter
behind the Captain's chair; "only I don't feel that I am worthy of so
much thought."
"Nonsense, child; not worthy! You are the best girl in Christendom, and
will make the brightest and truest wife that ever made a man's home dear
to him."
The evening went on very happily after that: Marian at the piano, playing
plaintive dreamy melodies with a tender expressive touch; Gilbert sitting
close at hand, watching the face he loved so dearly--an evening in
Paradise, as it seemed to Mr. Fenton. He went homewards in the moonlight
a little before eleven o'clock, thinking of his new happiness--such
perfect happiness, without a cloud. The bright suburban villa was no
longer an airy castle, perhaps never to be realized; it was a delightful
certainty. He began to speculate as to the number of months that must
needs pass before he could make Marian his wife. There was no reason for
delay.
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