Basil and Annette

"Unless my ears deceive me," said Gilbert, "I hear the voice of my niece's maid in the passage. Doubtless my niece accompanies her. Do you think it seemly that she shall be a witness of this scene?"

"Corrie," said Basil, "take one of the lamps, and keep Miss Bidaud outside; I will come to her immediately. Allow me, Mr. Philpott; it will shorten matters if I say a word." He addressed Gilbert Bidaud. "You and your confederate have laid yourselves open to serious consequences, and if I consent to an arrangement which will keep the bad work that has been going on, and of which I was made the victim, from exposure in the public courts, it is to spare the feelings of a sweet and suffering young lady whose happiness you would have wrecked."

"My niece," said Gilbert, nodding his head. "As you say, a sweet young lady, and she has been made to suffer by this villain. We have all been made to suffer; we have all been his victims. But for your arrival he would have murdered me. He can no longer impose on me; I arrange myself on your side, against him. To my regret I perceive that he has partially recovered his senses, and, while simulating insensibility, is listening to what we are saying; his cunning is of the lowest order. It is my earnest wish to make such an arrangement as you suggest; it will be to my advantage, that is why I agree. Instruct your man to release me."

"Set him loose, Mr. Philpott," said Basil, "and see what you can do. I put the matter unreservedly into your hands. Do not allow either of them to leave the room. They will pass the night here. To-morrow, if Miss Bidaud wishes it, she will quit this prison-"

"No, no," interrupted Gilbert, good-humouredly, "not a prison-not a prison."

" – For England."

"She shall have my free consent," said Gilbert. "Take that in writing, Mr. Philpott. And there must be restitution, in some part, of the inheritance her father left her."

"In some part, that shall be done."

"If it is any punishment to the wretch," said Basil, who saw that Newman Chaytor was conscious and attentive, "who conspired against the man who trusted in him, and treacherously endeavoured to compass his death, to learn that had he followed the straight road he would have known long since that his unhappy father died wealthy, let him learn it now. You have a copy, Mr. Philpott, of the last letter written to him by his father. Give it to him, that he may read the bitter words written on the death-bed of one whom he should have loved and honoured. His good mother died with her head upon my breast, and if he escapes the punishment he deserves and has richly earned, he will owe his escape to the kind memories I have of her who rescued me from death in the London streets."

"A noble man," murmured Gilbert Bidaud as Basil left the room, "A gentleman. How is it possible that I allowed myself to be deceived for an hour by so miserable a counterfeit!"

* * * * * *

When Basil joined his friends in the passage, Old Corrie touched Emily's arm, and slight as was the action, she understood it, and following him into the room in which Mr. Philpott and the two men they had surprised were conferring, left Basil and Annette together. Old Corrie had placed the lamp on a bracket, and by its dim light our hero and heroine were enabled to see each other. Basil's eyes were fixed earnestly upon Annette, but her agitation was too profound to meet his loving gaze. His heart was filled with pity for the faithful girl who had been for years the victim of Newman Chaytor's foul plot; her drooping head, her modest attitude, her hands clasped supplicatingly before her, made his pity and his love for her almost too painful to bear.

"Annette," he said softly, "will you not look at me?"

She raised her eyes to his face, and he saw that they were filled with tears.

"Can you forgive me, Basil?" she whispered.

"Forgive you, dear Annette!" he exclaimed, taking her hands in his, "it is I who ought to ask forgiveness for believing that you could forget me."

"Never for a single day," she murmured, "have I forgotten you. Through all these years you have been to me the star of hope which made life bright for me. Oh, Basil, Basil! it seems as if you have lifted me from death to life. The world was so dark, so dark-"

"It shall be dark no more dear," he said, his voice trembling with excess of tenderness. "Until you bid me leave you I will be ever by your side. I consecrate my life to you. What man can do to compensate for the suffering you have endured, that will I do in truth, and honour, and love."

He placed his arms about her, and she laid her head upon his breast. There are joys too sacred for utterance, and such joy did Basil and Annette feel as they stood clasped in each other's arms on that dark and solemn night.

* * * * * *

What more need be told? Radiant and happy, with faith restored, they commenced their new life hand-in-hand. Those who had conspired against them, and whose evil designs had been frustrated, went out into the world unpunished by man; they and their intended victims never met again. The business matters it was necessary to arrange were settled by Basil's lawyers, who saved from the wreck a sufficient competence. All who had served him and Annette were amply rewarded. In Mr. Philpott's family their names were names to conjure with; Emily remained with them till she found a sweetheart and a home of her own; and Old Corrie was prevailed upon to live in a cottage near them, attached to which was a piece of land which afforded him profitable employment. He talked sometimes of returning to Australia, or of buying another performing bear, but he did not carry either project into execution. Often and often would the three friends talk of the old days on the plantation, and call up reminiscences of the happy and primitive life they enjoyed there; and then Old Corrie would steal away and leave the lovers together; for, though they were man and wife, they were lovers still, and lovers will remain-purified and sweetened by their trials-till they are called to their rest.

THE END