to. I shall hope to find you well when I return."

What a strange fascination her beauty had! I remember it with a shudder.
Her face haunted me all night; I could not forget it.

The following morning I returned to London. I had yet to break the news
of our fortune to Clare, and make arrangements for our journey to Crown
Anstey.

People who wish to be philosophers tell you money is nothing. Certainly,
as far as the spiritual and higher, holier interests of life go, it is
not; but as far as this world is concerned, it is almost everything. I
had been poor and friendless in London, and then it had seemed to me a
desert; now I had money, it was another place--bright, cheerful, every
one kind and friendly. I seemed to float in sunshine; the very air
around me was elastic, full of hope; every step was a pleasure. What
made the difference? I was poor, and now I had money.

Clare was pleased to see me; she cried out in astonishment at my black
clothes, so new and glossy.

"Edgar," she said, "I cannot understand you. You have money, clothes.
How is it? What has happened?"

I knelt down by her side and took her in my arms.

"Clare," I said, "God has been very kind to us. All of our poverty and
privations are ended. Will you be calm and brave if I tell you what it
is?"