"You saved my life--I can do nothing for you here--and you are doing
no good at 'The Grove'--everybody says so ("everybody says so!"--and
George Fielding winced at the words).

"And it really pains me, my brave fellow, to go without you where I
know I could put you on the way of fortune. My heart is pretty stout;
but home is home; and be assured that I wait with some anxiety to know
whether my eyes are to look on nothing but water for the next four
months, or are to be cheered by the sight of something from home, the
face of a thoroughbred English yeoman, and--a friend--and--and--"

Poor George could read no more, the kind words, coming after his
affronts and troubles, brought his heart to his mouth.

Susan took the letter from him, and read out--

"And an upright, downright honest man"--"AND SO YOU ARE, GEORGE!"
cried she, warmly, drawing to George's side, and darting glances of
defiance vaguely around. Then she continued to read--

"If the answer is favorable, a word is enough. Meet me at 'The Crown,'
in Newborough, to-night, and we will go up to Town by the mail train."

"The answer is, Yes," said George to the servant, who was at some
distance.

Susan, bending over the letter, heard, but could not realize the word,
but the servant now came nearer. George said to him, "Tell your
master, Yes."