Six months later Septimus Marvin was called upon to give away his
sister to a youthful brother officer of her late husband, which
ceremony he performed with a sigh of relief audible in the farthest
recess of the organ loft. While the wedding-bells were still
ringing, the bride, who was not dreamy or vague like her brother,
gave Septimus to understand that he had promised to provide Miriam
with a home--that he really needed a woman to keep things going at
the rectory and to watch over the tender years of little Sep--and
that Miriam's boxes were packed.

Septimus had no recollection of the promise. And his sister was
quite hurt that he should say such a thing as that on her wedding
day and spoil everything. He had no business to make the suggestion
if he had not intended to carry it out. So the bride and bridegroom
went away in a shower of good wishes and rice to the life of
organized idleness, for which the gentleman's education and talents
eminently befitted him, and Miriam returned to Farlingford with
Septimus.

In those days the railway passed no nearer to Farlingford than
Ipswich, and before the arrival of their train at that station
Miriam had thoroughly elucidated the situation. She had discovered
that she was not expected at the rectory, and that Septimus had
never offered of his own free will the home which he now kindly
pressed upon her--two truths which the learned historian fondly
imagined to be for ever locked up in his own heart, which was a kind
one and the heart of a gentleman.

Miriam also learned that Septimus was very poor. She did not need
to be informed that he was helpless. Her instinct had told her that