“Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. A fortnight passed, then a month. Their heads touched again, their arms tightened. . She tore open the envelope and read it. The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. " "Sir Rowland is dead," replied Jonathan, gloomily. His business has thriven; legacies have unexpectedly dropped into his lap; and, to crown all, he has made a large fortune by a lucky speculation in South-Sea stock,—made it, too, where so many others have lost fortunes, your humble servant amongst the number—ha! ha! In a word, Sir, Mr.
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