The kindling triumph in his face was bright indeed, as he looked up and rapturously exclaimed, what had he done to deserve the blessing of this dear confiding creature’s heart! Again she put her hand upon his lips, saying, “Hush!” and then told him, in her own little natural pathetic way, that if all the world were against him, she would be for him; that if all the world repudiated him, she would believe him; that if he were infamous in other eyes, he would be honored in hers; and that, under the worst unmerited suspicion, she could devote her life to consoling him, and imparting her own faith in him to their little child.

A twilight calm of happiness then succeeding to their radiant noon, they remained at peace, until a strange voice in the room startled them both. The room being by that time dark, the voice said, “Don’t let the lady be alarmed by my striking a light,” and immediately a match rattled, and glimmered in a hand. The hand and the match and the voice were then seen by John Rokesmith to belong to Mr. Inspector, once meditatively active in this chronicle.

“I take the liberty,” said Mr. Inspector, in a business-like manner, “to bring myself to the recollection of Mr. Julius Handford, who gave me his name and address down at our place a considerable time ago. Would the lady object to my lighting the pair of candles on the chimneypiece, to throw a further light upon the subject? No? Thank you, ma’am. Now, we look cheerful.”

Mr. Inspector, in a dark-blue buttoned-up frock coat and pantaloons, presented a serviceable, half-pay, Royal Arms kind of appearance, as he applied his pocket handkerchief to his nose and bowed to the lady.

“You favoured me, Mr. Handford,” said Mr. Inspector, “by writing down your name and address, and I produce the piece of paper on which you wrote it. Comparing the same with the writing on the fly-leaf of this book on the table — and a sweet pretty volume it is — I find the writing of the entry, ‘Mrs. John Rokesmith. From her husband on her birthday’ — and very gratifying to the feelings such memorials are — to correspond exactly. Can I have a word with you?”

“Certainly. Here, if you please,” was the reply.

“Why,” retorted Mr. Inspector, again using his pocket handkerchief, “though there’s nothing for the lady to be at all alarmed at, still, ladies are apt to take alarm at matters of business — being of that fragile sex that they’re not accustomed to them when not of a strictly domestic character — and I do generally make it a rule to propose retirement from the presence of ladies, before entering upon business topics. Or perhaps,” Mr. Inspector hinted, “if the lady was to step up-stairs, and take a look at baby now!”

“Mrs Rokesmith,” — her husband was beginning; when Mr. Inspector, regarding the words as an introduction, said, “Happy I am sure, to have the honor.” And bowed, with gallantry.

“Mrs Rokesmith,” resumed her husband, “is satisfied that she can have no reason for being alarmed, whatever the business is.”

“Really? Is that so?” said Mr. Inspector. “But it’s a sex to live and learn from, and there’s nothing a lady can’t accomplish when she once fully gives her mind to it. It’s the case with my own wife. Well, ma’am, this good gentleman of yours has given rise to a rather large amount of trouble which might have been avoided if he had come forward and explained himself. Well you see! He didn’t come forward and explain himself. Consequently, now that we meet, him and me, you’ll say — and say right — that there’s nothing to be alarmed at, in my proposing to him to come forward — or, putting the same meaning in another form, to come along with me — and explain himself.”

When Mr. Inspector put it in that other form, “to come along with me,” there was a relishing roll in his voice, and his eye beamed with an official lustre.

“Do you propose to take me into custody?” inquired John Rokesmith, very coolly.