“Why, you shall come as my wife, of course,” said he, gently.  “If I had been sure you wished it, you might have travelled with us from London, and been spared this chase.—­But think what you are giving up, dear—­’tis not too late—­the theatre, the praise and admiration, London—­”

“Oh, hang ’em all!” cried she, looking joyous through her tears. “’Tis you I want!”

And she caught his face between her hands, and kissed it a dozen times, to the open-mouthed wonder of the staring postilions.

* * * * *

She took us in her post-chaise to Hastings, where the three of us embarked as we had planned to do, having first arranged that one of the Doughty boys should go to Hampstead and act as a sort of man servant or protector to my mother and Fanny during their loneliness.  They joined us later in Paris, and I finally accompanied them home when Captain Falconer’s fatal duel was a forgotten matter.  Philip and Madge then visited Italy and Germany; and subsequently returned to New York, having courageously chosen to outface what old scandal remained from the time of her flight.  And so, despite Phil’s prediction, ’tis finally his children, not mine, that gladden the age of Mr. and Mrs. Faringfield, and have brought back the old-time cheer to the house; for Fanny and I have remained in England, and here our young ones are being reared.  Each under the government for which he fought—­thus Philip and I abide.  ’Tis no news, that Phil has become one of the leading architects in his country.  My own life has been pleasantly monotonous, save for the duel I fought against a detractor of General Washington, which, as I merely wounded my adversary, did not necessitate another exile from the kingdom.

It is still an unsolved mystery in London, as to what became of Miss Warren, the actress of Drury Lane:  she was for long reported to have been carried away by a strange gentleman who killed Captain Falconer in a duel over her.  ’Tis not known in New York that Mrs. Winwood was ever on the stage.  And as I must not yet make it known, nor disclose many things which have perforce entered into this history, I perceive that my labour has been, after all, to no purpose.  I dare not give the narrative to the world, now it is done; but I cannot persuade myself to give it to the fire, either.  Let it lie hid, then, till all of us concerned in it are passed away; and perchance it may serve to instruct some future reader how much a transient vanity and wilfulness may wreck, and how much a steadfast love and courage may retrieve.

THE END.

NOTES.

NOTE 1 (Page 13).