And then Mrs. Woodward had another source of joy,
of liveliest joy, in Katie’s mending looks.
She was at the wedding, though hardly with her mother’s
approval.
As she got better her old spirit returned to her,
and it became difficult to refuse her anything.
It was in vain that her mother talked of the cold
church, and easterly winds, and the necessary lightness
of a bridesmaid’s attire. Katie argued that
the church was only two hundred yards off, that she
never suffered from the cold, and that though dressed
in light colours, as became a bridesmaid, she would,
if allowed to go, wear over her white frock any amount
of cloaks which her mother chose to impose on her.
Of course she went, and we will not say how beautiful
she looked, when she clung to Linda in the vestry-room,
and all her mother’s wrappings fell in disorder
from her shoulders.
So Linda was married and carried off to Normansgrove,
and Katie remained with her mother and Uncle Bat.
‘Mamma, we will never part—will we,
mamma?’ said she, as they comforted each other
that evening after the Normans were gone, and when
Charley also had returned to London.
‘When you go, Katie, I think you must take me
with you,’ said her mother, smiling through
her tears. ’But what will poor Uncle Bat
do? I fear you can’t take him also.’
‘I will never go from you, mamma.’
Her mother knew what she meant. Charley had been
there, Charley to whom she had declared her love when
lying, as she thought, on her bed of death—Charley
had been there again, and had stood close to her,
and touched her hand, and looked—oh, how
much handsomer he was than Harry, how much brighter
than Alaric!—he had touched her hand, and
spoken to her one word of joy at her recovered health.
But that had been all. There was a sort of compact,
Katie knew, that there should be no other Tudor marriage.
Charley was not now the scamp he had been, but still—
it was understood that her love was not to win its
object.
‘I will never go from you, mamma.’
But Mrs. Woodward’s heart was not hard as the
nether millstone. She drew her daughter to her,
and as she pressed her to her bosom, she whispered
into her ears that she now hoped they might all be
happy.
Our tale and toils have now drawn nigh to an end;
our loves and our sorrows are over; and we are soon
to part company with the three clerks and their three
wives. Their three wives? Why, yes.
It need hardly be told in so many words to an habitual
novel-reader that Charley did get his bride at last.
Nevertheless, Katie kept her promise to Mrs. Woodward.
What promise did she ever make and not keep?
She kept her promise, and did not go from her mother.
She married Mr. Charles Tudor, of the Weights and
Measures, that distinguished master of modern fiction,
as the Literary Censor very civilly called him
the other day; and Mr. Charles Tudor became master
of Surbiton Cottage.
