“Yes.”

“And are you—­mine—­for ever, and always?  Anthea, you—­aren’t—­afraid of me any more, are you?”

“No.”

“Nor ever will be?”

“Nor—­ever will be.”

Now as the car swept round a bend, behold yet two other figures standing beside the way.

“Yo ho, Captain!” cried a voice, “Oh—­please heave to, Uncle Porges!”

And, forth to meet them, came Small Porges, running.  Yet remembering Miss Priscilla, tapping along behind him, he must needs turn back,—­to give her his hand like the kindly, small gentleman that he was.

And now—­Miss Priscilla had Anthea in her arms, and they were kissing each other, and murmuring over each other, as loving women will, while Small Porges stared at the car, and all things pertaining thereto, more especially, the glaring head-lights, with great wondering eyes.

At length, having seen Anthea, and Miss Priscilla safely stowed, he clambered up beside Bellew, and gave him the word to proceed.  What pen could describe his ecstatic delight as he sat there, with one hand hooked into the pocket of Uncle Porges’ coat, and with the cool night wind whistling through his curls.  So great was it, indeed, that Bellew was constrained to turn aside, and make a wide detour, purely for the sake of the radiant joy in Small Porges’ eager face.

When, at last, they came within sight of Dapplemere, and the great machine crept up the rutted, grassy lane, Small Porges sighed, and spoke: 

“Auntie Anthea,” said he, “are you sure that you are married—­nice an’—­tight, you know?”

“Yes, dear,” she answered, “why—­yes, Georgy.”

“But you don’t look a bit diff’rent, you know,—­either of you.  Are you quite—­sure? ’cause I shouldn’t like you to disappoint me,—­after all.”

“Never fear, my Porges,” said Bellew, “I made quite sure of it while I had the chance,—­look!” As he spoke, he took Anthea’s left hand, drawing it out into the moonlight, so that Small Porges could see the shining ring upon her finger.

“Oh!” said he, nodding his head, “then that makes it all right I s’pose.  An’ you aren’t angry with me ‘cause I let a great, big gnome come an’ carry you off, are you, Auntie Anthea?”

“No, dear.”

“Why then, everything’s quite—­magnif’cent, isn’t it?  An’ now we’re going to live happy ever after, all of us, an’ Uncle Porges is going to take us to sail the oceans in his ship,—­he’s got a ship that all belongs to his very own self, you know, Auntie Anthea,—­so all will be revelry an’ joy—­just like the fairy tale, after all.”

And so, at last, they came to the door of the ancient House of Dapplemere.  Whereupon, very suddenly, Adam appeared, bare-armed from the stables, who, looking from Bellew’s radiant face to Miss Anthea’s shy eyes, threw back his head, vented his great laugh, and was immediately solemn again.

“Miss Anthea,” said he, wringing and twisting at his hat, “or—­I think I should say,—­Mrs. Belloo mam,—­there ain’t no word for it! least-ways not as I know on, nohow.  No words be strong enough to tell the J-O-Y—­j’y, mam, as fills us—­one an’ all.”  Here, he waved his hand to where stood the comely Prudence with the two rosy-cheeked maids peeping over her buxom shoulders.