Whether he did or not they never knew, for he avoided referring to anything that bore upon the past from that time; but he grew comparatively peaceful, and they hoped that he had obtained mercy from the divine Healer of souls. He seemed more content when Earle was in his room, and lay and watched him by the hour, a wistful look in his sunken eyes, as if all too late he realized what a crown to his life such a son would have been. Together Earle and Editha watched beside him, until the flame of life burned down to its socket and then went out, and with it every spark of feeling (save that of regret for a life that seemed to have been so spent in vain) expired from their hearts also. They laid him beside his wife, and placed above him a costly marble shaft, simply inscribed with his name, age, and the date of his death. What more could they do? Unloving and unloved he had lived, unlamented he had died, without one grand or noble act to crown his life or to be remembered when he was gone. What a record! and sad enough for tears “such as angels weep.” Editha and her mother went together to Richard Forrester’s grave—Editha with a strange, sad yearning for the father she had never known as such while he lived, and madam with a heart filled with deep regret for the past, and for the noble life she had so saddened by one rash act. But each felt, as they turned away from the sacred spot, that could he have spoken, he would have blessed them both, and rejoiced with them in their new-found joy and reunion. * * * * * Three weeks later there was a quiet wedding one morning in the fine old church where Editha had been wont to attend since her earliest remembrance. Notwithstanding that Editha had desired everything done with as little ostentation as possible, on account of their recent bereavement, yet the church had been elegantly decorated by her numerous friends, many of whom were present, with no small degree of curiosity, to witness the ceremony that made her the Marchioness of Wycliffe. The wedding breakfast was a very informal affair, to which only her most intimate friends had been bidden. Of course Mr. Felton, the trusty lawyer, was among these, and with him a quiet, matronly woman, whom he had found thus late in life to share the remainder of his journey; and into his hands Editha’s beautiful home was to pass upon her departure for England. John Loker’s wife and daughter, both neatly and tastefully clad, were also among the favored guests; and, looking into their cheerful countenances, one would scarce have recognized the wretched beings whom Editha had visited on that memorable night two years previous. The fair bride’s wedding robes were of heavy white crape, with satin facings, while the mist-like vail which floated from her golden hair was fastened with fragrant lilies of the valley and delicate, feathery cypress vine.