And Beryl? She is my wife. Ah! that small word, which is synonymous with peace and happiness. Several years have passed, and I have risen rapidly in my profession--far beyond my deserts, I fear--yet we are still lovers. We are often visitors at Atworth and at Gloucester Square, while there is no more welcome guest at our own table in Harley Street than the ever-erratic Bob Raymond. The original copy of the ponderous ancient Florentine treatise with its rusty lock, which the Major left in possession of La Gioia, had been presented by the latter to the Bodleian Library at Oxford, where it can now be seen, while Hoefer's re-discovery of the vayana having opened up an entirely new field to toxicologists, the deadly vegetable, like strychnine and atropia, is to-day used as one of the most powerful and valuable medicines, many lives being saved yearly by its administration in infinitesimal doses. All the bitterness of the past has faded. What more need I say? To-night as I sit here in my consulting-room, writing down this strange history for you, my friendly reader, my wife lingers beside me, sweet and smiling in white raiment--a dead-white dress that reminds me vividly of that June day long ago when we first met within the church of St Ann's, Wilton Place, while at her throat is that quaint little charm, the note of interrogation set with diamonds, a relic of her ill-fated mother. She has bent, and, kissing me tenderly upon the brow, has whispered into my ear that no man and wife in all the world are half as happy as ourselves. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of In White Raiment, by William Le Queux