“And do you mean to say, sir,” gasped Mrs. Parrot hysterically, “that you knew who you was yourself all the time?” “All the time that I have lodged with you.” “An’ you’ve seen your lawful wife day arter day without speakin’ of it, or sayin’ who you was?” “Yes.” “Because,” stammered Mrs. Parrot, still clinging to the table, “because you says that a wife can’t have two husbands, and so you hid yourself that you might spare her feelin’s?” “Yes, that is why, Mrs. Parrot,” cried Dolly. Mrs. Parrot took a deep breath, and then, to the amazement of the others, burst into tears. “Oh, sir, I can’t help it,” she sobbed. “I niver did hear in all my life of such beautiful conduct. Niver .. And is this your child?... Why, of course it is! Oh dear! who’d ha’ thought that any mortal man could ha’ acted so nobly! Oh, sir, let me shake your hand.” She not only shook his hand, but actually fell against him and kissed him; and then, overwhelmed with her effrontery and her feelings, was rushing out of the room, when Holdsworth stopped her. “One moment, dear Mrs. Parrot. You are the only person in Hanwitch--in the world I may say--who knows our secret. Will you keep it? We have many reasons for not wishing it known.” “I will, sir, I promise you,” blubbered the honest woman, “since you ask me; but if it wasn’t for that I’d go and spread the noos everywhere, I would, for I niver heerd of such beautiful conduct before, niver, in sarmons or anywheers else; and it ’ud be the makin’ of many a man to be told of it. God bless you both, I’m sure. God bless you, little gal. You’ve found a good father--a rare good father!” And out she ran choking. * * * * * So the curtain falls, for the end has come. No need to raise it again, for you who have sat so kindly and patiently through this little drama must know as well as I what will become of the two chief characters and their little one when they have made their bow and withdrawn. Australia is before them, with generous friends to welcome them to their new home, and listen with interest and tenderness to their strange story of bitter separation, and sweet and sacred reunion. Enough has been written; the quill that has driven these creations to this point is but a stump; the hand that holds it is tired; the companionship of the shadows which have kept me company is broken. What fitter time, then, than now to say good-bye? POSTSCRIPT. I must claim the reader’s indulgence while I speak for a moment of that portion of the foregoing narrative which refers to the hero’s loss of memory.