The news of Kate's approaching happiness did more to comfort Lady Desmond, and soothe her vexed spirit, than whole libraries of sound reasoning and good advice could have done; nor was it difficult to prevail on her to join them; and so the interval demanded by business and etiquette sped away, and long before winter had yielded to the coming spring, a quiet, happy wedding party assembled at the old church. Mr. Winter was there, for the first time in his life, perhaps, in white gloves; Lady Desmond; and the Wentworths, gay, polished, kind-hearted triflers, all charmed with their new sister; and Burton, gravely observant, looked on contentedly; and Mrs. Winter rather nervous at the thoughts of entertaining so goodly a company. And Mrs. O'Toole, though the wedding was peculiarly quiet, was satisfied, perfectly, as she removed the long, graceful veil from her child's head, and replaced it with a travelling bonnet, ejaculating, "If mee blessed masther could look down from heaven, it's he that would be proud an' happy. Sure he sees us this blessed minnit!" Our tale is ended, and Kate Vernon merged in "The Viscountess Egerton." We may not promise that her future will be all unclouded, but, at least, she has a true, strong heart--a bold, clear spirit to aid her through the rugged paths of life; to stand beside her in the storm, and finally, to glide with her into the calm, still evening of time. Lady Desmond is still a widow; she passes much of her time amongst her hitherto uncared-for tenantry, and her happiest hours are spent in the pleasant circle collected at Allerton. Colonel Dashwood is married to a fair, bright girl, younger by a good many years than himself, who looks up to him as a perfect Chevalier Bayard. Bruton remains a determined old bachelor. The Winters are well, happy, and prosperous, as they deserve to be. It was in the height of the high season of 1851, as we endeavoured to "move round," in obedience to the imperious mandate of the policeman on duty, at the case containing the celebrated Kooh-i-noor, in the Crystal Palace, that our attention was attracted by the consequential air of an elderly female, decidedly _embonpoint_, and well to do in the world, as evidenced by her substantial black silk dress and bonnet, and rich scarlet shawl. "An', so that's the Kooh-i-noor, is it?" remarked the old lady in audible accents, whether addressed to an individual companion or to the crowd generally, we do not pretend to decide.