Henry Randolph would, no doubt, have been able to retrieve his losses but for the illness which followed his almost fatal accident; but, as none but himself had the key to his affairs, he found himself, when he recovered, shorn of his beams, and reduced to what he called and felt to be poverty, though to others it would have been at least a competency. He never again had “nerve” enough for Wall Street; but went abroad as soon as he was able to travel, and there he still lives—or at least exists. He is always present at any sale of art antiques, and is considered an authority, though he rarely buys; and it is reported that he also frequents such gaming-tables as are still allowed to cumber the earth, where he watches the play with a sort of awful fascination, though without the courage to risk more than a small sum on either red or black. Pinkie nursed her father devotedly during his illness, but begged piteously not to be taken away from Aunt Alice when Mr. Randolph went abroad. The granting of this petition, Mrs. Richards was afterwards inclined to regret; for in the quiet of the desolate household the poor, lonely child fell into a sort of melancholy, from which she was only roused by a genuine and sensible attachment to Edgar Harrison, whom she soon afterwards married. The two families still form one household, and Pinkie’s children are at once the torment and the happiness of Dr. Richards and his wife, who scarcely realize that the names of grandfather and grandmother are mere brevet titles. The doctor’s experiments in theology have not been abandoned; but he is not likely in this life to get farther than that hope which, we are told, “maketh not ashamed;” hope, the twin sister of love. Edgar makes a very good husband. Indeed, when Pinkie with tears tells the children stories of “Uncle Louis,” as they are taught to call him, and shows them the fair young face,—Freddy’s handiwork,—that hangs, garlanded with ivy, over her mantel-shelf,—Edgar sometimes tells himself that to Pinkie has been granted both the real and the ideal; the saint to reverence and adore, and the husband “for workadays” with whom she is far happier than she would ever have been with Louis; and, though Pinkie is much improved, it is quite possible that Edgar is right. Frank’s marriage was not broken off by his father’s fall; for, though Mr. Dare made a demonstration or so in that direction, the fair and high-nosed Virginia showed such an unbroken front that the enemy was forced to retreat. She makes Frank an excellent wife, and they do, as people say, “a great deal of good with their money.”