Minnie would fain, if it might have been, have spared her cousin so severe a blow; but the honour of her husband was more to her than all. And when the day of triumph came, and the bells rang out in praise of "good Madam Tremenhere's son"--and the carriage, though plain and unostentatious, drove up with him, his fair smiling wife, and child, one loud shout rang through the air; and, turning from the many, Tremenhere, with a warm clasp, grasped the hand of Farmer Weld, and presented him to Minnie as the truest friend of his day of shadow. And Skaife, d'Estrées, all were there; the latter became the tutor nominally of little Miles, and friend of both his doating parents. Mrs. Gillett!--who may speak of her? How she cried, and laughed, and dreamed all sorts of _couleur de rose_ dreams; and how she appeared for the first time in her life with a profusion of white satin ribbons in her cap! Mary remained in Paris, happy in the joy of others, which she had helped to create anew; prospering, content, and more, grateful for the peace Heaven had sent to repentance. Spring passed, Summer came, then Autumn, then Christmas; and despite Sylvia's prognostications, "that little Miles was a doomed child, for he looked it!"--the boy throve, and lisped papa and mamma to a large circle of friends round the Christmas fire at the manor-house. Among others were the faces of Lord Randolph, Lady Lysson, Skaife, Juvenal, now rosy and himself again, Dorcas, _not_ Sylvia, she had a toothache which did not improve her temper, and therefore stayed at home alone; for Mrs. Gillett presided over some luxuries of her own handiwork, for the table. All were smiling and happy, and in the gallery of family paintings hung "Aurora chasing the Shades of Night," in which Minnie's lovely face shone; for she had indeed brought light to Tremenhere's heart and home. None might have known him; he was as we have never seen him; for, in the midst of the gaiety of those now joyous halls, he looked up, and beheld his mother's picture smiling on the son who had loved, and suffered so much for her. And when the ringing laughter or falling footsteps were stilled, on the quiet ear sounded the tick-tack, tick-tack, tick-tack, of the old hall clock, now transferred to the manor-house. * * * * * Let us end with a moral we have tried to carry out in these pages. If curses like chickens come home to roost, assuredly our good deeds bring nestling joys to our bosom, nor is a cup of cold water cast on the earth. THE END. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Miles Tremenhere, Vol 2 of 2, by Annette Marie Maillard