My Lady lives a tranquil and not unhappy life in her old home with dutiful Sir Richard, very pleasantly diversified by frequent visits from dear Letty and her husband--their last advent being a particularly grateful one, since they brought with them a little stranger, aged six weeks, whom it was always a matter of difficulty to extricate from grandmamma's loving arms. But my Lady's whitest days are those rare ones which her darling Walter finds it possible--so pressing are his military duties--to spend at somewhat sombre Mirk. Then she is happy; then she is almost her old self as we first knew her, before those deep tones, speaking from the grave, upon Mirk Abbey lawn at Christmas-time, broke in upon her calm harmonious days. Master Walter has no child. This troubles her sometimes; but at others she feels very thankful for it; for if he had a son, or should Sir Richard marry and beget one, would not a certain, however venial, imposition he perpetuated in the descent of the title? Even now, when no great harm seems done, my Lady's conscience is not altogether at ease; nay, once, so disturbed it grew, that she took secret counsel on the matter with Dr Haldane. “Dear Lady,” said he, “if any human being could be bettered by the disclosure you hint at, or any human being was wronged by your reticence, I should be the first to say: 'Tell all;' but as things stand, it would, in my opinion, not only be Quixotic, but downright madness to disentomb that woeful secret, which lies buried in Ralph Gavestone's grave. Moreover, I understood it was his dying wish that his story should remain untold.” This last observation, delivered with great simplicity, was the best remedy for my Lady's troubled mind that the good doctor could have prescribed. But when this moral patient of his had left his consulting-room quite cured, the radical philosopher permitted himself a congratulatory chuckle. “Gad,” said he (he used the interjections of half a century ago), “it is lucky my Lady questioned me no further. _My_ difficulty lies in permitting a person of title more than there need be in this misgoverned country. If the Lisgards had a peerage in their family, I should think it my duty to explode the whole concern. But I don't suppose one baronet more than there is any necessity to suffer, _can do much harm_.” So Sir Richard Lisgard, little dreaming upon how unsatisfactory a tenure it is held, keeps his title unmolested; and “my Lady” (Heaven bless her!) is still the honoured mistress of Mirk Abbey. THE END. End of Project Gutenberg's Mirk Abbey, Volume 3(of 3), by James Payn