To the bystanders, who were astounded at his seeming unconcern, he said: "Why should I mourn for my son? He has died the death of a martyr." He then took off his hat, and bowing reverently to the two heads, departed. But he never came near the Exchange without repeating the ceremony, and many other inhabitants of the town followed his example. CHAPTER VII. FIVE YEARS LATER. Once more, and at a somewhat later date, we shall revisit Rawcliffe Hall. It still wears an antique aspect, but has a far more cheerful look than of yore. Internally many alterations have been made, which may be safely described as improvements. All the disused apartments have been thrown open, and re-furnished. That part of the mansion in which the tragic event we have recounted took place has been pulled down and rebuilt, and the secret entry to the library no longer exists. Everything gloomy and ghostly has disappeared. Father Jerome no longer darkens the place with his presence, but before his departure he was compelled to give up all the documents he had abstracted. A large establishment is kept up, at the head of which is worthy old Markland. Sir Conway Rawcliffe has long been in possession of the estates and title. Moreover, he is wedded to the loveliest woman in Cheshire, and their union has been blessed by a son. It is pleasant to see the young baronet in his own house. He has become quite a country gentleman--is fond of all country sports, hunts, shoots, and occupies himself with planting trees in his park, and generally improving his property. So enamoured is he of a country life, so happy at Rawcliffe, that his wife cannot induce him to take a house in town for the spring. His uncle, Colonel Conway, wished him to join the army, but he declined. He avoids all dangerous politics, and is well affected towards the Government. Lady Rawcliffe is likewise fond of the country, though she would willingly spend a few months in town, now and then, as we have intimated. She looks lovelier than ever. Five years have improved her. Her figure is fuller, bloom has returned to her cheeks, and the melancholy that hung upon her brow has wholly disappeared. Need we say that her husband adores her, and deems himself--and with good reason--the happiest and luckiest of men? They often talk of Monica and Jemmy Dawson. Time has assuaged their grief, but Constance never thinks of the ill-fated lovers without a sigh. Poor Monica sleeps peacefully beside her mother in the family vault.