Aymer and Violet were married in the autumn—married in the quietest manner, and, aided pecuniarily by Fulk, left for the south of France, there to try and efface the memory of the awful event that had embittered the path of their love. Fulk joined them with a yacht two months later on. They are very, very happy, but it is in a subdued and quiet manner. It is hardly possible for them yet, even in the sunny south, to feel so abundantly joyous as would be natural to their youth. But as the time rolls on they will gradually supplant the old unhappy memories with fresh and pleasant pictures. The last letter from Fulk announced that the sea breezes and the fresh air had begun to work wonders with his complexion, and that he hoped ere long to throw off the horrid yellow produced by his confinement, and resume his proper colour. That was natural in Fulk; the proverb says that little men are often conceited. Yellow or rosy, or brown, he will always be the dearest friend of Aymer and Violet. And the great estate—the city of Stirmingham? To this very hour that Gordian knot remains untied; to this very hour claimants every now and then startle the world with extraordinary statements; and the companies having nothing else to do, have fallen to loggerheads between themselves, and spend their vast incomes in litigation. But aided by Fulk’s money, and the influence his family connections possessed, Violet did at last receive a portion of her rights; the chain of evidence proving her descent from Arthur Sibbold was completed down to the smallest link. The Corporation of Stirmingham, after much law and talk, were finally compelled to acknowledge her claim. By arbitration it was settled that they were to pay her eight thousand pounds per annum for ten years, and at the expiration of that period, ten thousand pounds per annum to herself and heirs, in perpetual ground rent. The companies still hold out, but it is only as to the amount they shall contribute in the same way; and they will have to come to terms. Violet will thus receive a large income without compromising her rights, which are specially reserved. She has not forgotten poor Jenkins, whose Bible gave the clue to the register of Arthur Sibbold’s marriage. The old man is at last recompensed for his long-suffering—the imprisonment expired in due time. He and his wife live in the old cottage at The Place, tending the gardens as of yore, being made comfortable with an ample provision from Violet. Violet and Aymer once a year visit The Place and the tomb of poor Jason. They have taken a mansion at Tunbridge Wells, but spend much time in Aymer’s beloved Florence, with Fulk. They love the old house, and yet they do not care to live where everything recalls such gloomy memories as at The Place. The End.