CHAPTER XVIII.

CONCLUSION.

ARTHUR'S stay in Exeter was short, but before he left he had sought a private interview with Winifred, and asked her to be his wife so soon as the troubles should be settled.

"I have always kept this object in view, ever since we parted under the great pear-tree in your father's garden," said he. "I have been at foreign courts since then, and seen some of the most beautiful women in the world. I have been, too, in scenes of temptation and trial, among wild and dissolute men, and women still worse, but your face has always come between me and harm, and your piece of gold has indeed been a talisman which has kept me from many a sin. Winifred, will you be my wife? I can promise you no great wealth—no court gaieties. I am but a soldier, and my fortunes will rise or fall with those of the Prince of Orange, my master. At best I shall be but a poor lord, living on my estate in Devonshire, where you may follow my good sister's example and play Lady Bountiful to tenants and cottagers. But if you are such as I think you, such a life will suit you better than fluttering at court or in the parks."

"Yes, indeed!" said Winifred, simply. "But what will my lady say? I am but a yeoman's daughter, you know. I can boast no gentle blood, save on the side of my mother, and I have no great fortune, which I have heard sometimes makes up for lack of long descent. I can do nothing against the will of my lady."

"I believe my sister will make no objection," said Arthur. "I think she must see how the case stands. But, as you say, we owe a duty to her. She has been almost a mother to me, and more than a mother to you. We will do nothing without her. But the matter must be settled speedily, for the prince may move any day, and you wot, sweetheart, that when the master rides, the man must run."

"Well, well!" said Mrs. Alwright at the conclusion of a private conference with her mistress, some days afterwards. "So this is the way it is to turn out! I never would allow Mrs. Winifred to read novels or plays, but I don't see but I might just as well have done so, for I am sure nothing more romantic is to be found even in the tales of King Arthur. And so, all the time I was thinking perhaps he may take a fancy to his cousin Mrs. Paulina, he was making up to Mrs. Winifred! And all the time I was teaching Winifred to sit straight at her frame and keep her head well up and her chin under, and to speak and carry herself like a lady, I was teaching the future Lady Carew—which shows the importance of doing a thing well while one is about it," moralized Alwright, "as I shall make a point of telling Mrs. Paulina, who is apt to slight her work and not fasten her threads well. And so little Winifred Evans, the daughter of Magdalen Coffin, is to stand in my old lady's shoes and sit in her chair! Well, well!"

"You think my mother would have been shocked," said Lady Peckham; "yet, as I was saying to myself, Winifred's birth and breeding are both above that of the woman to whom my mother would have married poor Edward. Do you remember when she came down to the Hall on a visit?"

"Aye, that I do!" said Alwright. "How she bustled in her silks and satins, and talked loud, and took the words out of my lady's mouth at her own table, and wondered 'how anybody as was anybody could abear to live down in Devonshire among the savages.' I promise you it was a bitter pill for my lady, despite the gilding; though she would have swallowed it for all that, only the London lady took fright at poor Master Edward's strange ways—for he was strange even then. But little Winnie Evans! However, my lady is not here to object, and will know nothing about it, that is one comfort. And even if she does, 'tis to be hoped she has learned to see things differently by this time. And when is the wedding to be, my lady?"

"That we cannot say exactly. Much depends upon the movements of the prince. Should he be defeated after all, I suppose my brother will have to go abroad once more."

"But I trust he will not, my lady! So many gentlemen are joining him on every side. Here are Sir William Putman and Sir Francis Wane, and so many others flocking to him. Exeter is quite like a court, with the gentlemen and their servants. But what about the wedding clothes, my lady? Should not Mrs. Winifred's linen be got in hand?"

"O yes, whenever you please," said Lady Peckham, smiling. "As soon as things are a little more settled, I must write to my cousin Judith and tell her the news. It is but her due, after her kindness to Winifred, and I presume she will desire to do something towards her outfit. We must have them all here for the wedding, Alwright, whenever it takes place."

By the middle of February the English Revolution was a fixed fact, and William and Mary were settled upon the throne, but it was not till the primroses were blossoming in the green lanes of Devonshire that the wedding was celebrated in Exeter, and the new Lord and Lady Carew took possession of the gray old mansion house which had stood shut up and deserted so many years, all but the few rooms inhabited by the poor madman and his keepers.

Winifred was in no hurry to leave her dear lady, and it was agreed on all sides to wait till such time as would be decorous for the young Corbets to put off their mourning. Great was the joy and exultation of good, kind-hearted Lady Corbet on the occasion. She had always known, she said, that Winifred was born for a great lady, and she was as pleased that she was as if it had been her own Paulina. It might be Pall's turn next, perhaps, but the girl stuck up her nose, forsooth, and declared she would never marry. She would live with Cousin Margaret all her life, unless she was needed at home. She had no fancy at all for the men, had Pall, and the twins were far more excited about the wedding than their elder sister.

Meantime half the seamstresses in Bristol were at work, under her direction, in fulfilling her vow that whenever Winifred married, she should have a setting-out equal to that of any lady in the land. And marvellous indeed were the lace and fine linen, the cut-work and raised work, the brocades, and cambrics, and scented gloves, and gold-fringed gaiters, and clocked stockings, which Lady Corbet displayed to Alwright's admiring eyes on her arrival at Exeter a few days before the wedding.

Sir John insisted upon adding to Winifred's little fortune the sum he had originally destined for her dowry, and presented besides a beautiful set of jewels. One other present Winifred had which cost her a fit of crying. It was from Doctor Mercer, and consisted of a case containing a beautiful and costly Bible and Prayer-book.

"Poor man, he is sad enough!" said Lady Corbet. "But he will not hear any one say a word against you, for all that. When my cousin Norton began to say, one day, that doubtless you know what you were about, that you had feathered your nest well, and got on the blind side of my lady, for all your saintliness—you know my cousin Norton never can abide any one who makes any profession of godliness—I think she feels it a reproach to herself, poor thing, for she does live like a heathen, and a sad grief it is to her mother-in-law, my Paulina's godmother. Well, when she said so, Doctor Mercer took her up, and I promise you, he soon silenced her! I could wish sometimes that the doctor would take a fancy to Pall, but I doubt his ever marrying now."

The rest of our tale is soon told. Lord and Lady Carew lived on their estate in Devonshire, with little interruption, save when Arthur accompanied the king to Ireland in that memorable campaign which resulted in the Battle of the Boyne. Winifred was the same in prosperity that she had been in adversity—calm, brave, religious, trusting in God and walking daily and hourly with Him, doing good to all about her. She found a grandson of her old friend Dame Sprat living in great poverty on the outskirts of the estate, and had the happiness of placing him on the farm of his grandfather, where he did credit to his descent and her patronage. She revived the village school, which had fallen to decay, and it continues to do good to this day, the girls of Lady Carew's school being in great request as house-servants and nursery-maids.

Lady Peckham retained her house in Exeter, but spent many months of every year with Winifred in the home of her childhood, where Alwright made saffron cakes and almond pastys, imparted wonderful secrets of cooking and preserving to Lady Carew and her housekeeper, and had the pleasure of introducing little Mrs. Margaret and Mrs. Magdalen to the mysteries of cross-stitch and open-hem.

Paulina kept her word about remaining single, and living with cousin Margaret. Her first fancy, settled upon a most unworthy object, had been cruelly blighted, and she never had a second. After Lady Peckham's death, she inherited the house at Exeter, where she had always with her three or four motherless or orphan girls whom she brought up. Her little school became famous for the excellence and soundness of the education acquired under her charge, and she could have filled her house many times over, but she steadily refused to take more than a certain number, and always gave the preference to those who had no mothers. She was effectually assisted by Alwright, who retained her faculties unimpared to a great age, and could teach cross-stitch and fine-darning by the aid of her glasses when she was ninety years old.

The twins often visited their sister and "cousin Winifred," as they delighted to call Lady Carew. They grew up useful, well-educated women, and married well during the life-time of their mother, thus making up in some degree for Paulina's obstinate single-blessedness.

Nothing more was ever heard of Doctor Butler, and it was supposed that he went abroad. Doctor Mercer lived and died in Bristol, where he had many warm friends among both rich and poor, and won the respect of all, notwithstanding his heretical opinions upon the subject of fresh air and cold water. Sir John and Lady Corbet lived to see their great-grandchildren, and died respected and loved by their numerous descendants, and all who knew them. A wife was found for black Jack in a fine young negro girl brought from the West Indies; and that worthy blackamoor lived to be as white-headed as his old master.