CHAPTER CXVIII.
Conclusion.
Our eventful history is nearly ended, and yet we would fain linger by Ada and her fortunes. We would fain follow still through the various scenes of life, the child which was brought from the blazing smithy—the enthusiastic girl, who, in the majesty and might of innocence, defied Jacob Gray,—the pure beautiful being, who in maturer years denounced him as a murderer—she who still clung to her first, her only love, and when the dearest friend that fate had given her, Sir Francis Hartleton even doubted, still asserted her confidence in his devotion, his integrity, and his love. We would like to follow her into domestic life, to see how the budding graces of the girl reached the glorious meridian of their charms, and how then they mellowed into a graceful autumn, but already we have been seduced beyond our limits, by our beautiful Ada and her strangely varied fortunes, and we must leave to those readers who have gone with us heart and hand thus far, to imagine for themselves much that we would fain record. Something, however we cannot refrain from stating, and first and foremost we may say, that Ada became Mrs. Seyton just one week after the eventful ball at Learmont’s house, and that the Secretary of State came to the marriage, and wanted to give the bride away; but Sir Francis Hartleton claimed the privilege, and reconciled the minister to his disappointment by assuring him that Ada meant to let him have all the parliamentary interest connected with her property.
The ladies at the period of Ada’s marriage wore immense state dresses, which “would stand up of themselves,” and Ada’s, still well preserved, is considered a kind of heir-loom in the author’s family, who, by-the-by, may as well state at first as at last, that he is a lineal descendant of the persecuted girl, and more proud of his ancestress than if she had been a throned queen.
For the satisfaction of his lady-readers, the author begs to state that Ada’s wedding-dress was, and is of silver grey satin, on which are wrought roses in white silk, with here and there so delicate a roseate tinge, as to give quite an air of reality to the mimic floral adornment. She wore no ornaments in her hair, but a rare and costly lace robe, presented to her by Lady Hartleton, was confined to her forehead by a single diamond, from whence it hung down to the very ground.
Then Albert Seyton looked extremely well in the uniform of a captain in the guards, to which rank he had been immediately presented by the minister; of course not on account of his votes—oh, no. Lady Hartleton, we find by an old letter before us, was foolish enough to cry at the marriage, but Ada was quite obdurate, and would not shed a tear, saying in her quiet way,—
“Why should I weep when I’m happy,” and as nobody knew why, she left the church with a smile.
We dislike interfering in family affairs, but we must say, that we would have proposed Ada’s first little one to be called Albert, as it was a boy, but she would have it named Francis, after the worthy magistrate, who stood godfather to it. The next was a girl, and that Albert would have named Ada, and after that came—but our readers may imagine all that, when we tell them that that Ada was the happy mother of as happy a family as ever lived.
* * * * *
Sir Francis Hartleton went himself down to the Old Smithy, and upon digging carefully among the ruins, a skeleton form was found, which from the remnants of clothing still adhering to it, was proved to be Ada’s unhappy father. In the nearest churchyard, the remains were, with all proper solemnity, consigned to the tomb, but Ada was not informed of the circumstance for some years after she had been in full enjoyment of the Learmont estates.
It would appear that Britton had never run the risk of having a written confession in London with him, but upon a careful search in the smithy, a bag was found, in which was a knife with the initials of “J.G.” on the handle, and several letters, likewise odd papers, one of which was a certificate of the marriage of Ada’s mother at Rome; another proved clearly that Learmont, who had lived so badly, and died so terribly, was really illegitimate, so that his claim to the estate was not good under any circumstances.
Those documents and papers Sir Francis handed to Albert Seyton, and by him they were, as time and occasion served, shown to Ada.
Dame Totten was diligently sought for by Ada, and finally found in a wood shed. She said that soon after the fire at the smithy, Learmont and Britton called at her cottage, and with bitter threats, insisted upon her bringing the child to Learmont House in the morning, and that she fearing for its life, fled from her cottage with it, and reached London, where she subsisted for some time on charity, till a man robbed her of the child, leaving her insensible from the effects of the blow he gave her. The aged woman, for she was nearly ninety, shed tears of joy upon Ada making herself known to her, and need we say, that the remainder of her life was assisted with every comfort by Ada.
Bond, the butcher was hanged at Tyburn for a highway robbery, attended with brutal violence, within one year after the death of Britton. As for the landlord of the Chequers, he lost his licence, and the last that was heard of him was his selling a liquor called snap, then in vogue, at Bond’s execution.
Thus, despite all her grievous trials and all her dangers, was Ada the Betrayed happy, and, in course of time, she thought with chastened sorrow upon the fate of her father, and learned to regard with patient resignation as one of the decrees of Heaven, the Murder at the Old Smithy.