When the turbulent emotions excited by these later events had somewhat subsided, Malcolm Montrose and Eudora Leaton were quietly married at the village church.
Annella Wilder, who had recovered from her severe illness, attended as bridesmaid. Norham Montrose officiated as best man. Admiral Sir Ira Brunton gave the bride away.
After the ceremony they set out immediately for Southhampton, whence they sailed for India, where Montrose had received a high official appointment, and where, for the further restoration of Eudora’s peace of mind, he had determined to fix their future residence.
Up to the hour of their departure one trouble had weighed upon the mind of Malcolm. That grief remained unspoken, yet found its most eloquent expression in the earnest gaze he sent into Annella’s eyes as he pressed her hand in a last adieu. She understood, and replied to his look, by saying:
“I know what it is that you would say if you dared! but you are widely mistaken. I did not set fire to the prison! Not even to have saved Eudora’s precious life would I have endangered hundreds of other lives. No, desperate as my plan of rescue was, it was not so criminal as that! What the nature of my original project was it is needless now to say, since it was forestalled by accident. It is enough for me to admit that I had concealed myself in the building that night for the purpose of carrying out my plan of rescue when the alarm of fire startled me as well as others. My first thought was of Eudora and her safety, and I was rushing through the black and suffocated lobby, in which her cell was situated, when I was met by the governor, who, in the double darkness of night and thick smoke, mistook me for the only person who had any business there—Nally, the old turnkey of that ward. Thus I got possession of the key of the cell, and was enabled to keep my word with you. I did it without crime. Take that comfort to India with you.”
“God bless you, Annella!” exclaimed Malcolm drawing a deep inspiration with a sense of infinite relief, as he pressed her hand and bade her farewell.
The long-severed pair of Edenlawn—long-severed through the crudest misrepresentation—were at length re-united. The world, who neither knew the cause of their severance nor of their re-union, ascribed both to caprice; but the contented family at Edenlawn cared little for its misapprehension.
Strong suspicion of foul play on the part of the unfortunate and guilty Madame de la Compte had brought Hollis Elverton again to England, but her cunning had baffled his unaided attempts at investigation, while the very nature of his wrongs prevented him from calling in the aid of the detective police, and thus accident alone brought the guilty to justice.
With the full approbation of their mutual friends, Norham Montrose and Alma Elverton were married, and, at the desire of all parties, fixed their abode at Edenlawn, where Alma’s “hunger of the heart” is at length fully satisfied, for in her the circle of human love is complete. She lives in the rich enjoyment of father’s, mother’s, husband’s, and children’s affection. She is the centre of their household, the darling of all hearts and eyes, the consolation even of the grave old man, who, retired from official life, passed his time in reading, prayer, meditation, and deeds of mercy, and who is less proud of Alma as his heiress, and the future Baroness of Elverton, than fond of her as a good and lovely woman.
The last marriage that we have to record is that of Lieutenant Valerius Brightwell, R. N., and Miss Annella Wilder, which took place quite recently with great eclat. As the young couple were the joint heirs of Admiral Brunton, and as the bride was very young, and the bridegroom on the point of sailing on a distant service, it was arranged that they should fix their permanent residence at the Anchorage; and so, should old Mrs. Stilton be still unable “to conquer her chronic malady of living,” we shrink from surmising how many degrees of descendants she may have to look down upon.