"Poor Richard!" murmured Miss Linisfarne. "I treated you badly; but I have been punished. You can forgive me now?"
"I do! I do!--freely."
"And Meg?"
"I forgive you, mother, and I love you," said Meg, kissing her with tears.
As she did so Miss Linisfarne's head fell back. She was dead.
[CHAPTER XXX.]
THE FINAL LETTER TO A LONDON FRIEND.
Dear Jack,
This is the last letter you will receive from the dell wherein I have camped so long. The days of my roving are over. No longer shall I trudge beside Simon through the long summer days, nor camp under the stars, nor read Lavengro by the red light of an outdoor fire. Shortly will you behold me as a sober, married man, and as such I must conform to the prejudices of civilization. The consulate of Plancus is at an end, my friend, and the days of Bohemian wanderings are over. I would regret them even more than I do, were not the present happier than the past.
Great events have taken place since I last advised you of my adventures. I shall never disbelieve in palmistry again, nor shall I, even in the smallest degree, doubt the power of Romany hags to forecast the future. If you remember, I was doubtful in my last letter as to the chances of further fulfilment of Mother Jericho's prediction. I am a sceptic no longer, for, in the most marvellous way, every word of it has come true. What think you of that? "There are more things in heaven or earth----" But the quotation is threadbare. I shall not insult your understanding by repeating the whole.