A Search For A Secret: A Novel. Vol. 3

by G. A. Henty

And now I have only myself to speak of, and in that I shall be exceedingly brief. My happiness is far too great to speak of—too perfect to describe.

Little more than a month after I returned to Putney, I received a letter from Percy, now long since become Captain Desborough, saying that he should sail for England by the next mail, that he should, as he had warned me, claim me at once, and that he hoped I would not keep him more than a fortnight waiting.

Although he had not received my letter telling him of my late-found wealth, yet he knew that there would be no cloud to dim the brightness of our happiness, for he had long since heard from his mother of the determination she had arrived at, on hearing of his being alive, that she would no longer in any way oppose our union. In due time Percy came home. I cannot tell how we met. That happiness is too deep, too sacred to be described.

Percy was somewhat changed, the terrible trials and anxiety he underwent have told upon his constitution, and the doctors have recommended him to leave the army, and to lead a quiet life, at any rate for the present.

To this he has acceded, and intends at the end of his two years' leave of absence to sell out. However, in the short time he has been at home, he has greatly recovered his strength, and will I trust soon be as strong as ever.

He talks of going into Parliament, for Percy is of too energetic a nature to rest content with a life of perfect idleness. Lady Desborough, Ada, and I encourage him in the idea, and, of course, prophesy great things of him.

We have now been married three months. He is sitting beside me, and even with his dear, dear face looking at me I can hardly believe that it is indeed all true, that it is not a mere happy dream.

I have finished my story, such as it is, and glancing over the earlier pages, I can hardly, in my present happiness, believe that they are mine, or understand the sad feelings with which I then wrote it. Were I to begin again now, it would be written in a very different strain; but that cannot be. The occupation of recording my history has served its purpose, and cheered and occupied me at a time when I sorely needed consolation.

Percy is telling me that if I go on writing any more, he shall begin to think he has married a blue-stocking. So I must end now, with a fervent feeling of thankfulness for the great mercies which have been vouchsafed to me; which have dissipated all the dark clouds which hung over me, and have changed an existence which promised to be a very sad one, into a life of as perfect happiness as ever falls to the lot of mortals upon earth.