When the Earl read this letter to his wife it was with bitter grief she heard his last, worst deed—and we need not say she often thought of that misguided man, shed not one but many, many a tear, and thus fulfilled his last petition. Ah, what an end had her young lover come to!
The remains of Viscount de Vere were interred in the grounds of the Villa Reale, and over his tomb rose a marble fane with the following inscription—
Here lies
Arthur Plantagenet Vere De Vere—
Viscount De Vere,
Earl of Wentworth,
a title
to which he never succeeded!
By an unaccountable fate—stolen in his infancy;
misguided in his manhood.
He died by his own hand on the
25th of December,
MDCCXXIX.
Aged XXXIX.
"Oh breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade
Where cold and unhonoured his relics are laid."
A few days after the funeral, which took place at the dead hour of midnight, the Earl and Countess with their daughter left Naples by their yacht, and sailed for Leith, where they arrived safely after a long and stormy passage. They then started for the Towers, where they lived in deep seclusion.
Mr. Scroop had meanwhile started for Italy to bring home the unfortunate daughter of his murdered father-in-law, and make arrangements with the authorities for bringing his murderers to justice, a point, however, in which they entirely failed to succeed.
CHAPTER XXII.
"Lovely in life, and unparted in death."—Anon.
About two months after their arrival at the Towers, the Earl and Countess in the garb of deep mourning were walking together down the Holly Walk. We do not know why they chose that peculiar place, fraught with so many sad recollections; however, they silently trod the verdant path, and seated themselves on the selfsame bench where young Ravensworth had last sat, where Lady Florence and Ellen rested on the morning of his departure.
"Ellen," said the Earl, "we have now been united for twelve years, and never has one unkind word or action marred my domestic bliss; you have been my partner in joy, my solace in woe, and as our family tree is stript leaf by leaf, and we two, and our bud Augusta are alone left, I often think what should I do without you."