"Yes, dear," was the reply.
"And you think you will continue to love me as much as you did at first, darling?" demanded the newly married man of his young wife.
"Oh! Van; how can you ask such a question?" exclaimed the bride. "Why, I love you more and more every minute."
"Then give hubby a pretty kiss," was the rejoinder.
Two pouting rosebuds were thrust upwards into the husband's face, upon which he settled like a bee upon a flower extracting nectar and ambrosia; and thus we will leave them.
L'ENVOI.
A universal gloom pervaded the precincts of the Wonder Club since the departure of the happy pair, which none felt more than Mr. Oldstone. Not but that he was delighted at the union of his protégé with the landlord's pretty daughter, whom he begrudged to anyone short of a gentleman. That his dear Helen, whom he loved as his own child, should have had the good fortune to marry, not only a gentleman, but the very one that he himself would have singled out for her, was the realization of his happiest dreams. He knew they were happy, and revelled in the thought of their happiness. Still, they had gone out of his life and formed one of their own, apart. Her sunny smile would no more light up the dingy walls of the old hostel. He would hear no more the ring of her merry laugh, could no longer peer into her deep blue eyes, nor delight in her exquisitely white teeth, her rosy cheeks or coral lips; and added to this, his health that had for some time past been failing him, now thoroughly broke down, and he knew his end was not far off. So he penned a letter to his friend Rustcoin, who was still living in Rome, to come over to see him before he died, as he had much to say to him.
Besides the breaking down of our antiquary's health, the club itself, as if by one accord, began to break up. Mr. Blackdeed went to London and became manager of a large theatre. Dr. Bleedem also retired to a fashionable quarter of the metropolis, where he soon had an extensive practice. Mr. Parnassus became editor of a paper at Bath, and published a volume of poems. Professor Cyanite and Mr. Crucible likewise disappeared. The former travelled about the country giving lectures on geology. The latter bought a house near town, where he pursued his studies in chemistry.
Thus our antiquary was now left quite alone; i.e., with the exception of Mr. Hardcase. He managed to pass the time by writing voluminously, as if he intended to finish some important work before he died. In his intervals of rest from his labours, he would frequently take solitary rambles in the woods adjacent to the inn, or along one of the cross roads. On one of these excursions his footsteps led him to the old churchyard of Littleboro' with its old yews and cypress. As he entered the gate, the sexton was at work digging a grave. The man ceased his labour at his approach; and, seating himself on the edge, began to fill his pipe, which he next lighted and began puffing at, apparently oblivious of anybody's presence.