no one else, he knew me. When he suffered
most, he bore his sufferings barely murmuring,
content to rest his head where
yours rests now. When he lay at the point
of death, he married me, that he might
call me Wife before he died. And the name,
my dear love, that I took on that forgotten
night—"

"I know it now! " he sobbed. " The shadowy
remembrance strengthens. It is come
back. I thank Heaven that my mind is quite
restored! My Mary, kiss me; lull this weary
head to rest, or I shall die of gratitude. His
parting words are fulfilled. I see Home
again!"

Well! They were happy. It was a long
recovery, but they were happy through it all.
The snow had melted on the ground, and the
birds were singing in the leafless thickets of
the early spring, when those three were first
able to ride out together, and when people
flocked about the open carriage to cheer and
congratulate Captain Richard Doubledick.

But, even then, it became necessary for the
Captain, instead of returning to England, to
complete his recovery in the climate of
Southern France. They found a spot upon
the Rhone, within a ride of the old town of
Avignon and within view of its broken
bridge, which was all they could desire;
they lived there, together, six months; then
returned to England. Mrs. Taunton growing
old after three years—though not so old as
that her bright dark eyes were dimmed—
and remembering that her strength had been
benefited by the change, resolved to go back
for a year to those parts. So, she went with
a faithful servant, who had often carried her
son in his arms; and she was to be rejoined
and escorted home, at the year's end, by
Captain Richard Doubledick.

She wrote regularly to her children (as she
called them now), and they to her. She went
to the neighbourhood of Aix; and there, in
their own chateau near the farmer's house
she rented, she grew into intimacy with a
family belonging to that part of France. The
intimacy began, in her often meeting among
the vineyards a pretty child: a girl with a
most compassionate heart, who was never
tired of listening to the solitary English
lady's stories of her poor son and the cruel
wars. The family were as gentle as the child,
and at length she came to know them so
well, that she accepted their invitation to
pass the last month of her residence abroad,
under their roof. All this intelligence she
wrote home, piecemeal as it came about, from
time to time; and, at last, enclosed a polite
note from the head of the chateau, soliciting,
on the occasion of his approaching mission
to that neighbourhood, the honour of the
company of cet homme si justement célèbre.
Monsieur le Capitaine Richard Doubledick.

Captain Doubledick; now a hardy handsome
man in the full vigour of life, broader
across the chest and shoulders than he had
ever been before; dispatched a courteous
reply, and followed it in person. Travelling
through all that extent of country after three
years of Peace, he blessed the better days on
which the world had fallen. The corn was
golden, not drenched in unnatural red; was
bound in sheaves for food, not trodden under-
foot by men in mortal fight. The smoke rose
up from peaceful hearths, not blazing ruins.
The carts were laden with the fair fruits of
the earth, not with wounds and death. To
him who had so often seen the terrible
reverse, these things were beautiful indeed,
and they brought him in a softened spirit to
the old chateau near Aix, upon a deep blue
evening.

It was a large chateau of the genuine old
ghostly kind, with round towers, and extinguishers
and a high leaden roof, and more
windows than Aladdin's Palace. The lattice
blinds were all thrown open, after the heat of
the day, and there were glimpses of rambling
walls and corridors within. Then, there were
immense outbuildings fallen into partial
decay, masses of dark trees, terrace-gardens,
balustrades; tanks of water, too weak to play
and too dirty to work; statues, weeds, and
thickets of iron-railing that seemed to have
overgrown themselves like the shrubberies,
and to have branched out in all manner of
wild shapes. The entrance doors stood open,
as doors often do in that country when the
heat of the day is past; and the Captain
saw no bell or knocker, and walked in.

He walked into a lofty stone hall, refreshingly
cool and gloomy after the glare of a
Southern day's travel. Extending along the
four sides of this hall, was a gallery, leading to
suites of rooms; and it was lighted from the
top. Still, no bell was to be seen.

"Faith," said the Captain, halting, ashamed
of the clanking of his boots, " this is a ghostly
beginning!"

He started back, and felt his face turn
white. In the gallery, looking down at him,
stood the French officer: the officer whose
picture he had carried in his mind so long
and so far. Compared with the original, at
last—in every lineament how like it was!

He moved, and disappeared, and Captain
Richard Doubledick heard his steps coming
quickly down into the hall. He entered
through an archway. There was a bright,
sudden look upon his face. Much such a
look as it had worn in that fatal moment.

Monsieur le Capitaine Richard Doubledick?
Enchanted to receive him! A thousand apologies!
The servants were all out
in the air. There was a little fête among
them in the garden. In effect, it was the
fête day of my daughter, the little cherished
and protected of Madame Taunton.

He was so gracious and so frank, that
Monsieur le Capitaine Richard Doubledick
could not withhold his hand. " It is the hand
of a brave Englishman," said the French
officer, retaining it while he spoke. "I could