murdered father, Sir James de la Molle." Also they produced the
writing which Ida had found in the old Bible, and the parchment
discovered by George among the coin. These three documents formed a
chain of evidence which even officials interested for the Treasury
could not refuse to admit, and in the upshot the Crown renounced its
claims, and the property in the gold passed to the Squire, subject to
the payment of the same succession duty which he would have been
called upon to meet had he inherited a like sum from a cousin at the
present time.

And so it came to pass that when the mortgage money was due it was
paid to the last farthing, capital and interest, and Edward Cossey
lost his hold upon Honham for ever.

As for Edward Cossey himself, we may say one more word about him. In
the course of time he sufficiently recovered from his violent passion
for Ida to allow him to make a brilliant marriage with the only
daughter of an impecunious peer. She keeps her name and title and he
plays the part of the necessary husband. Anyhow, my reader, if it is
your fortune to frequent the gilded saloons of the great, you may meet
Lady Honoria Tallton and Mr. Cossey. If you do meet him, however, it
may be as well to avoid him, for the events of his life have not been
of a nature to improve his temper. This much then of Edward Cossey.

If after leaving the gilded saloons aforesaid you should happen to
wander through the London streets, you may meet another character in
this history. You may see a sweet pale face, still stamped with a
child-like roundness and simplicity, but half hidden in the coarse
hood of the nun. You may see her, and if you care to follow you may
find what is the work wherein she seeks her peace. It would shock you;
but it is her work of mercy and loving kindness and she does it
unflinchingly. Among her sister nuns there is no one more beloved than
Sister Agnes. So good-bye to her also.

Harold Quaritch and Ida were married in the spring and the village
children strewed the churchyard path with primroses and violets--the
same path where in anguish of soul they had met and parted on that
dreary winter's night.

And there at the old church door, when the wreath is on her brow and
the veil about her face, let us bid farewell to Ida and her husband,
Harold Quaritch.

THE END

End of Project Gutenberg's Colonel Quaritch, V.C., by H. Rider Haggard

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