Twelve months after the events recorded in this romance of the Wye, a
boat-tourist descending the picturesque river, and inquiring about a
pagoda-like structure he will see on its western side, would be told it
is a summer-house, standing in the ornamental grounds of a gentleman's
residence. If he ask who the gentleman is, the answer would be, Captain
Vivian Ryecroft! For the ex-officer of Hussars is now the master of
Llangorren; and, what he himself values higher, the husband of
Gwendoline Wynn, once more its mistress.
Were the tourist an acquaintance of either, and on his way to make call
at the Court, bringing in by the little dock, he would there see a
row-boat, on its stern board, in gold lettering "_The Gwendoline_."
For the pretty pleasure craft has been restored to its ancient moorings.
Still, however, remaining the property of Joseph Preece, who no longer
lives in the cast-off cottage of Coracle Dick, but, like the boat
itself, is again back and in service at Llangorren.
If the day be fine this venerable and versatile individual will be
loitering beside it, or seated on one of its thwarts, pipe in mouth,
indulging in the _dolce far niente_. And little besides has he to do,
since his pursuits are no longer varied, but now exclusively confined to
the calling of waterman to the Court. He and his craft are under
charter for the remainder of his life, should he wish it so--as he
surely will.
The friendly visitor keeping on up to the house, if at the hour of
luncheon, will in all likelihood there meet a party of old
acquaintances--ours, if not his. Besides the beautiful hostess at the
table's head, he will see a lady of the "antique brocaded type," who
herself once presided there, by name Miss Dorothea Linton; another known
as Miss Eleanor Lees; and a fourth, youngest of the quartette, _yclept_
Kate Mahon. For the school girl of the Boulogne Convent has escaped
from its austere studies; and is now most; part of her time resident
with the friend she helped to escape from its cloisters.
Men there will also be at the Llangorren luncheon table; likely three of
them, in addition to the host himself. One will be Major Mahon; a
second the Reverend William Musgrave; and the third, Mr George
Shenstone! Yes; George Shenstone, under the roof, and seated at the
table of Gwendoline Wynn, now the wife of Vivian Ryecroft!
To explain a circumstance seemingly so singular, it is necessary to call
in the aid of a saying, culled from that language richest of all others
in moral and metaphysical imagery--the Spanish. It has a proverb, _un
claco saca otro claco_--"one nail drives out the other." And, watching
the countenance of the baronet's son, so long sad and clouded, seeing
how, at intervals, it brightens up--these intervals when his eyes meet
those of Kate Mahon--it were easy predicting that in his case the adage
will ere long have additional verification.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Were the same tourist to descend the Wye at a date posterior, and again
make a call at Llangorren, he would find that some changes had taken
place in the interval of his absence. At the boat dock Old Joe would
likely be. But not as before in sole charge of the pleasure craft; only
pottering about, as a pensioner retired on full pay; the acting and
active officer being a younger man, by name Wingate, who is now waterman
to the Court. Between these two, however, there is no spite about the
displacement--no bickerings nor heartburnings. How could there, since
the younger addresses the older as "uncle"; himself in return being
styled "nevvy?"
No need to say, that this relationship has been brought about by the
bright eyes of Amy Preece. Nor is it so new. In the lodge where Jack
and Joe live together is a brace of chubby chicks; one of them a boy--
the possible embryo of a Wye waterman--who, dandled upon old Joe's
knees, takes delight in weeding his frosted whiskers, while calling him
"good grandaddy."
As Jack's mother--who is also a member of this happy family--forewarned
him, the wildest grief must in time give way, and Nature's laws assert
their supremacy. So has he found it; and though still holding Mary
Morgan in sacred, honest remembrance, he--as many a true man before, and
others as true to come--has yielded to the inevitable.
Proceeding on to the Court the friendly visitor will at certain times
there meet the same people he met before; but the majority of them
having new names or titles. An added number in two interesting olive
branches there also, with complexions struggling between _blonde_ and
_brunette_, who call Captain and Mrs Ryecroft their papa and mamma;
while the lady who was once Eleanor Lees--the "companion"--is now Mrs
Musgrave, life companion not to the _curate_ of Llangorren Church, but
its _rector_. The living having become vacant, and in the bestowal of
Llangorren's heiress, has been worthily bestowed on the Reverend
William.
Two other old faces, withal young ones, the returned tourist will see at
Llangorren--their owners on visit as himself. He might not know either
of them by the names they now bear--Sir George and Lady Shenstone. For
when he last saw them the gentleman was simply Mr Shenstone, and the
lady Miss Mahon. The old baronet is dead, and the young one, succeeding
to the title, has also taken upon himself another title--that of
husband--proving the Spanish apothegm true, both in the spirit and to
the letter.
If there be any nail capable of driving out another, it is that sent
home by the glance of an Irish girl's eye--at least so thinks Sir George
Shenstone, with good reason for thinking it.
There are two other individuals, who come and go at the Court--the only
ones holding out, and likely to hold, against change of any kind. For
Major Mahon is still Major Mahon, rolling on in his rich Irish brogue as
ever abhorrent of matrimony. No danger of his becoming a Benedict!
And as little of Miss Linton being transformed into a sage woman. It
would be strange if she should, with the love novels she continues to
devour, and the "Court Intelligence" she gulps down, keeping alive the
hallucination that she is still a belle at Bath and Cheltenham.
So ends our "Romance of the Wye;" a drama of happy _denouement_ to most
of the actors in it; and, as hoped, satisfactory to all who have been
spectators.