Act III
Scene, same as Act II.
Belvawney discovered with Miss Treherne and Minnie. He is singing to them. Miss Treherne is leaning romantically on piano. Minnie is seated on a stool.
Bel. (sings).
“Says the old Obadiah to the young Obadiah,
I am drier, Obadiah, I am drier.”
Chorus.
“I am drier.”
Bel.
“Says the young Obadiah to the old Obadiah,
I’m on fire, Obadiah, I’m on fire.”
Chorus.
“I’m on fire.”
Min. Oh, thank you, Mr. Belvawney. How sweetly pretty that is. Where can I get it?
Miss T. How marvellous is the power of melody over the soul that is fretted and harassed by anxiety and doubt. I can understand how valuable must have been the troubadours of old, in the troublous times of anarchy. Your song has soothed me, sir.
Bel. I am indeed glad to think that I have comforted you a little, dear ladies.
Min. Dear Mr. Belvawney, I don’t know what we should have done without you. What with your sweet songs, your amusing riddles, and your clever conjuring tricks, the weary days of waiting have passed like a delightful dream.
Miss T. It is impossible to be dull in the society of one who can charm the soul with plaintive ballads one moment, and the next roll a rabbit and a guinea-pig into one.
Bel. You make me indeed happy, dear ladies. But my joy will be of brief duration, for Cheviot may return at any moment with the news that the fatal cottage was in Scotland, and then—Oh, Belinda, what is to become of me?
Miss T. How many issues depend on that momentous question? Has Belvawney a thousand a year, or is he ruined? Has your father that convenient addition to his income, or has he not? May Maggie marry Angus, or will her claim on Cheviot be satisfied? Are you to be his cherished bride, or are you destined to a life of solitary maidenhood? Am I Cheviot’s honoured wife, or am I but a broken-hearted and desolate spinster? Who can tell! Who can tell! [Crosses to Minnie.
Bel. (goes to window in second drawing-room). Here is a cab with luggage—it is Cheviot! He has returned with the news! Ladies—one word before I go. One of you will be claimed by Cheviot, that is very clear. To that one (whichever it may be) I do not address myself—but to the other (whichever it may be), I say, I love you (whichever you are) with a fervour which I cannot describe in words. If you (whichever you are) will consent to cast your lot with mine, I will devote my life to proving that I love you and you only (whichever it may be) with a single-hearted and devoted passion, which precludes the possibility of my ever entertaining the slightest regard for any other woman in the whole world. I thought I would just mention it. Good morning!
[Exit Belvawney.
Miss T. How beautifully he expresses himself. He is indeed a rare and radiant being.
Min. (nervously). Oh, Belinda, the terrible moment is at hand.
Miss T. Minnie, if dear Cheviot should prove to be my husband, swear to me that that will not prevent your coming to stop with us—with dear Cheviot and me—whenever you can.
Min. Indeed I will. And if it should turn out that dear Cheviot is at liberty to marry me, promise me that that will not prevent you looking on our house—on dear Cheviot’s and mine—as your home.
Miss T. I swear it. We will be like dear, dear sisters.
Enter Cheviot, as from journey, with bag and rug.
Miss T. Cheviot, tell me at once—are you my own—husband?
Min. Cheviot, speak—is poor, little, simple Minnie to be your bride?
Ch. Minnie, the hope of my heart, my pet fruit tree! Belinda, my Past, my Present, and my To Come! I have sorry news, sorry news.
Miss T. (aside). Sorry news! Then I am not his wife.
Min. (aside). Sorry news! Then she is his wife.
Ch. My dear girls—my very dear girls, my journey has been fruitless—I have no information.
Miss T. and Min. No information!
Ch. None. The McQuibbigaskie has gone abroad! (Both ladies fall weeping.)
Miss T. More weary waiting! more weary waiting!
Min. Oh, my breaking heart; oh, my poor bruised and breaking heart!
Ch. We must be patient, dear Belinda. Minnie, my own, we must be patient. After all, is the situation so very terrible? Each of you has an even chance of becoming my wife, and in the mean time I look upon myself as engaged to both of you. I shall make no distinction. I shall love you both, fondly, and you shall both love me. My affection shall be divided equally between you, and we will be as happy as three little birds.
Miss T. (wiping her eyes). You are very kind and thoughtful, dear Cheviot.
Min. I believe, in my simple little way, that you are the very best man in the whole world!
Ch. (deprecatingly). No, no.
Min. Ah, but do let me think so: it makes me so happy to think so!
Ch. Does it? Well, well, be it so. Perhaps I am! And now tell me, how has the time passed since I left? Have my darlings been dull?
Miss T. We should have been dull indeed but for the airy Belvawney. The sprightly creature has done his best to make the lagging hours fly. He is an entertaining rattlesnake—I should say, rattletrap.
Ch. (jealous). Oh, is he so? Belvawney has been making the hours fly, has he? I’ll make him fly, when I catch him!
Min. His conjuring tricks are wonderful!
Ch. Confound his conjuring tricks!
Min. Have you seen him bring a live hen, two hair brushes, and a pound and a half of fresh butter out of his pocket-handkerchief!
Ch. No, I have not had that advantage!
Miss T. It is a thrilling sight.
Ch. So I should be disposed to imagine! Pretty goings on in my absence! you seem to forget that you two girls are engaged to be married to me!
Miss T. Ah, Cheviot! do not judge us harshly. We love you with a reckless fervour that thrills us to the very marrow—don’t we, darling? But the hours crept heavily without you, and when, to lighten the gloom in which we were plunged, the kindly creature swallowed a live rabbit and brought it out, smothered in onions, from his left boot, we could not choose but smile. The good soul has promised to teach me the trick.
Ch. Has he? That’s his confounded impudence. Now, once for all, I’ll have nothing of this kind. One of you will be my wife, and until I know which, I will permit no Belvawneying of any kind whatever, or anything approaching thereto. When that is settled, the other may Belvawney until she is black in the face.
Miss T. And how long have we to wait before we shall know which of us may begin Belvawneying?
Ch. I can’t say. It may be some time. The McQuibbigaskie has gone to Central Africa. No post can reach him, and he will not return for six years.
Miss T. Six years! Oh, I cannot wait six years! Why in six years I shall be eight-and-twenty!
Min. Six years! Why, in six years the Statute of Limitations will come in, and he can renounce us both.
Miss T. True; you are quite right. (To Cheviot.) Cheviot, I have loved you madly, desperately, as other woman never loved other man. This poor inexperienced child, who clings to me as the ivy clings to the oak, also loves you as woman never loved before. Even that poor cottage maiden, whose rustic heart you so recklessly enslaved, worships you with a devotion that has no parallel in the annals of the heart. In return for all this unalloyed affection, all we ask of you is that you will recommend us to a respectable solicitor.
Ch. But, my dear children, reflect—I can’t marry all three. I am most willing to consider myself engaged to all three, and that’s as much as the law will allow. You see I do all I can. I’d marry all three of you with pleasure, if I might; but, as our laws stand at present, I’m sorry to say—I’m very sorry to say—it’s out of the question.
[Exit Cheviot.
Miss T. Poor fellow. He has my tenderest sympathy; but we have no alternative but to place ourselves under the protecting ægis of a jury of our countrymen!
Enter Symperson, with two letters.
Sym. Minnie—Miss Treherne—the post has just brought me two letters; one of them bears a Marseilles post-mark, and is, I doubt not, from the McQuibbigaskie! He must have written just before starting for Central Africa!
Min. From the McQuibbigaskie? Oh, read, read!
Miss T. Oh, sir! how can you torture us by this delay? Have you no curiosity?
Sym. Well, my dear, very little on this point; you see it don’t much matter to me whom Cheviot marries. So that he marries some one, that’s enough for me. But, however, your anxiety is natural, and I will gratify it. (Opens letter and reads.) “Sir,—In reply to your letter, I have to inform you that Evan Cottage is certainly in England. The deeds relating to the property place this beyond all question.”
Min. In England!
Miss T. (sinking into a chair). This blow is indeed a crusher Against such a blow I cannot stand up! (Faints.)
Min. (on her knees). My poor Belinda—my darling sister—love—oh forgive me—oh forgive me! Don’t look like that! Speak to me, dearest—oh speak to me—speak to me.
Miss T. (suddenly springing up). Speak to you? Yes, I’ll speak to you! All is not yet lost! True, he is not married to me, but why should he not be? I am as young as you! I am as beautiful as you! I have more money than you! I will try—oh how hard will I try!
Min. Do, darling; and I wish—oh how I wish you may get him!
Miss T. Minnie, if you were not the dearest little friend I have in the world I could pinch you!
[Exit Belinda.
Sym. (who has been reading the other letter). Dear me—how terrible!
Min. What is terrible, dear papa?
Sym. Belvawney writes to tell me the Indestructible Bank stopped payment yesterday, and Cheviot’s shares are waste paper.
Min. Well, upon my word. There’s an end of him!
Sym. An end of him. What do you mean? You are not going to throw him over?
Min. Dear papa, I am sorry to disappoint you, but unless your tom-tit is very much mistaken, the Indestructible was not registered under the Joint-Stock Companies Act of Sixty-two, and in that case the shareholders are jointly and severally liable to the whole extent of their available capital. Poor little Minnie don’t pretend to have a business head; but she’s not quite such a little donkey as that, dear papa.
Sym. You decline to marry him? Do I hear rightly?
Min. I don’t know, papa, whether your hearing is as good as it was, but from your excited manner, I should say you heard me perfectly.
[Exit Minnie.
Sym. This is a pretty business! Done out of a thousand a year; and by my own daughter! What a terrible thing is this incessant craving after money! Upon my word, some people seem to think that they’re sent into the world for no other purpose but to acquire wealth; and, by Jove, they’ll sacrifice their nearest and dearest relations to get it. It’s most humiliating—most humiliating!
Enter Cheviot, in low spirits.
Ch. (throwing himself into a chair; sobs aloud). Oh Uncle Symperson, have you heard the news?
Sym. (angrily). Yes, I have heard the news; and a pretty man of business you are to invest all your property in an unregistered company!
Ch. Uncle, don’t you turn against me! Belinda is not my wife! I’m a ruined man; and my darlings—my three darlings, whom I love with a fidelity, which, in these easy-going days, is simply Quixotic—will have nothing to say to me. Minnie, your daughter, declines to accompany me to the altar. Belinda, I feel sure will revert to Belvawney, and Maggie is at this present moment hanging round that Scotch idiot’s neck, although she knows that in doing so she simply tortures me. Symperson, I never loved three girls as I loved those three—never! never! and now they’ll all three slip through my fingers—I’m sure they will!
Sym. Pooh, pooh, sir. Do you think nobody loses but you? Why, I’m done out of a thousand a year by it.
Ch. (moodily). For that matter, Symperson, I’ve a very vivid idea that you won’t have to wait long for the money.
Sym. What d’you mean? Oh—of course—I understand.
Ch. Eh?
Sym. Mrs. Macfarlane! I have thought of her myself. A very fine woman for her years; a majestic ruin, beautiful in decay. My dear boy, my very dear boy, I congratulate you.
Ch. Don’t be absurd. I’m not going to marry anybody.
Sym. Eh? Why, then how—? I don’t think I quite follow you.
Ch. There is another contingency on which you come into the money. My death.
Sym. To be sure! I never thought of that! And, as you say, a man can die but once.
Ch. I beg your pardon. I didn’t say anything of the kind—you said it; but it’s true, for all that.
Sym. I’m very sorry; but, of course, if you have made up your mind to it——
Ch. Why, when a man’s lost everything, what has he to live for?
Sym. True, true. Nothing whatever. Still——
Ch. His money gone, his credit gone, the three girls he’s engaged to gone.
Sym. I cannot deny it. It is a hopeless situation. Hopeless, quite hopeless.
Ch. His happiness wrecked, his hopes blighted; the three trees upon which the fruit of his heart was growing—all cut down. What is left but suicide?
Sym. True, true! You’re quite right. Farewell. (Going.)
Ch. Symperson, you seem to think I want to kill myself. I don’t want to do anything of the kind. I’d much rather live—upon my soul I would—if I could think of any reason for living. Symperson, can’t you think of something to check the heroic impulse which is at this moment urging me to a tremendous act of self-destruction?
Sym. Something! Of course I can! Say that you throw yourself into the Serpentine—which is handy. Well, it’s an easy way of going out of the world, I’m told—rather pleasant than otherwise, I believe—quite an agreeable sensation, I’m given to understand. But you—you get wet through; and your—your clothes are absolutely ruined!
Ch. (mournfully). For that matter, I could take off my clothes before I went in.
Sym. True, so you could. I never thought of that. You could take them off before you go in—there’s no reason why you shouldn’t, if you do it in the dark—and that objection falls to the ground. Cheviot, my lion-hearted boy, it’s impossible to resist your arguments, they are absolutely convincing. (Shakes his hand.)
[Exit.
Ch. Good fellow, Symperson—I like a man who’s open to conviction! But it’s no use—all my attractions are gone—and I can not live unless I feel I’m fascinating. Still, there’s one chance left—Belinda! I haven’t tried her. Perhaps, after all, she loved me for myself alone! It isn’t likely—but it’s barely possible.
Enter Belvawney, who has overheard these words.
Bel. Out of the question; you are too late! I represented to her that you are never likely to induce any one to marry you now that you are penniless. She felt that my income was secure, and she gave me her hand and her heart.
Ch. Then all is lost; my last chance is gone, and the irrevocable die is cast! Be happy with her, Belvawney; be happy with her!
Bel. Happy! You shall dine with us after our honeymoon and judge for yourself.
Ch. No, I shall not do that; long before you return I shall be beyond the reach of dinners.
Bel. I understand—you are going abroad. Well, I don’t think you could do better than try another country.
Ch. (tragically). Belvawney, I’m going to try another world! (Drawing a pistol from his pocket.)
Bel. (alarmed). What do you mean?
Ch. In two minutes I die!
Bel. You’re joking, of course?
Ch. Do I look like a man who jokes? Is my frame of mind one in which a man indulges in trivialities?
Bel. (in great terror). But my dear Cheviot, reflect—
Ch. Why should it concern you? You will be happy with Belinda. You will not be well off, but Symperson will, and I dare say he will give you a meal now and then. It will not be a nice meal, but still it will be a meal.
Bel. Cheviot, you mustn’t do this; pray reflect; there are interests of magnitude depending on your existence.
Ch. My mind is made up. (Cocking the pistol.)
Bel. (wildly). But I shall be ruined!
Ch. There is Belinda’s fortune.
Bel. She won’t have me if I’m ruined! Dear Cheviot, don’t do it—it’s culpable—it’s wrong!
Ch. Life is valueless to me without Belinda. (Pointing the pistol to his head.)
Bel. (desperately). You shall have Belinda; she is much—very much to me, but she is not everything. Your life is very dear to me; and when I think of our old friendship——! Cheviot, you shall have anything you like, if you’ll only consent to live!
Ch. If I thought you were in earnest; but no—no. (Putting pistol to head.)
Bel. In earnest? of course I’m in earnest! Why what’s the use of Belinda to me if I’m ruined? Why she wouldn’t look at me.
Ch. But perhaps if I’m ruined, she wouldn’t look at me.
Bel. Cheviot, I’ll confess all, if you’ll only live. You—you are not ruined!
Ch. Not ruined?
Bel. Not ruined. I—I invented the statement.
Ch. (in great delight). You invented the statement? My dear friend! My very dear friend! I’m very much obliged to you! Oh, thank you, thank you a thousand times! Oh, Belvawney, you have made me very, very happy! (Sobbing on his shoulder, then suddenly springing up.) But what the devil did you mean by circulating such a report about me? How dare you do it, sir? Answer me that, sir.
Bel. I did it to gain Belinda’s love. I knew that the unselfish creature loved you for your wealth alone.
Ch. It was a liberty, sir; it was a liberty. To put it mildly, it was a liberty.
Bel. It was. You’re quite right—that’s the word for it—it was a liberty. But I’ll go and undeceive her at once.
[Exit Belvawney.
Ch. Well, as I’ve recovered my fortune, and with it my tree, I’m about the happiest fellow in the world. My money, my mistress, and my mistress’s money, all my own. I believe I could go mad with joy!
Enter Symperson, in deep black; he walks pensively, with a white handkerchief to his mouth.
Ch. What’s the matter?
Sym. Hallo! You’re still alive?
Ch. Alive? Yes; why (noticing his dress), is anything wrong?
Sym. No, no, my dear young friend, these clothes are symbolical; they represent my state of mind. After your terrible threat, which I cannot doubt you intend to put at once into execution——
Ch. My dear uncle, this is very touching; this unmans me. But, cheer up, dear old friend, I have good news for you.
Sym. (alarmed). Good news? What do you mean?
Ch. I am about to remove the weight of sorrow which hangs so heavily at your heart. Resume your fancy check trousers—I have consented to live.
Sym. Consented to live? Why, sir, this is confounded trifling. I don’t understand this line of conduct at all; you threaten to commit suicide; your friends are dreadfully shocked at first, but eventually their minds become reconciled to the prospect of losing you, they become resigned, even cheerful; and when they have brought themselves to this Christian state of mind, you coolly inform them that you have changed your mind and mean to live. It’s not business, sir—it’s not business.
Ch. But, my dear uncle, I’ve nothing to commit suicide for; I’m a rich man, and Belinda will, no doubt, accept me with joy and gratitude.
Sym. Belinda will do nothing of the kind. She has just left the house with Belvawney, in a cab, and under the most affectionate circumstances.
Ch. (alarmed). Left with Belvawney? Where have they gone?
Sym. I don’t know. Very likely to get married.
Ch. Married?
Sym. Yes, before the registrar.
Ch. I’ve been sold! I see that now! Belvawney has done me! But I’m not the kind of man who stands such treatment quietly. Belvawney has found his match. Symperson, they may get married, but, they shall not be happy; I’ll be revenged on them both before they’re twenty-four hours older. She marries him because she thinks his income is secure. I’ll show her she’s wrong; I won’t blow out my brains; I’ll do worse.
Sym. What?
Ch. I’ll marry.
Sym. Marry?
Ch. Anybody. I don’t care who it is.
Sym. Will Minnie do?
Ch. Minnie will do; send her here.
Sym. In one moment, my dear boy—in one moment!
[Exit Symperson, hurriedly.
Ch. Belinda alone in a cab with Belvawney! It’s maddening to think of it! He’s got his arm round her waist at this moment, if I know anything of human nature! I can’t stand it—I cannot and I will not stand it! I’ll write at once to the registrar and tell him she’s married (sits at writing table and prepares to write). Oh, why am I constant by disposition? Why is it that when I love a girl I can think of no other girl but that girl, whereas, when a girl loves me she seems to entertain the same degree of affection for mankind at large? I’ll never be constant again; henceforth I fascinate but to deceive!
Enter Minnie.
Min. Mr. Cheviot Hill, papa tells me that you wish to speak to me.
Ch. (hurriedly—writing at table). I do. Miss Symperson, I have no time to beat about the bush; I must come to the point at once. You rejected me a short time since—I will not pretend that I am pleased with you for rejecting me—on the contrary, I think it was in the worst taste. However, let bygones be bygones. Unforeseen circumstances render it necessary that I should marry at once, and you’ll do. An early answer will be esteemed, as this is business. (Resumes his writing.)
Min. Mr. Hill, dear papa assures me that the report about the loss of your money is incorrect. I hope this may be the case, but I cannot forget that the information comes from dear papa. Now dear papa is the best and dearest papa in the whole world, but he has a lively imagination, and when he wants to accomplish his purpose, he does not hesitate to invent—I am not quite sure of the word, but I think it is “bouncers.”
Ch. (writing). You are quite right, the word is bouncers. Bouncers or bangers—either will do.
Min. Then forgive my little silly fancies, Mr. Hill; but, before I listen to your suggestion, I must have the very clearest proof that your position is, in every way, fully assured.
Ch. Mercenary little donkey! I will not condescend to proof. I renounce her altogether. (Rings bell.)
Enter Maggie with Angus and Mrs. Macfarlane. Angus has his arm round her waist.
Ch. (suddenly seeing her). Maggie, come here. Angus, do take your arm from round that girl’s waist. Stand back, and don’t you listen. Maggie, three months ago I told you that I loved you passionately; to-day I tell you that I love you as passionately as ever; I may add that I am still a rich man. Can you oblige me with a postage-stamp? (Maggie gives him a stamp from her pocket—he sticks it on to his letter.) What do you say? I must trouble you for an immediate answer, as this is not pleasure—it’s business.
Mag. Oh, sir, ye’re ower late. Oh, Maister Cheviot, if I’d only ken’d it before! Oh, sir, I love ye right weel; the bluid o’ my hairt is nae sae dear to me as thou. (Sobbing on his shoulder.) Oh, Cheviot, my ain auld love! my ain auld love!
Ang. (aside). Puir lassie, it just dra’s the water from my ee to hear her. Oh, mither, mither! my hairt is just breaking. (Sobs on Mrs. Macfarlane’s shoulder.)
Ch. But why is it too late? You say that you love me. I offer to marry you. My station in life is at least equal to your own. What is to prevent our union?
Mag. (wiping her eyes). Oh, sir, ye’re unco guid to puir little Maggie, but ye’re too late; for she’s placed the matter in her solicitor’s hands, and he tells her that an action for breach will just bring damages to the tune of a thousand pound. There’s a laddie waiting outside noo, to serve the bonnie writ on ye! (Turns affectionately to Angus.)
Ch. (falling sobbing on to sofa). No one will marry me. There is a curse upon me—a curse upon me. No one will marry me—no, not one!
Mrs. Mac. Dinna say that, sir. There’s mony a woman—nae young, soft, foolish lassie, neither; but grown women o’ sober age, who’d be mair a mither than a wife to ye; and that’s what ye want, puir laddie, for ye’re no equal to takin’ care o’ yersel’.
Ch. Mrs. Macfarlane, you are right. I am a man of quick impulse. I see, I feel, I speak. I—you are the tree upon which—that is to say—no, no, d——n it, I can’t; I can’t! One must draw the line somewhere. (Turning from her with disgust.)
Enter Miss Treherne and Belvawney. They are followed by Symperson and Minnie.
Ch. Belinda! Can I believe my eyes? You have returned to me, you have not gone off with Belvawney after all? Thank heaven, thank heaven!
Miss T. I thought that, as I came in, I heard you say something about a tree.
Ch. You are right. As you entered I was remarking that I am a man of quick impulse. I see, I feel, I speak. I have two thousand a year, and I love you passionately. I lay my hand, my heart, and my income, all together, in one lot, at your feet!
Miss T. Cheviot, I love you with an irresistible fervour, that seems to parch my very existence. I love you as I never loved man before, and as I can never hope to love man again. But, in the belief that you were ruined, I went with my own adored Belvawney before the registrar, and that registrar has just made us one! (Turns affectionately to Belvawney.)
Bel. (embraces Belinda). Bless him for it—bless him for it!
Ch. (deadly calm). One word. I have not yet seen the letter that blights my earthly hopes. For form’s sake, I trust I may be permitted to cast my eye over that document? As a matter of business—that’s all.
Bel. Certainly. Here it is. You will find the situation of the cottage described in unmistakable terms. (Hands the letter to Cheviot.)
Ch. (reads). “In reply to your letter I have to inform you that Evan Cottage is certainly in England. The deeds relating to the property place this beyond all question.” Thank you; I am satisfied. (Takes out pistol.)
Bel. Now, sir, perhaps you will kindly release that young lady. She is my wife! (Cheviot’s arm has crept mechanically round Miss Treherne’s waist.)
Miss T. Oh, Cheviot! kindly release me—I am his wife!
Ch. Crushed! Crushed! Crushed!
Sym. (looking over his shoulder at letter, reads). “Turn over.”
Ch. (despairingly). Why should I? What good would it do? Oh! I see. I beg your pardon! (Turns over the page.) Halloa! (Rises.)
All. What?
Ch. (reads). “P.S.—I may add that the border line runs through the property. The cottage is undoubtedly in England, though the garden is in Scotland.”
Miss T. And we were married in the garden!
Ch. Belinda, we were married in the garden!
[Belinda leaves Belvawney, and turns affectionately to Cheviot, who embraces her.]
Bel. Belinda, stop a bit! don’t leave me like this!
Miss T. (crosses to Belvawney). Belvawney, I love you with an intensity of devotion that I firmly believe will last while I live. But dear Cheviot is my husband now; he has a claim upon me which it would be impossible—nay, criminal—to resist. Farewell, Belvawney; Minnie may yet be yours! (Belvawney turns sobbing to Minnie, who comforts him; Miss T. crosses back to Cheviot.) Cheviot—my husband—my own old love—if the devotion of a lifetime can atone for the misery of the last few days, it is yours, with every wifely sentiment of pride, gratitude, admiration, and love.
Ch. (embracing her). My own! my own! Tender blossom of my budding hopes! Star of my life! Essence of happiness! Tree upon which the fruit of my heart is growing! My Past, my Present, my To Come!
[Picture.—Cheviot embracing Miss Treherne. Belvawney is being comforted by Minnie. Angus is solacing Maggie, and Mrs. Macfarlane is reposing on Mr. Symperson’s bosom.