rights. But
the archdeacon, who was in high good-humour,--having just bestowed
a little pony carriage on his new daughter-in-law,--only laughed
at him; and, if the rumour which was handed about the families be
true, the archdeacon, before the interview was over, had poked Mr
Crawley in the ribs. Mr. Crawley married them; but the archdeacon
assisted,--and the dean gave the bride away. The Rev. Charles Grantly
was there also; and as there was, as a matter of course, a cloud of
curates floating in the distance, Henry Grantly was perhaps to be
excused for declaring to his wife, when the pair had escaped, that
surely no couple had ever been so tightly buckled since marriage had
first become a Church ceremony.

Soon after that, Mr. and Mrs. Crawley became quiet at St Ewold's, and,
as I think, contented. Her happiness began very quickly. Though she
had been greatly broken by her troubles, the first sight she had of
her husband in his new long frock-coat went far to restore her, and
while he was declaring himself to be a cock so daubed with mud as to
be incapable of crowing, she was congratulating herself on seeing
her husband once more clothed as became his position. And they were
lucky, too, as regarded the squire's house; for Mr. Thorne was old,
and quiet, and old-fashioned; and Miss Thorne was older, and though
she was not exactly quiet, she was very old-fashioned indeed. So that
there grew to be a pleasant friendship between Miss Thorne and Mrs
Crawley.

Johnny Eames, when last I heard of him, was still a bachelor, and, as
I think, likely to remain so. At last he had utterly thrown over Sir
Raffle Buffle, declaring to his friends that the special duties of
private secretaryship were not exactly to his taste. "You get so sick
at the thirteenth private note," he said, "that you find yourself
unable to carry on the humbug any farther." But he did not leave his
office. "I'm the head of a room, you know," he told Lady Julia De
Guest; "and there's nothing to trouble me,--and a fellow, you know,
ought to have something to do." Lady Julia told him, with a great
deal of energy, that she would never forgive him if he gave up his
office. After that eventful night when he escaped ignominiously from
the house of Lady Demolines under the protection of the policeman's
lantern, he did hear more than once from Porchester Terrace, and
from allies employed by the enemy who was there resident. "My cousin,
the serjeant," proved to be a myt