At this moment Jenkinson and the gaoler’s two servants entered, hauling in a tall man very genteelly dressed.  As soon as Mr. Thornhill perceived the prisoner and Mr. Jenkinson, he seemed to shrink backward with terror, for this was the man whom he had put upon the carrying off of Sophia.

“Heavens,” cried Sir William, “what a viper have I been fostering in my bosom!”

“As Mr. Thornhill and I have been old fellow-sporters,” said Jenkinson, “I have a friendship for him; and I hope he will show a proper return of friendship to his own honest Jenkinson, who brings him a wife.”

So saying, he went off and left us.

“I am surprised,” said the baronet, “what he can intend by this?”

“When we reflect,” I replied, “on the various schemes—­Amazement!  Do I see my lost daughter?  It is—­it is my Olivia!”

“As for you, squire,” said Jenkinson, “this young lady is your lawful wedded wife.  Here is the licence to prove it.  He commissioned me, gentlemen,” he continued, “to procure him a false licence and a false priest in order to deceive this young lady.  What did I do, but went and got a true licence and a true priest.  To my shame, I confess it, my only design was to keep the licence and let the squire know that I could prove it upon him whenever I wanted money.”

“How could you,” I cried, “add to my miseries by the story of her death?”

“That,” replied Jenkinson, “is easily answered.  I thought the only probable means of freeing you from prison was by submitting to the squire, and consenting to his marriage with the other young lady.  But this you had vowed never to grant while your daughter was living, so I had to join with your wife in persuading you that she was dead.”

Mr. Thornhill’s assurance had now entirely forsaken him.  He fell on his knees before his uncle, and implored compassion.

“Thy vices, crimes, and ingratitude,” said the baronet, “deserve no compassion; but a bare competence shall be supplied thee, and thy wife shall possess a third part of that fortune which once was thine.”  Then, turning to Sophia, he caught her to his breast with ardour.  “I have sought,” he cried, “for a woman who, a stranger to my fortune, could think I had merit as a man.  How great must be my rapture to have made a conquest over such sense and such heavenly beauty!”

On the next day Sophia was wedded to Sir William Thornhill; and my son George, now freed from justice, as the person supposed to be wounded by him was detected to be an impostor, led Miss Wilmot to the altar.  As soon as I had awakened that morning, I had heard that my merchant had been arrested at Antwerp, and that my fortune had been restored to me.

It may not be improper to observe, with respect to Mr. Thornhill, that he now resides as companion at a relation’s house.  My eldest daughter has told me that when he reforms she may be brought to relent.

I had now nothing on this side of the grave to wish for.  All my cares were over.  It only remained that my gratitude in good fortune should exceed my submission in adversity.