“The ways of Providence are inscrutable,” observed Wood.

“When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm.  It was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body had never been found.  Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred.”

“I think I remember reading something about your father in the papers,” observed Wood.  “Wasn’t he in some way connected with the Jacobite plots?”

“He was,” replied Thames.  “He had been many years in this country before his assassination took place.  In this letter, which is addressed to my ill-fated mother, he speaks of his friendship for Sir Rowland, whom it seems he had known abroad; but entreats her to keep the marriage secret for a time, for reasons which are not fully developed.”

“And so Sir Rowland murdered his friend,” remarked Wood.  “Crime upon crime.”

“Unconsciously, perhaps,” replied Thames.  “But be it as it may, he is now beyond the reach of earthly punishment.”

“But Wild still lives,” cried Wood.

“He; also, has paid the penalty of his offences,” returned Thames.  “He has fallen by the hand of Blueskin, who brought me these packets.”

“Thank God for that!” cried Wood, heartily.  “I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—­No, not quite that,” he added, a little confused.

“And now,” said Thames, (for we must still preserve the name,) “you will no longer defer my happiness.”

“Hold!” interposed Winifred, gravely.  “I release you from your promise.  A carpenter’s daughter is no fit match for a peer of France.”

“If my dignity must be purchased by the loss of you, I renounce it,” cried Thames.  “You will not make it valueless in my eyes,” he added, catching her in his arms, and pressing her to his breast.

“Be it as you please,” replied Winifred.  “My lips would belie my heart were I to refuse you.”

“And now, father, your blessing—­your consent!” cried Thames.

“You have both,” replied Wood, fervently.  “I am too much honoured—­too happy in the union.  Oh! that I should live to be father-in-law to a peer of France!  What would my poor wife say to it, if she could come to life again?  Oh, Thames!—­my lord marquis, I mean—­you have made me the happiest—­the proudest of mankind.”

Not many days after this event, on a bright October morning, the bells rang a merry peal from the old gray tower of Willesden church.  All the village was assembled in the churchyard.  Young and old were dressed in their gayest apparel; and it was evident from the smiles that lighted up every countenance, from the roguish looks of the younger swains, and the demure expression of several pretty rustic maidens, that a ceremony, which never fails to interest all classes,—­a wedding,—­was about to take place.