Very soon after the events recorded in the last chapter, the Reading Party broke up, and it only remains now for the writer of this veracious narrative to disclose any information he may have subsequently obtained as to the fate of his characters.  Porkington still holds an honoured position in the University, and still continues to take young men in the summer vacation to such places as Mrs. Porkington considers sufficiently invigorating to her constitution.  They grow better friends every year, but the grey mare will always be the better horse.  One cause of difference has disappeared.  The Drag died very shortly after leaving Babbicombe; not at all, I believe, in consequence of her ducking in the harbour; but, being of a peevish and “worritting” disposition, she had worn herself out in her attempts to make other people’s lives a burden to them.  I do not know what has become of Harry Barton; but I know that he has never revisited Babbicombe, nor even written to the fair Nelly.  I suppose he is helping to manage his father’s cotton mill, and will in due course marry the daughter of a wealthy manufacturer.  Glenville has become quite a rising barrister, popular in both branches of his profession, and has announced his fixed intention to remain happy and unmarried till his death.  Looking into the future, however, with the eye of a prophet, the present writer thinks he can see Glenville walking arm in arm with a tall, graceful lady, attended by two little girls to whom he is laughingly talking—­but the dream fades from me, and I wonder will it ever come true.  Thornton, of course, married Miss Delamere (how could it be otherwise), but, alas! there are no children, and this unhappy want is hardly compensated by the indefatigable attentions of Mamma Delamere, who is never weary of condoling with that poor, desolate couple, imploring them to resign themselves to the fate which has been assigned to them, and to strengthen their minds by the principles of true philosophy and the writings of great thinkers; by which she hopes they may acquire that harmony of the soul in private life which is so much to be desiderated in both politics and religion.  Nobody knows what she means.

Nelly was not forgiven for one whole year.  When she and Hawkstone met, they used only the customary expressions of mere acquaintances; but lovers are known to make use of signals which are unperceived by the outside world; and, after a year’s skirmishing, a peace was finally concluded, and a happier couple than John Hawkstone and Nelly cannot be found in the whole country, and I am afraid to say how many of their children are already tumbling about the boats in the harbour.

The colonel died, and Mrs. Bagshaw lamented his death most truly, and has nothing but gentleness left in her nature.  Her daughter has married the young artist, whose pictures of brown-sailed boats and fresh seas breaking in white foam against the dark rocks have become quite the rage at the Academy.  The minor characters have disappeared beneath the waves, and nothing remains to be said except the last word, “farewell.”