Some dim perception of a great change dawned on my mind.  Laura spoke before I had quite realised it.  She stole close to me to enjoy the surprise which was still expressed in my face.

“My darling Walter,” she said, “must we really account for our boldness in coming here?  I am afraid, love, I can only explain it by breaking through our rule, and referring to the past.”

“There is not the least necessity for doing anything of the kind,” said Marian.  “We can be just as explicit, and much more interesting, by referring to the future.”  She rose and held up the child kicking and crowing in her arms.  “Do you know who this is, Walter?” she asked, with bright tears of happiness gathering in her eyes.

“Even my bewilderment has its limits,” I replied.  “I think I can still answer for knowing my own child.”

“Child!” she exclaimed, with all her easy gaiety of old times.  “Do you talk in that familiar manner of one of the landed gentry of England?  Are you aware, when I present this illustrious baby to your notice, in whose presence you stand?  Evidently not!  Let me make two eminent personages known to one another:  Mr. Walter Hartright—­the heir of Limmeridge.”

So she spoke.  In writing those last words, I have written all.  The pen falters in my hand.  The long, happy labour of many months is over.  Marian was the good angel of our lives—­let Marian end our Story.