I could not speak; but I ran with a loud long scream into her arms. I forget a great deal after that. Oh, my beloved cousin Monica! Thank Heaven, you are living still, and younger, I think, than I in all things but in years. And Milly, my dear companion, she is now the happy wife of that good little clergyman, Sprigge Biddlepen.
My uncle viewed him with a strange, paternal affection. But dear Cousin Monica had written asking Milly and me to go to her, and we had some of the pleasantest and happiest days of our lives at her house of Elverston, for there Milly met her good little curate, the Rev. Sprigge Biddlepen, and Lord Ilbury.
His hand still rested on the window, and the Rev. Sprigge Biddlepen was standing with a saddened smirk on the door steps, when the whip smacked, the horses scrambled into motion, and away we rolled down the avenue, leaving behind us the pleasantest house and hostess in the world, and trotting fleetly into darkness towards Bartram-Haugh. We were both rather silent.