Turnbull seemed to hare taken a lesson from his late narrow
escape, for he gave up the worst of his speculations, and
confined himself to "_genuine business-principles_"--the
more contentedly that, all Marston folly swept from his path, he
was free to his own interpretation of the phrase. He grew a rich
man, and died happy--so his friends said, and said as they saw.
Mrs. Turnbull left Testbridge, and went to live in a small
county-town where she was unknown. There she was regarded as the
widow of an officer in her Majesty's service, and, as there was
no one within a couple of hundred miles to support an assertion
to the contrary, she did not think it worth her while to make
one: was not the supposed brevet a truer index to her
consciousness of herself than the actual ticket by ill luck
attached to her--Widow of a linen-draper?
George carried on the business; and, when Mary and he happened to
pass in the street, they nodded to each other.
Letty was diligent in business, but it never got into her heart.
She continued to be much liked, and in the shop was delightful.
If she ever had another offer of marriage, the fact remained
unknown. She lived to be a sweet, gracious little old lady--and
often forgot that she was a widow, but never that she was a wife.
All the days of her appointed time she waited till her change
should come, and she should find her Tom on the other side,
looking out for her, as he had said he would.
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