EPILOGUE
"WELL, good night, my own darling Boy," said the beautiful Lady Huntingten, as she lit her candle from that of her son, by the table in the hall. "Don't keep Father up all night, if he and General Strong come to your bedroom."
"Good night, dearest," replied he, kissing her fondly.
Setting down her candlestick, she took him by the lapels of his coat as though loth to let him out of her sight and part with him, even for the night.
"Oh, but it is good to have you again, darling," she murmured, gazing long at his bronzed and weather-beaten face. "You won't go off again for a long, long time, will you? And we must keep your promise to that wholly delightful 'Erb, if it's humanly possible. But I really cannot picture him as a discreet and silent-footed valet. … I simply loved him and the Bucking Bronco. I don't know which is the more precious and priceless. … I do so wonder whether he'll be happy with his Carmelita. … I shall love seeing her."
"Yes, 'Erb and Buck are great birds," replied her son, "but poor old John Bull was the chap."
"Poor man, how awful—with freedom in sight. … You knew nothing of his story?" she asked.
"Absolutely nothing, dearest. All I know about him is that he was one of the very best. Funny thing,
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