His choir is admirable; for Valencia has had the art of drawing to her all the musical talent of the tuneful West-country folk; and all that he needs, he thinks, to make his parish perfect, is to see Grace Harvey schoolmistress once more.
What can have worked the change?
It is difficult to say, unless it be that Frank has found out, from cholera and hospital experiences, that his parishioners are beings of like passions with himself; and found out, too, that his business is to leave the Gospel of damnation to those whose hapless lot it is to earn their bread by pandering to popular superstition; and to employ his independent position, as a free rector, in telling his people the Gospel of salvation--that they have a Father in heaven.
Little Scoutbush comes down often to Aberalva now, and oftener to his Irish estates.

He is going to marry the Manchester lady after all, and to settle down; and try to be a good landlord; and use for the benefit of his tenants the sharp experience of human hearts, human sorrows, and human duty, which he gained in the Crimea two years ago.
And Major Campbell?
Look on Cathcart's Hill.

A stone is there, which is the only earthly token of that great experience of all experiences which Campbell gained two years ago.
A little silk bag was found, hung round his neck, and lying next his heart.

He seemed to have expected his death; for he had put a label on it-- "To be sent to Viscount Scoutbush for Miss St.Just." Scoutbush sent it home to Valencia, who opened it, blind with tears.
It was a note, written seven years before; but not by her; by Lucia ere her marriage.

A simple invitation to dinner in Eaton Square, written for Lady Knockdown, but with a postscript from Lucia, herself: "Do come, and I will promise not to tease you as I did last night." That was, perhaps, the only kind or familiar word which he had ever had from his idol; and he had treasured it to the last.