Q. I, Pepa, thy true wife, forgiveness grants,
  And craves the like from thee. D. DIE. What! Pepa, _thou_;
  Thou canst forgive me? Thou, my poor wronged wife. Let us exchange forgiveness then, for I
  Have well deserved this blow. Come round me, friends,
  Whilst breath yet lasts, and witness bear to this. I leave my castle, all my lands and goods,
  Unto my lawful son. How is he called? F'TH. M. Pascual. D. DIE. Son Pascual, thy hand. Forgive the wrongs
  I've done thee, e'en as thou thyself wouldst hope
  In thy last hour to be forgiven. Hold,
  There's still another I have deeply wronged,
  From whom I'd crave forgiveness. Bring her here. F'TH. M. (_To Attendant._) Don Diego means the Lady Inez. Haste
  And bring her hither, with Don Silvio. [_Exit Attendants._

        _Enter_ DON SILVIO, _supporting_ INEZ. D. DIE. Behold me, Inez, penitent, subdued. Art thou content that heaven hath heard thy prayer? I've wronged thee much. I frankly do confess. Forgive me, Inez child, ere I depart
  An thou canst. INEZ. I do. [_Giving her hand and sobbing._

  D. DIE. And friend Silvio,
  The like I'd have from thee, and all I've wronged. D. SIL. Friend Diego, take his hand. I would not add
  One pang to that which thine own heart must feel,
  By holding back my pardon at the last. Therefore, with all my heart I pardon thee. D. DIE. Thanks, old friend, Silvio; I already feel
  Better prepared to die. Farewell, my friends. [_Inez for the first time perceiving Pascual._

  INEZ. Pascual! D. PAS. Inez! D. DIE. Come now, my children both,
  I know your minds. Come let me join your hands. [_Pascual and Inez kneel beside Don Diego, who joins their
          hands._

  Receive my blessing, children, and forgive
  A poor old sinner when he is no more. Pray for my soul, and ere this clay be cold,
  Let this hand clasp thy mother's, son Pascual. Pepa, thy hand. GIP. Q.     Diego, with all my heart. [_Pascual joins their hands._
  Let us die thus, and hand in hand to heaven
  Let our souls soar. Kiss me, my children, both. Look how my father Djâbel smiles on us,
  And beckons us away from earth. Adios. [_Don Diego and Gipsy Queen expire._

                                  [_Guests kneel and pray. Curtain._


END OF THE GIPSY QUEEN. *       *       *       *       *


At the conclusion of the play our tragedian rolled up his MS. and
returned it to his pocket, while various were the expressions of
approval from the members of the club. All now seemed to look towards Mr. Oldstone for his criticism of the
play before pronouncing any decided opinion of their own. This was a
deference they paid him as chairman, and because he was the oldest
member present. It was evident that this worthy was accustomed to be
appealed to in matters of importance, and expected it in the present
instance in particular, for he had already stretched out his legs,
thrown himself back in his arm-chair, closed his eyes, and clasped his
hands together over his comely paunch, while his thumbs performed a
rotary motion, one round the other, a sure sign with him that whatever
his lips might utter would be the result of deep thought and mature
deliberation. Our members awaited in silence the words of wisdom about
to issue from the lips of the oracle. To fill up the time in the interim, Professor Cyanite filled up a pipe
of tobacco, and was about to light it. Mr. Crucible drew out his snuff
box, and was preparing to take a copious pinch. Dr. Bleedem looked at
his watch, when suddenly a knock at the door caused the members to raise
their heads. "Come in!" cried several voices at once. The door opened, and Helen
stood in the doorway. "If you please, gentlemen," said the girl, blushing, and with charming
modesty, "Mr. McGuilp says that he has finished my portrait, and would
the gentlemen of the club like to look at it before it gets too dark." "Of course we will, my dear, of course we will," answered Mr. Oldstone,
his fingers immediately unclasping themselves and grasping the arms of
the chair, preparatory to rising to his feet. "Come along, gentlemen." No further invitation was needed. Professor
Cyanite laid down his pipe unlighted. Mr. Crucible replaced the grains
of snuff, he had intended conveying to his nose, back into his snuff
box, which he closed with a snap and returned to his pocket. There was
a general stir among the members, who rose and followed Helen to the
room upstairs, that our artist had _pro tem._ transformed into a studio. Jack Hearty and his spouse were already in the room when the members of
the club appeared at the door. "Yes, that's our Helen, to a T, and no mistake," he was saying. "Well,
its just wonderful, and as like her mother, when she was her age, as one
egg is to another. Eh? Molly," said he, addressing his spouse. "Beg pardon, sir. I hope no offence," continued the landlord, turning
deferentially towards our artist. "But what might such a picture be worth, if I might ask?" "The wealth of the universe wouldn't purchase it, my good host," replied
McGuilp. "It is the best thing I ever did, and that perhaps I ever shall
do. No, this one is not for sale. I do not say but that at some future
time I might do another from it, and then----"

At this juncture, the members of the club, headed by Mr. Oldstone,
entered the studio. Our host and hostess respectfully withdrew, in order
to give the gentlemen a better chance of examining the picture, but even
then the room was as crowded as an exhibition on a private view day. Mr.
Oldstone had placed himself in front of the easel, and was soon loud in
his expressions of enthusiasm. "Excellent! most excellent! Beautiful! beautiful! beautiful! What flesh
tints! What colouring! What refinement of drawing and expression! As a
likeness it is perfect, there is no gainsaying. Then, the pose--simple,
graceful, and natural. My dear young friend," he said, shaking our
artist by the hand, and seeming overcome by emotion, "Do you know _what_
you have realised? Why, it is the hand of a master!" etc., etc. Then each of the members in turn made their own remarks upon the
portrait. "What a picture of life and health!" cried Dr. Bleedem. "What a face for the stage!" remarked the tragedian. "Ah! why was not I born a painter?" sighed Mr. Parnassus. The analytical chemist made a few scientific remarks upon the properties
of pigments, in which Professor Cyanite joined, whilst our artist
silently removed the colours from his palette. "And what do you propose doing with the portrait, Mr.--er--Mr. McGuilp?" inquired Mr. Hardcase. "Keep it," replied our artist, laconically. "What! _keep_ it all to yourself!" exclaimed Mr. Oldstone. "For your own
selfish gratification, thereby depriving others of the pleasure to be
derived therefrom! Mr. McGuilp, I am surprised at you. Gentlemen,"
proceeded the antiquary, addressing his fellow members, "I protest
against this decision of our young friend. That picture does not leave
this inn if _I_ can help it. Mr. McGuilp, your price. What is it?