In ten minutes after, when the royal cavalcade started, she turned from the pest-stricken city, too and fairest, where all was fair, by Sir Norman's side rode Leoline.
Sitting one winter night by a glorious winter fire, while the snow and hail lashed the windows, and the wind without roared like Bottom, the weaver, a pleasant voice whispered the foregoing tale.

Here, as it paused abruptly, and seemed to have done with the whole thing, I naturally began to ask questions.

What happened the dwarf and his companions?
What became of Hubert?
Did Sir Norman and Lady Kingsley go to Devonshire, and did either of them die of the plague?
I felt, myself, when I said it, that the last suggestion was beneath contempt, and so a withering look from the face opposite proved; but the voice was obliging enough to answer the rest of my queries.

The dwarf and his cronies being put into his majesty's jail of Newgate, where the plague was raging fearfully, they all died in a week, and so managed to cheat the executioner.

Hubert went to France, and laid his claims before the royal Louis, who, not being able to do otherwise, was graciously pleased to acknowledge them; and Hubert became the Marquis de Montmorenci, and in the fullness of time took unto himself a wife, even of the daughters of the land, and lived happy for ever after.
And Sir Norman and Lady Kingsley did go to the old manor in Devonshire, where--with tradition and my informant--there is to be seen to this day, an old family-picture, painted some twelve years after, representing the knight and his lady sitting serenely in their "ain ingle nook" with their family around them.