"God is very good," she whispered; "oh, my beloved, let us thank Him."

There, in that lowly room, Grantley Mellen held his wife to his bosom and the last fire of his old wrong impetuous nature, went out forever in thankfulness and tears.



CHAPTER LXXIX.

RECONCILIATIONS.

Elizabeth Mellen was home again—home under her husband's roof, for ever at home in his heart. She sat in her dressing-room. The autumnal sunshine came through its windows, with a rich, golden warmth. A hickory wood fire filled the room with additional cheerfulness, which was scarcely needed, for that awful chill had left her heart for ever. A few days of supreme happiness had given back the peach-like bloom to her cheek and the splendor to her eyes. Full of contentment, all the generous impulses of her character rose and swelled in her bosom, till she longed to share her heaven with anything that was cast down or unhappy.

The door between her room and Elsie's boudoir was open, and through it she could hear a soft, pleading voice amid a struggle of sobs and tears. Prompted by tender sympathy, Elizabeth half-rose from her easy-chair, but fell back again, murmuring:

"No, no, she will best find her way to his heart alone. God help her to be frank and truthful."

Still she listened, and her beautiful face grew anxious, for the sternness of her husband's voice, in answer to those feeble plaints, gave little hopes of conciliation. Directly Mellen came through the boudoir and sat down on a couch near his wife, shading his face with one hand, not wishing her to see how much he was disturbed. Elizabeth arose, bent over him, and softly removed the hand from his eyes.

"For my sake, Grantley," she said, "for my sake."

Generous tears filled her eyes, pleading tenderness spoke in her voice. Her lips, tremulous with feeling, touched his forehead.

"For my sake, Grantley."

Mellen lifted his eyes to hers—a mist, such as springs from the unshed tears of a strong man, softened them. She fell upon her knees by his side, laid her head upon his bosom with soft murmurs of entreaty which no living man could have resisted.

Mellen folded her close, and touched his lips to her forehead with tender reverence.

"For your sake, my beloved; what is there that I would not do for your sake?"

"And this forgiveness is perfect," she questioned.

"Her fault from this hour is forgotten, sweet wife."

"It was terrible—more terrible than you dream of. When I tell you that she had engaged herself secretly to Thomas Fuller, even your mercy may be qualified."

Elizabeth withdrew from her husband's arms and bowed her lovely face for a moment in sad thoughtfulness. Then she looked up, smiling faintly.

"Elsie is so thoughtless—she does not mean the wrong she does poor Tom—still we must not be unmerciful, so once more let us forgive her wholly—without reservation."

A knock at the door disturbed them. It was Victoria, who came to announce Mr. Fuller, who was close behind her.

"Elizabeth, I've come back. It was no use trying to stay in that confounded city. To save my life I couldn't do it," he said, pushing by the pretty mulatto and closing the door upon her. "Can I see her now—only for once, you know?"

Elizabeth blushed crimson.

"Oh, Tom, you don't know your——"

"Yes, I do know."

"And still wish to see her?"

"Why not? of course I do; because one—infernal villain—excuse me, I won't talk. Where is she?"

Elizabeth, a little shocked and quite taken by surprise, glanced towards the blue boudoir. In Tom strode and shut the door resolutely after him.



CHAPTER LXXX.

TOM ACCEPTS THE SITUATION.

Lying upon a couch, over which that pale marble statue was bending with its cold lilies in mocking purity, lay a pale little creature, covered with a pink eider-down quilt, which but half concealed a morning dress of faint azure; quantities of delicate Valenciennes lace fluttered, like snowflakes, around her wrists and bosom, and formed the principal material of a dainty little cap, under which her golden tresses were gathered. She looked like a girl of twelve pretending womanhood.

When Tom came in she uttered a sudden cry, flung up her hands and dropped them in a loose clasp over her face, which flushed under them like a rose.

Tom walked straight to the couch, drew one of the fragile gilded chairs close to it, and sat down.

"Don't—don't—go away. It's cruel. I shall faint with shame," she cried, trembling all over.

"Not till you have answered me a few questions," said Tom, firmly. "Questions that I have a right to ask and you must answer."

Elsie drew the little hands slowly from her face and looked at him. The blue eyes—grown larger from illness—opened wide, her lips parted. That was not the lover she had trifled with and domineered over. She was afraid of him and shrunk away close to the wall.

"Elsie, one word," said Tom, pressing a hand firmly on each knee and bending towards her.

Her lips parted wider, and she watched him with the glance of a frightened bird when a cat looks in at the door of its cage.

"You have come to torment me," she faltered.

"Torment you! I! It isn't in me to do that. Torment! I do not know what it is."

"Well, what do you want of me then?"

"What do I want, Elsie, dear? What do I want? Nothing but God's truth, and that I will have!"

Elsie's eyes grew larger, and the flush of shame left her face.

"I can't—I can't tell you the truth, Tom Fuller, now. Elizabeth can say enough to make you ready to kill me, but I would rather die than talk of it."

"I know all that Elizabeth can tell me," said Tom, resolutely.

"What did you come for, then?"

"To ask this one question: Did you love that man?"

A shiver of disgust ran through her and broke out in her voice:

"Love him! No! At first it seemed as if I did; but after I saw what he was and how he lived, it was dreadful, I hated him so."

"But how came you married to him?"

"I don't know; I never could tell. It was when we went on that picnic. He asked me to walk with him. It was good fun to set you all wondering, and I went. He took me down the hill and towards the beach, close by the tavern. We had been flirting for weeks then in New York and here, for he always met me when I went out to walk or ride, or anything; but I never thought of marrying him in earnest, upon my sacred word. Well, that day, just as we came to the tavern, he said, 'Let us stop a moment and get married; there is a clergyman in here.'

"I didn't believe him, and said so. 'Come in and see for yourself,' was his answer. I went in laughing. A gentleman sat in one of the rooms, and Mr. North's mulatto servant, who was sauntering about the door when we came up, followed us in. I don't know what possessed me. Perhaps for the minute I loved him; it seemed to me that I must stand up when the strange man rose. He only said a few words, and before I really believed it was a true ceremony the man said I was Mr. North's wife, and wrote out a paper, which I dropped, thinking that I should be really married if I took it, but which Mr. North picked up, saying I did not know its value."

"The scoundrel! The infamous, double-dyed scoundrel!" cried Tom. "But you didn't love him—you didn't love him?"

"No," said Elsie, shaking her head. "I tried my best to get away from it all, but it was of no use. Then he petted me so, and told me how beautifully we would live somewhere in Europe, and I thought him so rich. But it was my money he meant to use. He thought that half of uncle's property was mine, and when I told him how it was, oh, I won't tell you how rude he became. Just after he told me about that other person."

Elsie broke off here, and covered her face with both hands again. Tom saw the scarlet glow where it shot up to her temples and bathed her white throat, and gave his hands one hard grip in a wild desire to strike something.

"There comes a question," he said, hoarsely; "did you leave him?"

"Yes, yes; that very hour."

"And never saw him again?"

"Never but once; and then I ordered him out of the house."

"Because you hated him so?"

Tom seized both her hands as he asked this question, and wrung them till she could scarcely keep from crying out with pain.

"Oh, how I did hate him!" she exclaimed, shuddering.

"Elsie," said Tom, "look into my face, straight into my eyes."

She obeyed him, with a look of piteous appeal.

"Did you ever love me?"

Her hands were locked together, she lifted them up with more of energy than he had ever witnessed in her before.

"Did you?" repeated Tom, and a glow came into his face.

"Yes."

The word had scarcely left her lips when Tom flung the gilded chair back and fell on his knees, gathering her up in his arms with a wild outburst of feeling.

"Then I'll be d—— hung and choked to death if anything on God's beautiful earth keeps me from marrying you!"

She clung to him, she lifted her quivering lips to his.

"Say it again, just once, darling?" cried Tom, shaking back his tawny locks with energy. "Is this love downright, honest, whole-hearted love?"

"Yes, yes!"

"God bless you, darling! And when was it? about what time did it begin?"

She answered him honestly, but with a faltering voice:

"Oh, Tom, I'm afraid it wasn't till after you got so rich. Don't think hard of it; I do love beautiful things so much—but indeed, indeed I love you more."

"Then I'm glad the old covey left me all his money. I don't care a d—— red cent why you love me, only I must be sure that it's a fixed fact. Now I'll go straight out and tell Bessie."

Elsie turned cold.

"Oh, Tom, she'll never consent to it."

"Won't she! I'd just like to know why?"

"And my brother, he is so cold, so unforgiving."

"Is he? then I'll take you away to a warmer climate. But don't believe it; he's proud as a race-horse, but you'll find him a trump in the end."

"Don't go yet, Tom, I am afraid they will—"

"No, they wont," cried Tom, and away he went into Elizabeth's sitting-room, with tears sparkling in his eyes and a generous flush on his face.

"Mellen," he said, wringing Grantley's hand, "I want to be married to-morrow, and carry her away."

"Fuller, what is the meaning of this?" demanded Mellen, pained and surprised, while Elizabeth stood up aghast at this sudden outburst.

"It means just this, Mellen, I don't care a tin whistle for what has gone before, and I feel strong enough to take care of anything that may come after. Your sister loves me, and I love her, that's enough. I am satisfied, and—there—that's enough. The whole thing is a family secret, and who is going to be the wiser. I only hope they have dug the fellow's grave deep enough, that's all."

"But, Fuller, have you reflected?"

"Reflected! I've done nothing else for a week, and this is just what it has brought me to. So give us your hand."

Elizabeth came up to Tom, put her arms around his neck, and burst into tears.

"That's the time o' day," shouted Tom. "Silence gives consent; now just give us a good brotherly grip of the hand, Mellen, and it's all right."

Tom folded one arm around his cousin, and held out the other a second time. Mellen took it in his, wrung it warmly, and left the room.

"Just go in and comfort her a little, Bessie, poor darling, she's afraid you won't consent."

"Generous, noble fellow," said Elizabeth, kissing him with warmth; "but where will you go? what will you do? It is all so very sudden."

"Do! what on earth can I do but love her like distraction? Go! any place where she can find life and fun, plenty of shopping. Paris, isn't that a nice sort of place for pretty things? I think we'll go to Paris first. But, I forgot, Rhodes's daughter, the old maid, is waiting for you downstairs. Victoria would have told you if I hadn't shut her out."

Elizabeth went down, leaving Tom in the only spot he cared to occupy on earth. She found Miss Jemima in a state of wild commotion, with her riding-dress buttoned awry, and one of her gauntlets torn half off with hard pulling.

"Did you know it? had you any suspicion?" she demanded, confronting Elizabeth like a grenadier; "I could think it of your sister, but you—you—"

"What is it? I know nothing," answered Elizabeth.

"They are married, absolutely married; my par and that painted lay figure you introduced to him, that Mrs. Harrington."

"What, your father married to her!" cried Elizabeth; "you surprise me."

"It's a solemn truth, though a disgraceful truth, but she shall never come into the house that shelters me. I'll burn it down first. Where's your sister?"

"She is ill in her room."

"Yes, I dare say. But she's had a hand in this, and I'll pay her for it, or my name isn't Jemima Rhodes. Tell her so, with my compliments. Good morning!"

With this abrupt adieu the spinster took herself off, tugging away at her gauntlet, or what was left of it, and diversifying the movement with a vicious crack of her whip now and then.

Elizabeth smiled and went upstairs again. Thus the great events of the day ended.

In less than a week Tom Fuller was quietly married, and took his wife at once on board a steamer bound for Europe. She had come forth from her sick room greatly subdued and changed in many respects, but able, from her peculiar character, to put a veil between her and the past, which would have been impossible to a woman like Elizabeth.

I am happy to state that Dolf's treachery met with its proper reward. Clorinda succeeded in saving her money, and she married the parson, leaving Dolf to his shame and remorse. Victoria gave him the cold shoulder, and made herself so intimate with a new male Adonis, who came to the house as domestic, that Dolf's days were full of misery and his nights made restless with legions of nightmares.

The house by the sea shore stands up in its old picturesque stateliness, and within the sunshine never fails, and the summer of content is never disturbed.

Old Benson, a very short time after these events, became possessed of a fine tract of land running back from the point where his house stood; how he paid for it, and got a clear deed, no one could tell except himself and Mr. Mellen. It is certain that both of these men knew how to keep a secret, for to this day it is utterly unknown in the neighborhood, that Elizabeth ever lay ill and suffering in that good man's house. The servants speak of her visit to New York about that time, and so this great family mystery ended.

THE END.



MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS' WORKS.

A NOBLE WOMAN.

PALACES AND PRISONS.

MARRIED IN HASTE.

RUBY GRAY'S STRATEGY.

THE CURSE OF GOLD.

WIVES AND WIDOWS; OR, THE BROKEN LIFE.

THE REJECTED WIFE.

THE GOLD BRICK.

THE HEIRESS.

FASHION AND FAMINE.

THE OLD HOMESTEAD.

SILENT STRUGGLES.

MARY DERWENT.

THE WIFE'S SECRET.

THE SOLDIER'S ORPHANS.

MABEL'S MISTAKE.

DOUBLY FALSE.

THE END