"Good heavens, sir! what is all this?" cried Mr. Blake, shocked by the scared expression of Mr. Earnscliffe's face. "Do you, then, know Flora Adair? Is she a relation of yours, that you should be so startled on hearing this news of her?"
"Relation! No, bear with me, my dear sir, I am the unworthy cause of all her suffering!"
"God be praised, then, that I have been led to see you! I have always felt that there must be some misunderstanding in this matter. Cheer up, sir, all may yet be well!"
The door opened, and a waiter came in to say that the boatman, Paolo, was waiting to see sua Eccellenza.
Mr. Earnscliffe took Mr. Blake's hand, and pressed it warmly. "I can never repay you for what you have unknowingly done for me! I must leave you now. Shall I find you here to-morrow? At three I will wait for you. Let me count upon your secresy for the present, and until to-morrow adieu!"
"God is a centre of lore towards which the weight of love directs every creature." The weight of love had all but overcome even the unruly will of Mr. Earnscliffe. How amply would Flora Adair have been repaid for all her suffering could she but have seen the power of her love now working in that proud man's heart! But love's brightest conquests are unseen, unknown even, save in that trustful consciousness felt only by those who truly love....
Having directed that Paolo should wait a moment for him, Mr. Earnscliffe turned into the long corridor of the hotel. His heart was too full, its flood-gates were yielding, the battle with his pride was nearly won. Was joy or sorrow uppermost? He hardly knew; yet it was the forecoming of joy, the dawn of hope outstripping the darkness of his gloomy night! Not the heart only, but the mind also, is drawn by love; and, as his heart thrilled at the consciousness of Flora's love, so his mind, no longer trammelled by his haughty will, not only began to recognise the greatness of her steadfastness under severe trial, but the justice too of its cause.
Drawn along for a time by this foreshadowing of coming happiness, he turned at length to himself, and saw the obstacle which had before shut out the vision of Flora's heroism to him. That obstacle was himself—his own pride, his selfishness, his uneducated will, "weakened and inclined to evil," as is the common lot of all mankind. Almost overwhelmed with these conflicting emotions, he returned to Paolo and Anina, who were standing outside waiting for him.
As he approached them the child held out her little hand, and said gaily, "Dear signore, now that we are at Sorrento, will you not come and say one little prayer to our Madonna with me? Please me greatly, signore, and come with me before we return!"
Ah! who shall tell all we owe to these little ones!... The signore was in no frame of mind to refuse Anina's request; nay, he even felt a secret pleasure in yielding to it. It was a shrine hallowed by that religion which had called forth Flora's great trust in its eternal truth; he knew, too, that she had the highest veneration for the Mother of the Saviour of men!