“I will not keep you long in suspense. You, Lester,” and he turned toward him. “Love my daughter. You have asked for her hand more than once. I know she returns that love; and as her happiness is next my heart, I will not bring sorrow to her by refusing your request.” He stepped forward, and took the hand of Mollie, whose cheeks were red with blushes, and led her to where Lester stood, having risen from his chair. “Lester, take her; she is yours. Be a good, kind husband to her, is all I ask.”
Lester took the fair girl in his arms, and imprinted the first lawful kiss upon her lips.
“And now,” continued Mr. Craft, “as two hearts are thus made happy, let me seek another pair. Hugh; stand up, my son.”
Hugh arose, gently raising Marie Hathaway from the sofa, and moved toward his father. “Father,” he said, “here is another pair.”
Marie hung her head in confusion, but Hugh was bold and fearless.
“I know all about you two also,” said Mr. Craft, smiling. “I am more than satisfied to receive such a daughter as you, Marie Hathaway.” The girl started as her name was pronounced, and a guilty blush mantled her cheek at the thought of the deception she had practiced upon this good old man. “Unto my son I give you, if it be your wish that he should become your husband.”
He paused. Marie made no reply, save to pass her hand through Hugh’s arm, and nestle closer to his heart.
“Hugh, take her, and bless God for the prize which you have received.” Hugh led the girl away with joy in his heart.
“Junius”—the President spoke the word low, and with more embarrassment than he had used in addressing the others—“I know not how to commence. She who stands by your side is not my niece, but my daughter,” and he took Marie Colchis’ hand in his, and drew her toward him. “She is my daughter; no blood makes the tie, but that of love has given her to me. She stands before you alone in this life. No father or mother, brother or sister, or relative has she in the wide world.” The tears were now falling from Marie’s eyes, and she clung closer to her adopted father. Hugh and Lester looked on in silence but wonder. “She has come,” he continued, “like a radiant star in our universe, and from a remote period of time. She lived years ago—a hundred or more. Do not start, Junius,” as the other moved a step, and stood gazing on Marie’s face with a look of partial recognition. “Like you, she lived, and died, and lived again. The same methods which were used to prolong your life were used to give life again to this fair girl. The hand that assisted at your interment prepared the casket wherein his daughter has lain for over a century. She is—”
The wild excitement of Cobb’s soul, paralyzed for a moment by the words of the other, now broke forth in a hoarse, pathetic cry—“Marie Colchis!” and he rushed forward, and almost crushed the fair form in his strong arms. Regardless of all present, he kissed her face, her lips—kissed her with all the depth and passion of a man receiving back from death the being divine of his heart.