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.