Paula drew back and looked her friend in the face. “You know what all this means?” she asked.
“I guess,” was the low reply.
Paula checked a sob and clasped Cicely to her bosom. “He loves me,” she faltered, “and he is doing at this moment what he believes will separate us. He is a noble man, Cicely, noble as Bertram, though he once did—” She paused. “It is for him to say what, not I,” she softly concluded.
“Then Bertram is noble,” Cicely timidly put in.
“Have you ever doubted it?”
“No.”
And hiding their blushes on each other’s shoulders, the two girls sat breathlessly waiting, while the clock ticked away in the music-room and the moments came and went that determined their fate. Suddenly they both rose. Mr. Stuyvesant and Mr. Sylvester were descending the stairs. Mr. Sylvester came in first. Walking straight up to Paula, he took her in his arms and kissed her on the forehead.
“My betrothed wife!” he whispered.
With a start of incredulous joy, Paula looked up. His glance was clear but strangely solemn and peaceful.
“He has heard all I had to say,” added he; “he is a just man, but he is also a merciful one. Like you he declares that not what a man was, but what he is, determines the judgment of true men concerning him.” And taking her on his arm, he stood waiting for Mr. Stuyvesant who now came in.