She started—gazed on him—then, all her pride coming to her aid, she cried haughtily—
"My lord, I need no counsellor; I can act alone!"
And, hastily throwing on her bonnet and shawl, she quitted the studio. Lord Randolph stood an instant, then, taking up a pencil, wrote on a card, and placed it on the easel:—
"Heaven bless you both! Tremenhere, when you call me to your joy, I shall rejoice with you, indeed!
"Randolph."
Skaife returned, and let himself in with the key which he had taken; but he was not alone. When he quitted the apartment, he hurried off (as men very often do) to a woman for advice; and now he entered with Mary and little Miles, resolved to tell all boldly. But when he arrived all had been said, and, creeping to the bedroom door, he saw Minnie's head on Tremenhere's beating heart, and his other arm clasped round her, as though he still dreaded some power might separate them again. Her face was upturned to his, whose deep, dark eyes were riveted on every look, as she told him all. Skaife moved aside, and Mary crept in. Miles looked up; but he could not for an instant loose his grasp, or move. Mary came quietly on, and round the mother's neck were clasped the arms of her child. Miles started. One glance told him all the truth. Something thrilled through him. It was what he once expressed—"Minnie, I should be jealous of my own child;" but the momentary gleam of that fatal passion left, ere matured, and, folding both in one clasp, his tears unrestrained baptized their re-union of love.
"You did this!" he cried, grasping the hands of Skaife and Mary, as he pointed to his boy's portrait in his mother's arms. "Thank you; it was nobly done, and oh, a lovely thought!"
Tremenhere had married Minnie dowerless; but what a rich fortune she laid before him in the proofs of his mother's fame! It was only by degrees Minnie told him all she had suffered—all her vain search for d'Estrées, until aided from on high, whence comes all for good, though our little minds cannot always see it thus. For without these trials he would never have overcome his jealousy—never have been truly happy. What a room that saloon was of overflowing joy, as Tremenhere, Minnie, Mary, Skaife, and d'Estrées, sat and talked of the past and future! Nor must we forget the child, sleeping on its mother's knee, beneath the loving eyes which watched him!
Lady Dora and her mother quitted Paris hastily for Switzerland; the former, whose wishes were law, broke off all engagement, as the latter believed, with Lord Randolph, without assigning any cause, and insisted upon leaving France; but the rupture was by mutual consent. Nothing would have induced him to marry her, after the conversation he overheard.
Lady Lysson and himself were the first to call upon and congratulate Tremenhere and his wife. Lord Randolph confided all to her, except, as a feeling of honour, Lady Dora's confession; and, beneath the patronage of Lady Lysson, the young couple became the lions of the place, which they were shortly quitting, to solace those who still mourned Minnie, and whom she wished to surprise so joyfully. And who may depict that happiness? 'Twas like the throwing off of some horrid nightmare, which had oppressed all in a long, heavy sleep. Skaife went before, to prepare them for it.
Dorcas, who had hoped to see the child, held once more to her heart the living mother. Juvenal wept in childish mirth, as he clasped her in his arms, and sued for pardon. Sylvia, even then, could not forbear her old habits, but called to Minnie's mind, again and again, all she had suffered through Miles's treachery, (as she termed it)—imploring her to be cautious for the future, for of course it was in him, and would break out somewhere. She never could expect to be a perfectly happy woman; there were things she always must remember, and would do well to do so! She could never really love him again, but perhaps a re-union was wiser than a separation!