The guests rose and drank the toast, bowing to Mr. Weston as they did so. He raised his glass, and drank with them.
"Who," continued Dinah Dim, with vivacity, "has the best claim to speak with authority upon this subject? It is not unknown to us that in his married life he tasted the sweet happiness that springs from mutual love. And when he lost his wife, did he not write upon her tombstone, 'Love sweetens all; love levels all?' Honour to the man who, not in theory but in practice, carried out this noblest of all the creeds. It is fit that he should be the last survivor, and that he should preside to-night. Dear children, you know I was the oldest of the thirteen, and you always treated me with kindness. Well, it was right that it should be so, for I might have been the grandmother of some, when we first met. But it was my sad fate to dream only of the happiness which I once fondly hoped would be mine. I do not remember that I ever told you my story." She turned to Mr. Weston for confirmation or correction.
"I never heard it," he said.
"It is soon told. The man I loved was drowned at sea before we were married. That is the history of my life. Brief enough, is it not? He was drowned, and I lost him. That is how I grew into an old maid, living upon the memory of love. I found my consolation as all find it who are faithful. Though," said Dinah Dim, her tones becoming lighter, "I think that Reuben Thorne would have tried to tempt me to change my name had I been ten years younger."
"I might," assented Reuben Thorne, "had I not suspected that you were Constancy."
A shade of grief rested for a moment on Dinah Dim's face.
"I had that word used to me once when my heart was beating with the anticipation of a happy future."
"By your lover?"
"By my lover, lost to me for many years; lost when I loved him most."
A heavy step was heard upon the veranda, and there was silence in the room until the voice of Michael Lee was heard: