So through the clouds of this dolorous night broke the sun of faithful mutual love. It might have been excused him had he lingered, but for her sake he would not.
"I shall wait in the passage," he said, "to hear you turn the key. No one will disturb you. The housekeeper does not enter this room till I ring in the morning, and I am not always an early bird. Good-night, dear love."
"Good-night, dear Gerald. Are you sure you will be able to get a bed?"
"I can get a dozen. God bless and guard you!"
They kissed each other once more, and then he left her. He waited in the passage to hear the key turned, and with a lover's foolish fondness kissed the door which shut his treasure from his sight. He listened in the passage a moment or two to assure himself that all was still and safe, and then he crept to the street-door, which he opened and closed very softly. He did not seek a bed elsewhere, having come to the determination that it would be a better security from slanderous tongues that it should be supposed he slept in his own house that night. So he made pilgrimages through the streets, ever and anon coming back to the house which sheltered his darling. But once it fatefully happened that he was absent for some thirty or forty minutes, during which period a startling and unexpected incident occurred, the forerunner of as strange a series as ever entered into the history of two loving hearts.
[CHAPTER XXVI.]
SLANDER'S FOUL TONGUE.
The young servant whose loquacious tongue Gerald did not dare to trust was not asleep when he brought Emilia home. She was in bed, it was true, but wide-awake, with a candle alight at her bedside. It was against the rules of the house, but she did not care for that, being deeply engrossed in a thrilling story which set rules at defiance and drove sleep away. She heard the street-door opened and closed, then a murmur of voices, like the distant murmur of the sea, and then the second opening and closing of the street-door. The sounds did not arouse her curiosity, she was so profoundly interested in the fate of the hero and heroine that nothing short of a miracle could have diverted her attention. So she read on with eager eyes and panting bosom, long after Gerald had left the house, and would have continued to read, had she not come to those tantalizing words, "To be continued in our next." Then, with a long-drawn sigh, she turned in her bed--and forgot to blow out the candle.
Emilia had intended not to sleep; she would keep awake all the night, and wait for Gerald in the morning--the morning of the day which was to be for her the herald of a new and happier life. She bore Mrs. Seaton no malice for the indignities she had suffered in her house. There was no room in Emilia's heart for anything but love. With what heartfelt gratitude did she dwell upon the image of Gerald, the noblest man on earth. "I thank God for him," she sighed. "Dear Lord, I thank Thee that Thou hast given me the love of a man like Gerald. My Gerald! Is it true? Can it be real? Ah, yes; I see his dear eyes looking into mine; his dear voice sinks into my heart. Make me grateful for the happiness before me!" It stretched out into the future years, a vista of peace and love and joy. Insensibly she sank upon her knees and prayed, and when she rose the room, the world, and all that it contained, were transfigured. How fair, how sweet was life! She had prayed for Gerald and for herself, had prayed that she might prove worthy of him, and might be endowed with power to brighten his days. Then she sat before the fire, and clasping her knee with her hands, imagined bright pictures in the glowing points of lights. She felt herself sinking to sleep. "I will just close my eyes for a few minutes," she thought. There were warm rugs about the room. Loosening her dress, she threw herself upon the couch, and covering herself with the rugs, fell asleep with joy in her heart and a smile on her lips.
At half-past three in the morning Gerald, after an absence of half an hour or so, was returning to the street in which his house was situated, when he saw an angry glare in the sky, and heard sounds of confusion in the near distance. Almost instantly A fire-engine raced past him. He hastened after it, partly from instinct, but chiefly because it was going in his direction. He had, however, no idea that the danger personally concerned him. Long before he reached his street he was undeceived. Crowds of people encompassed him, and he found it difficult to proceed. Three or four fire-engines were at work; firemen were risking their lives in the enthusiasm of their noble work; policemen were keeping back the excited lookers-on.