“Pity you, my darling! Why, sweetheart, you are the greatest, noblest gift God can bestow on any man. All my life I shall bless Him and thank Him for the great boon he has vouchsafed me. The promise I gave your father was given long after the sacred promise I had given myself—to protect you always—as my dear wife.” Then in a softer voice: “But, sweetheart—you must call me John.”
No reply, only sounds suspiciously like a child’s sobs, came from the hidden face. Helène was weeping her tears of unspeakable happiness. Morton gently lifted her head back and saw her face transfigured with love. With reverent finality he kissed her moist lips as she murmured:
“My dear knight, without fear and without blemish.”
The shady porch is transmuted into an altar. Framed between the pillars and above the balustrades, templelike, the blue vault of true heaven looks down. In an air vibrating with a whispered symphony a little butterfly alights on the seat—a harbinger of security. And over the pair passes that happiness which the human heart knows but once in a lifetime.
Through the shade of the lofty pillared portico Helène and John entered the spacious reception hall of “Rhinecliff.” Helène was still under the influence of the emotion aroused in her by the solemnity of the last hour. She barely noticed the transition from the park to the broad driveway, lined by ancient elms, leading to the commanding terrace. Indeed, she could not have told how she reached the room to which Morton’s guiding arm had led her. The dread which had possessed her in the early morning had now returned with increased insistence; so that when they stood before a handsome gray-haired lady, she heard Morton’s voice as through a veil: “Mother, I have great pleasure in bringing to you Comtesse Rondell.” She could just see the winning smile upon the fresh face and hear the cordial words: “I am happy to welcome you, Comtesse.” As in a dream she took the hand which was held out to her, and mumbled a polite sentence, imagining, in her trepidation, an investigating pause on the part of the elderly lady. Try as she would she could not master her embarrassment; but her gentle breeding and natural charms came to her aid, and she expressed eloquently what the disobedient lips failed to say. She looked the pure girl she was. One glance of Mrs. Morton’s approving eye was sufficient to take it all in.
“We entered through the South Gate, mother, and Comtesse Rondell must be tired. She has agreed to stay for luncheon; I trust you will persuade her to remain until after dinner.”
“Permit me to ring for the maid, Comtesse. You will require a rest after your journey and the warm walk,” suggested the hostess.
“Hello, Ruth!” His sister had entered from an inner door. “Ruth, I want you to meet Comtesse Rondell, a dear friend of mine—my sister Ruth, Comtesse. I have often spoken of you, Ruth, to the Comtesse. I hope you will be friends.”
Full of animation, Ruth came forward. A glance at Helène’s face caused her to halt momentarily and to send an indignant look at her brother, both of which actions escaped all but Helène. Then her willing hand grasped Helène’s shy offering in a hearty clasp: “If the Comtesse is minded like I am, it won’t take us long to be the best of friends.”
Helène reddened deeply, but this time the little dimples came into play. The smiling eye veiled the recognition which the parted lips were longing to betray: “Miss Morton, I shall be very happy if we are friends.”