"Here he is," said Mr. Seaton gently; and he went very white and took his wife's hand.
Joanna and Isabel were past speaking; so they tried to laugh—and failed.
The noise grew louder. The crowd had taken the horses out of Paul's carriage, and were drawing it along with deafening cheers. At last they pulled up at the Cottage gate, and Paul sprang out and thanked them, and rushed inside.
"It is all right!" he cried, "I am in with a majority of twelve hundred."
Then he went straight up to Isabel and kissed her before them all.
"I am very glad I have won," he said simply, "because it gives me something to give to you, who have given me so much."
So it came to pass that the old wastes and the former desolations were built up and repaired in the life of Paul Seaton: and the name of the builder and repairer was Love.
A few days after the election—while Paul was helping a brother candidate and Joanna was working in her district—Isabel made her confession to Paul's father and mother. She told them the whole story: how she had written Shams and Shadows in a fit of temper—how Paul had saved her from the consequences of her mad act—how she had selfishly let him bear the blame—how his love for her had at last conquered the weakness and worldliness of her nature, and taught her that it is not in the power of outside things to make a woman happy—and how she had promised to keep the secret all her life, after she had once told the truth to his own people.
"I could not rest till I had your forgiveness," she said in conclusion, "but if you will only say you forgive me, I have promised I will never mention the subject again."
"I forgive you utterly, my child," replied the minister; "the deed shall be blotted out as though it had never been; and I thank my son for having taught me how divine a thing sometimes is human love."