When a woman like Eleanor Lynn gives herself away, thus freely and without reserve, you may be sure that the passion which she cherishes is not of an hour, a day, or a year, but of a lifetime.
Randolph could not reply in coherent words. There was a wild ejaculation, a frenzied embrace, a kiss which joined together these souls, burning with the fire of a first and stainless love, but there was no reply in words.
And all the while, behind the form of Eleanor, Randolph saw a phantom shape, which stood between him and his dearest hope. A hideous phantom, which said, "Thou art young, and thy face is pale as the palest of the race who are born to rule, but the blood of the negro is in thy veins."
At length Randolph rose, and taking her by the hand, led her from the room.
"You will see my sister, and love her," said Randolph, as he crossed the threshold. A hand was laid gently on his arm, and turning he beheld Mr. Hicks, who slipped a letter in his hand, whispering,—
"Pardon me, sir. This was left half an hour ago."
Randolph had no time to read a letter at that moment, so placing it in his coat pocket, he led Eleanor up-stairs. They entered the drawing-room, and were received by her father with a laugh, and the exclamation,—
"So, my boy, you have found this wild girl of mine a second time! Confess that we have given you one of the oddest surprises you ever encountered!"
Presently Esther and Eleanor stood face to face, and took each other by the hand.—Both noble-looking women, of contrasted types of loveliness, they stood before the father and Randolph, who gazed upon them with a look of silent admiration.
"So, you are Esther!" whispered the daughter of Bernard Lynn.