"Look up, my beloved," he said, tenderly, "we have sent for you to ratify the consent your mother and I have given, given on condition, that if yours be withheld, ours also is void. But will the long years of silent love and uncomplaining suffering for your sake, plead in vain to one so gentle as yourself? Look up, my Emmeline, and tell me, if the fond affection, the tender cares of him whom we have chosen, will not indeed prove the best restorative we can bestow?"
She did look up, and the quick gushing flow of blood dyed her pallid cheek with crimson, and lit up her soft eyes with their wonted lustre. There was one tall, manly form beside her, gazing on her with such devoted love, that she saw not how pale were those expressive features, what a deep impress of long suffering was on that high and noble brow. She heard naught but that deep rich voice pronounce her name, and call her "his own, own Emmeline," for she had sunk in his extended arms, she had hidden her face upon his shoulder and wept.
"Are we forgiven, Emmeline, dearest?" said Mrs. Hamilton, fondly, after a long pause, which many mingled feelings had occasioned. Her child withdrew for a moment from the arms of her betrothed, and flung herself upon her neck. "Your father bound me by a promise not to reveal his secret, and I kept it well till this evening; for did you not deserve some punishment, my child, for believing even for a single moment your parents would have rewarded your unwavering discharge of a most painful duty, your unhesitating submission to our will, by forcing you to bestow your hand upon another, when your heart was already engaged? No, my own Emmeline, we could not have been so cruel. Take her, my dear Arthur; freely, fearlessly I consign her happiness to your charge, for indeed you have well deserved her."
We need not lift the veil from the brief interview which the consideration of Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton afforded to the lovers, it is enough that they were happy, happy in the consciousness not of present joy alone, but of duty unshrinkingly performed, of pain endured with unrepining fortitude; unalloyed in its purity indeed was their happiness, for it was the recompense of virtue.
When the tidings of what had passed were made known, there were few who did not feel as if some individual joy had been imparted. The universal sympathy occasioned by the happiness of a being so generally beloved as Emmeline shed new animation over the little party. And Ellen, the gentle affectionate Ellen, did not she rejoice? She did, unfeignedly, sincerely, but there was a pang of bitterness mingled with it which she vainly struggled to subdue.
"Can you consent to live in the humble vicarage of my estate, Emmeline?" whispered the young Earl in her ear, as she relinquished the arm of Arthur, whom Edward, Percy, and Ellen were eagerly surrounding. "You have often admired it. Will it serve you for a home, think you? if not, name what alterations you will like, and they shall be done, even as if Aladdin's wonderful genii had performed it."
"Dearest Eugene," said Emmeline, "I feel it is to you, to your generous pleadings in Arthur's favour, I greatly owe this happiness. Will you not let me thank you for that, instead of asking more?"
"No, little fairy, I will do no such thing, for I only spoke the truth, and that, Emmeline, 'was but my duty,' and demands no thanks or praise whatever; and as I have selected my friend Myrvin to supply the place of my late vicar, who was promoted last week to a better living, to see everything prepared for his comfort, and that of his wife, is also mine."
"Nay, spare me, dear St. Eval; I will plead guilty of not giving Arthur his due, if you will promise me not always to torment me with duty. I was unjust and unkind."
"No, dearest Emmy, you were neither unjust nor unkind; you only said one thing and meant another, and as I know why you did so, I forgive you."