Albert Seyton first broke the silence, and as he clasped Ada’s hands, and gazed into her beaming eyes, he said,—
“Ada! My own beautiful Ada! Am I, indeed, so blessed? Do I once again see you in all your beauty, smiling on me? Am I dreaming, or are you; indeed, and in truth, my own dear Ada?—The dream of my boyhood, the cherished idol of my heart.”
“Indeed, and in truth!” said Ada. “Oh! I am too, too, happy. Heaven forgive me all my sinful repining. Does not this moment’s joy repay me for all? My darling—my true and beautiful—”
What a heavenly light shone from the eyes of Ada! What a sunny smile played around her cheery mouth, dimpling her cheek with beauty.
“We will part no more, Albert,” she said. “After many, many trials, we have met at last to part no more. God has blessed us in each other’s love, and we will not cast from us the pure bright gift of heaven!”
“We will not,” cried Albert. “Bless you, my own true-hearted Ada! At the very moment of my despair, I have been, as it were, lifted to heaven. ’Tis foolish of me, Ada; but, even now, so great is my happiness, I can scarce believe it real.”
He drew the blushing girl again to his throbbing heart. He kissed the raven tresses of her silken heart. He looked into her eyes, sparkling with dewy tears, and saw the happiness that shot from every radiant glance. Her cheek, gentle and soft as a rose-bud’s inmost leaf, touched his—was there ever so much happiness. Could all the ills of life concentrated, poison the rich fragrance of that one cup of overflowing joy?
We will not attempt to record the gentle confidences of the happy lovers—the broken sentences—the speaking glances that filled up the pauses which the faltering tongue, too much oppressed by the heart’s gushing eloquence, could not choose but make the tones upon which memory in after years lingers like the shade of a loved one long hidden in the tomb, nor the thousand purest vows breathed by Albert, nor the thousand smiles with which they were all believed by Ada. Suffice it to say, that they were very happy, and those of our readers who have felt a sympathy with the trials of the lone maiden, will be pleased to leave her for a brief space, knowing that her heart is dancing with joy, and that even the memory of the past is emerged in the pure and heavenly enjoyment of the present.
Sir Francis Hartleton’s first step after seeing Ada enter the room in which Albert was, was to communicate to his wife all that had passed, and commission her to explain all to Albert, if such explanation should be sought for before his return, for he felt it necessary, in consequence of the extraordinary events which had transpired, to communicate to his impatient friend, the home secretary, before even taking steps to apprehend Britton and Learmont for the murder of Gray, which upon Albert’s testimony he felt was what might be safely ventured upon.
The magistrate accordingly left his house, and proceeded on foot to the secretary’s office, where he was fortunate enough to find the great man disengaged.