"Yes, but it is over now. Mrs. Home told me how your father had repented. The sin is forgiven. The agony is past. What God forgets don't let us remember. Lottie, cease to think of it. It is at an end, and so are our troubles. I am with you again. Oh! how nearly I had lost you."
Charlotte's head was on her lover's shoulder. His arm was round her. "Charlotte, I repeat what I said in that letter which never reached you. I refuse to absolve you from your promise. I refuse to give you up. Do you hear? I refuse to give you up."
"But, John, I am poor now."
"Poor or rich, you are yourself, and you are mine. Charlotte, do you hear me? If you hear me answer me. Tell me that you are mine."
"I am yours, John," she said simply, and she raised her lips to kiss him.
CHAPTER LVIII.
BRIDE AND BRIDEGROOM.
A month after—just one month after, there was a very quiet wedding; a wedding performed in the little church at Kentish Town. The ceremony was thought by the few who witnessed it to be, even for that obscure part, a very poor one. There were no bridesmaids, or white dresses, or, indeed, white favors in any form. The bride wore the plainest gray travelling suit. She was given away by her gray-headed father; Charlotte Home stood close behind her; Mr. Home married the couple, and Uncle Sandy acted as best man. Surely no tamer ending could come to what was once meant to be such a brilliant affair. Immediately after the ceremony, the bride and bridegroom went away for two days and Mrs. Home went back to Prince's Gate with Mr. Harman, for she had promised Charlotte to take care of her father until her return.
Many changes were contemplated. The grand house in Prince's gate was to be given up, and the Hintons were to live in that large southern town where Hinton was already obtaining a young barrister's great ambition—briefs. Mr. Harman, while he lived, was to find his home with his son and daughter.