Then they quietly went and obtained the little child, whom both idolized, and went abroad, where they remained for years.
No one learned the strange romance of the fair young girl whom Eugene Mallard worshipped so fondly.
When they returned to their home, years after, with a lovely, dark-eyed little girl and a sturdy, blue-eyed boy, no one guessed but that they were Eugene Mallard's children.
While they had been abroad they read of the marriage of Hildegarde Cramer to Philip Ravenswood, the noble young man who had loved her ever since they had first met on the Newport sands.
The same paper also brought the intelligence of the engagement of Arthur Hollis and pretty Dora Staples, and the sad ending, in a railroad accident, of beautiful, hapless Vivian Deane and her maid Nora.
Eugene passed the paper to his wife, and Ida read it, making no comments. But after awhile, as though the subject weighed heavily on her mind, she went up to Eugene, and laid her soft white arms round his neck, and whispered:
"Does the knowledge of Hildegarde's marriage bring you any regrets, Eugene?"
"No, my darling!" he cried, clasping her in his strong arms. "For all the love of my heart is yours now, and—and—our children's."
"I have often wanted to ask you, Eugene," she murmured, with her face hidden on his breast, "if the story of my past were known, how would people judge me? Would the world say, 'Ida May had sinned'?"
Let us hope all our readers will join heartily in his answer—"No."