A few moments later there was a great hush in the vast parlors below, as Daisy entered the room, leaning tremblingly on Rex’s arm, who looked as happy as a king, and Basil Hurlhurst, looking fully ten years younger than was his wont, walking proudly beside his long-lost daughter.
The storm had died away, and the moon broke through the dark clouds, lighting the earth with a silvery radiance, as Rex and Daisy took their places before the altar, where the ceremony which made them man and wife was for the second time performed.
Heaven’s light never fell on two such supremely happy mortals as were Rex and his bonny blushing bride.
Outside of Whitestone Hall a motley throng was gathering with the rapidity of lightning––the story had gone from lip to lip––the wonderful story of the long-lost heiress and the double romance.
Cheer after cheer rent the air, and telegraph wires were busy with the startling revelations.
The throng around the Hall pressed forward to catch a glimpse of the pretty little bride. Young girls laughed and cried for very joy. Mothers, fathers, and sweethearts fervently cried: “God bless her!”
All night long the bells rang from the church belfries, bonfires were lighted on all the surrounding hills. A telegram was sent to a Baltimore marble firm countermanding a certain order.
All night long the young people danced to the chime of merry music, and all night long the joy-bells pealed from the turrets of Whitestone Hall, and they seemed to echo the chorus of the people. “God bless sweet little Daisy Lyon, the long-lost heiress of Whitestone Hall!”
THE END