And so the story ends. There is no sound of pleasant wedding bells to close my record with their merry, jangling chorus. Is it not the fate of the innocent to suffer in this life for the sins of the wicked? Lady Eversleigh's widowhood, Douglas Dale's lonely life, are the work of Victor Carrington—a work not to be undone upon this earth. If he has failed in all else, he has succeeded at least in this: he has ruined the happiness of two lives. For both his victims time brings peace—a sober gladness that is not without its charm. For one a child's affection—a child's growing grace of mind and form, bring a happiness on, clouded at intervals by the dark shadows of past sorrow. But in the heart of Douglas Dale there is an empty place which can never be filled upon earth.
"Will the Eternal and all-seeing One forgive her for her reckless, useless life, and shall I meet her among the blest in heaven?" he asks himself sometimes, and then he remembers the holy words of comfort unspeakable: "Come unto me, ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest."
Had not Paulina been "weary, and heavy laden," bowed down by the burden of a false accusation, friendless, hopeless, from her very cradle?
He thought of the illimitable Mercy, and he dared to hope for the day in which he should meet her he loved "Beyond the Veil."