"I thought I could never forgive, but I believe I do now,—not always,—but I shall after a while."
Allan pressed his lips to the hand he held; then, still holding it, he took the little case from his pocket and put the sapphire ring on her finger. "I hope Cousin Betty will be satisfied now," he remarked.
Celia looked down at the quaint old ring. "How much it seems to stand for!" she said. "Rosalind will be glad," she added. "Do you know, I did not realize how bitter and unhappy I was until I met her one day in the cemetery. Her eyes were so sweet, they made me ashamed."
"She told me about it," Allan answered.
"Not about the rose? Did she see that? Oh, Allan—but I picked it up again and carried it home."
"She long since came to the conclusion that she was mistaken in thinking it was her rose you threw away."
It was growing dark. The magician, who had come in long ago, wisely refrained from interrupting his guests, but went about putting away his tools and smiling to himself. He was just lighting his lamp, when the shop door opened and Rosalind danced in, followed by her father.
"Mr. Pat!" exclaimed the magician. "I heard you were here. I wondered if you wouldn't come to see me;" and he shook hinds as if he would never stop, while Rosalind circled around them merrily.
"Mr. Pat was one of my boys," Morgan announced, as if it were a piece of news; adding, "We ought to make some tea."
Rosalind clapped her hands, and nodded emphatically, "Let's!" she cried. "Why, there's Uncle Allan! Where did you come from?"