“We knew you must have done it,” said Frederic, at the same time assuring her of his own and Marian’s forgiveness. “It kept us apart for many years,” he continued, “but I have found her at last, and love her all the more for what I suffered.”
And Isabel, when she saw the look of deep affection he gave to his young wife, covered her face with her hands, and wept silently, until Marian asked “if she knew aught of the letter from Sarah Green?”
“No, no,” she answered; “I am surely innocent of that,” and they believed her, wondering all the more whence it could have come or why it had been sent.
Toward the close of the next day, they took their leave, cordially inviting Isabel to visit them at Redstone Hall, should she ever feel inclined so to do.
“We will let bygones be bygones,” said Frederic, taking her hand at parting. “You and I have both learned that to deal fairly and openly is the best policy, and it is to be hoped we will profit by the experience.”
Isabel did not answer, but she pressed his hand, and returned warmly the kiss which both Marian and Alice gave to her. As the latter was turning away she detained her a moment while she whispered in her ear, “Will you forgive me for that blow I gave you when I thought I was about to be exposed?”
“Yes, willingly,” was the answer, and thrusting the golden eagle under the pillow, Alice hurried away. They found it after she was gone, and when at last Isabel was able to go home, they found their bills paid, too, and were at no loss to know to whom they were indebted for the generous act. “I do not deserve this from him of all others,” said Isabel, and drawing her thick, green veil close over her marred face she entered the carriage which had come to take them to the depot.
Not once during the journey home did she remove the veil, but in an obscure corner of the car she sat, a forlorn, wretched woman, brooding drearily over the past, and seeing in the future no star to cheer her pathway. Frederic lost, Redstone Hall lost, her little fortune wasted,—and worse than all, her boasted beauty gone forever. Poor, poor Isabel!
CHAPTER XXXI.
SUMMING UP.
It is early June, and the balmy south wind is blowing soft and warm round Redstone Hall, which, with its countless roses in full bloom, and its profusion of flowering shrubs and vines, looked wondrously beautiful without, while within, the sunlight of domestic peace is shining with no cloud to dim its brightness. Frederic and Marian are perfectly happy, for the dark night which enshrouded them so long has passed away, and the day they fancy will never end has dawned upon them at last.