There was something wonderfully tender in the tone of Thornton’s voice, and Lucy glanced quickly at him while her eyes filled with the first tears she had shed since she came into the room.
“I am willing; I am ready; I have made up my mind, and I shall never unmake it,” she answered, while Arthur put in a feeble remonstrance.
But Thornton was on Lucy’s side, and did with his cooler judgment what she could not; and when at last the interview was ended, there was no ring on Lucy’s forefinger, for Arthur held it in his hand, and their engagement was at an end. Stunned with what he had passed through, he stood motionless while Thornton drew Lucy’s cloak about her shoulders, fastened her fur, tied on her satin hood, and took such care of her as a mother would take of a suffering child.
“It is hardly safe to send her home alone,” he thought, as he looked into her face and saw how weak she was. “As a friend of both I ought to accompany her.”
She was indeed so weak that she could scarcely stand, and Thornton took her in his arms and carried her to the sleigh; then springing in beside her, he made her lean her tired head upon his shoulder as they drove to Prospect Hill. She did not seem frivolous to him now, but rather the noblest type of womanhood he had ever met. Few could have done what she had, and there was much of warmth and fervor in the clasp of his hand as he bade her good-by, and went back to the rectory.
Great was the consternation and surprise in Hanover when it was known that there was to be but one bride at Prospect Hill on the night of the 15th, and various were the surmises as to the cause of the sudden change; but strive as they might, the good people of the village could not get at the truth, for Valencia held her peace, while the Hethertons were far too proud to admit of their being questioned, and Thornton Hastings stood a bulwark of defence between the people and the clergyman, and managed to have the pulpit at St. Mark’s supplied for a few weeks, while he took Arthur away, saying that his health required the change.
“You have done nobly, darling,” Fanny Hetherton had said to Lucy when she received her from Thornton’s hands and heard that all was over. Then, leading her half-fainting cousin to her own cheerful room, she made her lie down while she told her of the plan she had formed when first she heard what Lucy’s intentions were. “I wrote to Mr. Bellamy asking if he would take a trip to Europe, so that you could go with us, for I knew you would not wish to stay here. To-day I have his answer saying he will go; and what is better yet, father and mother are going, too.”
“Oh I am so glad! I could not stay here now,” Lucy replied, sobbing herself to sleep, while Fanny sat by and watched, wondering at the strength which had upheld her weak little cousin in the struggle she had been through, and feeling, too, that it was just as well, for after all it was a mésalliance for an heiress like her cousin to marry a poor clergyman.