“He will give her back her freedom when he learns the truth, for he has a noble nature,” cried Madame Ray; and the event proved that she was right.
Fred Foster’s heart was very sad already, for Cinthia’s grief had shown him, but awhile ago, that he could never hope to win her heart; so, when he heard the wonderful news, and saw the new joy on Cinthia’s lovely face, he said, generously:
“Cinthia, I have long known of your past love affair with Arthur, and since things have fallen out so happily for you, I will restore you the troth-plight so lately given, and trust to time to heal my heart-wound. To-morrow is Christmas you know, and I shall present you as a precious gift to Arthur.”
Oh, how thankful they were for his generosity, and how glad that another love cured his heart in a year, though they were touched when they saw that she resembled Cinthia in her type—dark eyes and golden hair. It showed them plainly how deep had been his love.
Cinthia was well again almost in a minute, in her new joy, and anxious to witness the second marriage ceremony between Arthur’s parents; so presently the same group of the morning gathered in the room, and the grave minister who had just closed the eyes of Rachel Dane, after teaching her soul to find rest in God, joined the hands of Everard Dawn and his Paulina for the journey of life, while he solemnly invoked God’s blessing on them all.
Everard Dawn could not die now. Life had grown too sweet again. Events proved that the physician’s fear of internal injuries was unfounded. He began to convalesce slowly but surely under his wife’s love and care, looking forward to happy years together in the golden future.
Rachel Dane was buried at Charlottesville, and as she had no known relatives anywhere, Mrs. Flint was the chief mourner at the funeral, and she took care to have a neat stone raised above the grave.
In a few days the party at the hotel separated, Everard Dawn’s wife and son remaining with him to aid in the tedious convalescence, and Madame Ray returning to Florida with her daughter, taking the ailing Mrs. Flint as their guest.
“I am real down sorry to lose you as a niece, Cinthy,” sighed the old lady, who was greatly softened now by the hurrying events.
“Do not grieve over that, dear aunt, for I will restore the kinship in the spring, and in the meantime you have gained me as a nephew!” laughed Arthur, who was handsome as a picture in his new happiness.