Her voice was pathetic in its hopeless yearning, and Alva motioned him to obey. She knew that noble little Floy would not grudge this one caress to her dying rival.
So Beresford gave the one kiss that was a joyful memory in all Maybelle’s future years.
For she did not die as she foreboded.
The room was filled presently with a curious crowd who heard in wonder the strange story, and then carried the dead and the living home again through the darkening twilight.
Otho and his father were buried side by side, and kind friends cared for the helpless Maury family. Mrs. Vere de Vere, always Maybelle’s stanch friend, adopted the girl as a daughter, so she never missed the wealth she prized so much.
In time Maybelle made the grand match Mrs. Vere de Vere had schemed for so long, but it was long years first, and when she married the rich politician, it was for ambition, not love. All her proud husband’s caresses were not worth as much to her as the memory of one pitying kiss.
CHAPTER LII.
ALL THAT FLOY HAD LONGED FOR IN OTHER DAYS WAS HERS NOW.—LUCKY LITTLE MORTAL!
The Beresfords returned to New York the next day sick at heart and dispirited, for the mystery of Floy’s fate was more inexplicable than ever.
In twenty-four hours after their return Lord Miller’s card was received.