When, some months later Tom Oliver asked Alice Carmichael to be his wife she tried to make him understand that in addition to other reasons why she could not accept his “generous sacrifice,” there was one supreme obstacle between them.
“Do not tell me,” he said, with authority, “what you conceive this to be. I know all that I care to know of what has kept us apart till now. It is the future, not the past, that you and I have to deal with. I shall take you to live far away from the scenes of your sorrowful memories—and for the rest trust me!”
But no man, however thoughtful, however loving, can extinguish in a faithful woman’s heart the flame of her earliest tenderness. Often and again Alice Oliver thinks of the lonely, unhonored grave in which lies one who is never mentioned in her little family. Less often—but now always kindly—Eunice Farnsworth thinks of him, too.
The restoration to its owner of the great Carcellini emerald—without the ring—is well known to have occurred directly upon Mrs. Ellison’s return to town from her Southern journey. It was sent back to her as mysteriously as it had vanished. No clew was ever found that informed the public of the author of either its disappearance or its reappearance.
AN AUTHOR’S READING AND ITS CONSEQUENCES