She had told Dorothy nothing regarding these recent experiences in connection with her father's sudden reappearance. She had given much serious thought to the subject, for she wished to do right, to be just to both Dorothy and to John; but in whatever light she considered it, it did not seem wise that they be reunited at this time. It was true that John seemed to have really "come to himself, like the prodigal of old," as he had said; but she reasoned that it belonged to him to prove it. His regret for the past appeared to be absolutely sincere; he was full of enthusiasm to begin life anew upon a higher basis, and to put into practice the promptings of an awakened conscience, together with the better knowledge he had recently gained regarding man's individual responsibilities. But, as he had written her, "volumes of promises unfulfilled have no weight," and until he could show himself able to stand alone it were better for both, perhaps, that he did not come into Dorothy's life. She believed, too, that she owed it to Mr. Alexander and his family also that nothing relating to their tragic past be revived to cast a shadow upon their present harmonious domestic conditions or their name. Hence she decided that she would let everything rest as it was, trusting that the future, governed by a higher than human wisdom, would unfold that which was best for them all.
She was exceedingly thankful that Dorothy had been away during John's entire illness. She had returned only a few days before he left the Grenoble, and had gone directly to her new home, where Helen and the senior Alexanders received the happy couple, and where they had since been busy getting settled. Helen had also arranged to spend the day that he moved with them, to make sure that Dorrie did not drop in unexpectedly upon her, to make startling discoveries, and also to avoid disturbing leave-takings with John. When the young bride at length came to her, the little studio was dismantled, and it was explained that the rooms had been given up, as her mother's living apartment was now ample for all her work.
* * * * * * *
Five years have passed.
Madam Helen Ford still occupies her handsome suite in the Grenoble apartments, and pursues her chosen profession, still holding a warm place in the hearts of her many friends and patrons, and winning—-literally and figuratively—golden laurels for herself, both as an artiste and a noble woman.
Dorothy is supremely happy in her beautiful home, and in the devotion of her adoring husband. She is more lovely than ever, for she has developed something of her mother's sweet, womanly dignity; and, with her amiable disposition, her charm of manner, and reserve force of character, is becoming a recognized power in the circle where she moves.
Mr. Alexander has ever been a very attentive and considerate son-in-law. He had always admired Helen exceedingly, from the evening of their introduction, but after learning the history of her earlier years—her sorrows, struggles, and conquests—he had regarded her as a wonder. Her unfailing courage, the depth, strength, and beauty of her character; her wisdom as a mother, and her steadfast devotion to her profession, all impressed him beyond measure, and he began to idealize her. That a woman whose life had been so blighted, who had been deserted and left penniless, with a child to rear and educate, could have risen to meet and conquer every adverse circumstance, assuming the burdens and duties of both father and mother, yet preserving through all the charm and sweetness of true womanliness, making the most of her talents, and winning for herself and her daughter both affluence and an enviable social position, seemed a marvel that caused him to bow in homage before her shrine. And Helen fully appreciated Dorothy's manly husband, and grew to love him as well as if he had been an own son.
He had repeatedly pleaded with Helen to come and make her home with her "children," but she had invariably replied: "My 'children' do not need me, and I cannot become an idler yet." And, indeed, her many patrons would have regarded their loss as almost irreparable, had she ceased to grace their functions; for her voice had lost none of its brilliancy or sweetness, nor was her personality one whit less charming than of yore.
She had, however, of late consented to give up some of her younger pupils, and this had given her more freedom—more time to spend and go about with her dear ones, for she was still young at heart, and loved to mingle with young people in their social pleasures.
During these years she had never seen John. He had rigidly kept his word, thus far, that he would "never trouble her again." Through Mrs. Everleigh she had learned, shortly after he had opened his studio downtown, that he was doing well, having plenty of work, and getting fair prices; and this success, she was inclined to think, was, in a measure, at least, owing to the influence of that good lady herself. A few months after he left the Grenoble she had received a letter from him, but he wrote very briefly, to explain that the check he inclosed was intended to cover the expense of his illness while at the Grenoble, including a generous thank-offering to Mrs. Harding for her devotion to him at that time.