“I thank Heaven, my son, for this confession, and I believe you are sincere in your repentance. All our lives, thus far, have nearly proved a failure, but together we will strive to make the future atone for the past, and, in trying to do right, yet receive much of the joy and happiness that for so many years have been denied us. Still,” he added, gravely, and with an anxious glance at Ralph, “there is one wrong you have done that demands immediate reparation. It has caused me more sorrow than all else, and is, I believe, your greatest sin. Are you willing to atone for it, Ralph? I mean the wrong you have done Miss Dupont this evening.”
Ralph sprang quickly to his feet, his face crimson with mingled shame, sorrow, and remorse.
He made no reply to his father’s words, but walking bravely to where Dora stood, her hand clasped in Robert’s, said manfully, but humbly:
“Miss Dupont, if you do not hate me too much to listen to my words, I would implore your pardon for my shameful persecution, and for what I forced you to this evening, together with the suffering I have caused you. And believe me when I say I gladly yield you up to one who is nobler in every respect than I. I will not deny,” he continued, while a look of regret passed over his face, “that you have been very dear to me, and that I had intended forcing you to recognize the tie which I compelled you tacitly to submit to to-night, vainly believing that in time I could teach you to return my affection. Once more I implore you to forgive me, and allow me the pleasure of saying that you are free; though the mockery we listened to an hour or so since was in no way binding, still, it affords me satisfaction to bid you go free.”
Dora’s eyes had flashed indignantly when he came forward and began to address her, but long before he was done she was sobbing with sympathy for him; and now, wiping the bright drops from her heavenly eyes, with something of her own impulsiveness she held out her dainty hand toward him, and said, sweetly:
“Mr. Moulton—no, let me call you by your right name, and a better one—Mr. Ellerton, you have my full and free pardon.”
“Thanks!” was all he could utter, and stooping, he kissed the little hand outstretched to him. He then turned to Robert, and was about to crave a like pardon from him, but he stopped him, saying heartily, as he shook his hand:
“No, my boy, don’t say one word. I know all you would ask, and it is freely granted. I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving the life of my father. Yes, he has told me all about it,” he said, in answer to Ralph’s look of inquiry, then added, “and now let us be friends, as well as cousins, forget the past, and live as persons who are so nearly connected should live. Now I must go and greet your new-found friends.”
He turned quickly away, and went to speak to his aunt and uncle, to allow Ralph time to recover himself, for he was entirely overcome at this unlooked-for cordiality.
Then there was a general handshaking, while good wishes and congratulations passed blithely from lip to lip between the reunited friends.