True indeed the redeeming trait in his character was his love for Marguerite Verne and any goodness that remained was now visible upon his brow. Some trace of true manhood still lingered there and arrested the gaze of the pure-minded maiden as she looked upon him and prayed that the Omnipotent One would obliterate the earthy incrustations so firmly impressed there and instead cause His image to shine with undimmed lustre.
The young man divined the maiden's thoughts and he bent forward exclaiming:—"Madge, I am undeserving of you, God knows, but I will try and be worthy of you. Will you trust me?"
"Put your trust in God, Hubert. He alone can give you the support you need," cried the girl in earnest tones.
"God bless you, my precious darling. It is hard for you now, but remember ere long you will bless the hour that you promised to be my wife."
Marguerite Verne now felt the pressure of her lover's embrace and listened to his renewed protestations of love with a sad aching void at her heart which she had hitherto never felt and she dared not question herself as to the cause.
None knew it better than her affianced husband, but in the great selfishness of his nature he could look on with proud indifference and stifle his badly seared conscience with the thought that one day Marguerite would be the happier for her present choice.
Truly it may be said—
"God moves in a mysterious way."
Ah, Marguerite never once dreamt that a destiny was before her other than that she had pictured out in frightfully vivid character. She little thought that in a certain sense Hubert Tracy's predictions should come true, and that she could one day exclaim—
"How natural is joy, my heart,
How easy after sorrow!
For once, the best has come that hope
Promised them to-morrow."