Eliphalet heard it—drew a sharp breath, and squared his shoulders in the direction of the sound.
The excitement among the spectators leapt to fever-pitch as they heard the vehicle come to a standstill. There immediately followed the patter of running feet and the smart crackle of breaking twigs.
“He’s coming!”
All eyes turned towards the path as Blanche Cannon burst into view. Without a second’s hesitation she flung herself into Eliphalet Cardomay’s arms, gasping and crying:
“Oh, my hero, my darling hero! He was a coward—he wouldn’t meet you—he’s run away.”
And in the exquisite relief of the moment Eliphalet folded her to his breast in a sobbing ecstasy.
Then the company, who had remained silent for longer than their natures allowed, broke cover and surrounded the happy pair with a chorus of hand-shaking, back-slapping congratulations.
When the enthusiasm subsided, which was not until three a.m. that morning, for everyone crowded to Eliphalet’s room to do him continued honour, he was rather dismayed to find that he and Blanche were destined, by pressure of opinion, to be made man and wife before the month was out.
* * * * *
Surmise, therefore, O wise and prophetic reader, the disastrous results, not alone confined to Art, that so often arise from humouring the popular prejudice in favour of a Happy Ending.