"And as such he'll come to them," said Rita, dreamily. She had listened to her mother's tale as to a revelation. It seemed to her thirsting soul like a miracle from far distant times, and the words forced themselves to her lips involuntarily.
"Do you believe that, also?" asked Mr. Benas of his wife.
"I am convinced a man such as he is will strike the right note."
"So that is settled, too; and we may look forward to the celebration without concern. You must let Dr. Weilen know the result of your intercession."
"I shall write to him to-morrow."
* * *
On the following afternoon Mrs. Benas was sitting in her room, looking meditatively before her, an expression of melancholy in her sweet, refined face. Rita had just left her. Mother and daughter had experienced an hour of profound agitation; Rita had sought her in order to confess her love for Victor. Trembling and hesitating, she confided in her mother as in a friend; how the feeling had been awakened on the very first evening, when he referred to his loneliness, and how it had gradually grown, the more she saw of him. His amiable, open-hearted disposition had appealed to her; but above all his confiding intimacy which had found so little encouragement. Hugo, in fact, had often spurned him rudely. It had always pained her to see a man, by nature so proud and gentlemanly, accept these rebuffs with patience and forbearance. Once, when she tried to excuse Hugo, he had said: "I understand his grief and indignation, and so I can forgive him. He must have suffered much before he arrived at a state of such intense resentment as to make him see an enemy in everyone with different opinions from his own. But some day we may find a point of contact; and until then his young anger shall not drive me away from the home of your parents, a home that has grown dear to me,—and from you, Rita." Since that time a secret understanding had existed between them. They had said nothing to each other; but she knew that he grew dearer to her from day to day. She was happy when he came, and missed him when he stayed away. She knew that he loved her; she knew it through the delicate and subtle sensitiveness that exalts the soul of a young girl in this phase of her life, endows her with intuitions, and makes each slightest impulse rich with meaning. Then came that sacred hour of the New Year's Day,—and his letter. She confessed all to her mother, gradually overcoming the timidity and fear with which she had begun her recital, until her confession grew into a veritable pæan of love. Her mother was deeply moved. At the moment she had no thought of the obstacles in the way of such a connection; she thought only of the happiness of her child. Then she read Dr. Weilen's letter. Rita's eyes rested on her mother's face to note the effect of his confessions. Mrs. Benas was profoundly touched. At first it merely interested her greatly, then it stirred her emotions. When she finished tears stood in her eyes. Rita, sobbing in mingled joy and sorrow, sought refuge in her mother's arms.
What would be the outcome of it all? For the present Mrs. Benas could give no answer. But she quieted her, lovingly caressed the cheeks wet with streaming tears, and urged her to be calm. Nothing must be done precipitately, particularly because of the coming celebration. Such consideration was due to the old sage to whom this day was to be dedicated. Whatsoever might disturb the harmony, or cause bad humor or disquietude must be avoided. Surely she was not asking too much in expressing the wish that until after the celebration no decision should be reached. In the meantime, things must remain as they were; and she was convinced, a man like Dr. Weilen, wise and prudent, would acquiesce.
"But he may visit us?" Rita anxiously questioned.
"Certainly; he may come as before."