Late one evening, in the latter part of October, a servant entered the parlor where the family was sitting with a package of letters. He delivered them to Mr. Levingston, and retired. The hand trembled that broke the seal.
“This is from our dear son,” said he, turning to his wife, and holding up a letter, “and here is one for each of his sisters. Let me see, two of them are directed to Mary, here they are, take them.”
He now commenced reading the letter aloud, which told of the prosperity and marriage of his son, and his intention of leaving England for home the following week. Then came the description of the fire. The peril—the rescue; the name of him who had exposed his own life to snatch a stranger from the flames. At this part of the letter Mr. Levingston suddenly stopped and left the room. In his study he finished its perusal.
“What does this mean?” he exclaimed, rapidly walking the floor, “It seems as though the hand of God was in this thing. I would that some other one had saved him. He asks me to receive his deliverer as my son. Bold request—and yet I will do it. I will receive him as a son, for he has saved the life of my Walter at the risk of his own. For so generous, so noble an act, I here bury my enmity forever.”
Mr. Levingston, with a lighter heart than he had felt for months, returned to the parlor. Mary met him at the door.
“This letter, dear papa,” said she, “I return to you. I have not read it, neither do I desire to. It is written by one I have renounced forever.”
“Keep it, Mary,” said Mr. Levingston, “and cherish the memory of the writer. I have buried my resentment forever toward that family. From this hour shall we not bless the deliverer of our son?”
Mary was astonished. She could scarcely persuade herself that all was not a dream. Still holding the letter toward her father, and gazing immoveably in his face, she seemed rather a statue than a human being.
“Do you think I am trifling?” said he, as he pressed her to his bosom. “No, Mary, I love you too well for that. From this moment you have my consent to become the wife of him, who, although so tenderly loved, you felt willing to sacrifice to the peace of your aged father.”
The intervening days, preceding the arrival of Walter, rapidly glided away in busy preparation. Suddenly, however, Mr. Levingston was taken dangerously ill at midnight. His symptoms were so alarming that a council of physicians was called before morning, when an express was sent to New York for his children.