“An old fool!” echoed softly from lip to lip—the paltry sum already dashing their cup of joy.
“You have heard the will, ladies and gentlemen,” said the lawyer, addressing the company, “I believe Mrs. May acknowledges herself still a widow—will you signify the same, madam?”
Florence bowed.
“You observe, ladies and gentlemen, the lady admits herself a widow; then, of course, it only remains for me to announce young Abel May as sole heir to all the property, both personal and real, of which the testator died possessed.”
“But Abel May has not returned!” was the general exclamation.
“Abel May has returned—Abel May is here to claim his rights!” said the lawyer, screech owl that he was to their ears.
The folding doors were thrown open, and a gentleman slowly advanced within the circle.
Did Florence dream—was it no vision of her imagination! for as she looked upon the stranger, the same eyes she had seen so mournfully gazing upon her in the picture gallery, but which now, beaming with happiness, met hers, while upon his finger—a star of hope—glittered the emerald ring she had sent the unknown.
Slightly bowing to the astonished assembly, Abel May eagerly approached her. The happy girl looked up with a sweet smile as he drew near; what need of words, her beautiful eyes were far more eloquent, and with thrilling joy the young heir caught her to his bosom.
At first the discomfited relatives disputed the identity of the tall, elegant stranger, with the lad who so many years before went roving; but his proofs were indisputable. So out of the room, and out of the house, and back again to their homes, with unreplenished purses, they quickly dispersed.