“There!” exclaimed Wentworth, with a grimace, “there’s my surprise now? Mamma, you’re a witch, and there’s no keeping anything from you!”
“Stop, Richard!” cried Emily. “Let John try his hand at a surprise.”
Mrs. Eastman was well named Serena, she was so sweetly calm, but the color rose to her face, and she trembled, as Harrington came toward her with outstretched arms.
“Mother,” he fervently said, holding her in his embrace, “you have your wish. I was mistaken. Last night, Muriel and I”—
Her eyes filled, and without a word she flew from his arms and out of the room. Harrington covered his humid eyes with his hand, and stood still. Wentworth and Emily moved silently away, with hushed faces.
It was but a moment, and she came back with a swift, free step, her calm face lighted between its silver tresses, the tears upon her cheeks, and put her arms around him.
“Hush!” she whispered. “Do not speak to me. Let me dream of this. I am too happy.”
His arms had enfolded her, and with his eyes closed, and his lips pressed to her beautiful silver hair, while her face lay upon his bosom, they stood still.
“Yes,” she murmured, after a long pause, looking up with a still and radiant face into his noble countenance, “yes, I have my wish, and I am happy.”
She placed her arm in his, and moved with him across the library.