Is it your determined purpose to transfer your fortune into your cousin’s hands?”
Her look was enough without the low,
“Ah, how can you ask me?” that followed it.
Mr. Clavering was sitting by the side of Eleanore when we entered the drawing-room.
He immediately rose, and drawing me to one side, earnestly said:
“Before the courtesies of the hour pass between us, Mr. Raymond, allow me to tender you my apology.
You have in your possession a document which ought never to have been forced upon you.
Founded upon a mistake, the act was an insult which I bitterly regret.
If, in consideration of my mental misery at that time, you can pardon it, I shall feel forever indebted to you; if not—”
“Mr. Clavering, say no more.
The occurrences of that day belong to a past which I, for one, have made up my mind to forget as soon as possible.
The future promises too richly for us to dwell on bygone miseries.”
And with a look of mutual understanding and friendship we hastened to rejoin the ladies.
Of the conversation that followed, it is only necessary to state the result.
Eleanore, remaining firm in her refusal to accept property so stained by guilt, it was finally agreed upon that it should be devoted to the erection and sustainment of some charitable institution of magnitude sufficient to be a recognized benefit to the city and its unfortunate poor.
This settled, our thoughts returned to our friends, especially to Mr. Veeley.
“He ought to know,” said Mary. “He has grieved like a father over us.”
And, in her spirit of penitence, she would have undertaken the unhappy task of telling him the truth. But Eleanore, with her accustomed generosity, would not hear of this.
“No, Mary,” said she; “you have suffered enough.
Mr. Raymond and I will go.”
And leaving them there, with the light of growing hope and confidence on their faces, we went out again into the night, and so into a dream from which I have never waked, though the shine of her dear eyes have been now the load-star of my life for many happy, happy months.