It was eighteen months after this before they met again--Hector and
Theodora; and now it was May, and the flowers bloomed and the birds
sang, and all the world was young and fair--only Morella Winmarleigh was
growing into a bitter old maid.
At twenty-eight people might have taken her for a matron of ten years
older.
She had wondered for weeks what was the result of her action with the
letters. She hoped daily to hear of some catastrophe and scandal falling
upon the head of Theodora. But she heard nothing. It was only after
Josiah's death that details were wafted to her through the Fitzgeralds.
How poor Mr. Brown had never really recovered from a slight stroke he
had had on leaving Beechleigh, and of Theodora's goodness and devotion
to him, and of his worship of her. And Morella had the maddening feeling
that if she had left well alone this death might never have occurred,
and her hated rival might not now be a free and beautiful widow, with
no impediment between herself and Hector when they should choose to
meet.
She had meant to be revenged and punish them, and it seemed she had only
cleared their path to happiness. There was really no justice in this
world!
Theodora had gone to meet her father and step-mother in Paris.
Her sisters were married and very happy, she hoped. Prosperity had
wonderfully embellished their attractions, and even Sarah had found a
mate.
And Lady Bracondale remained her placid, stately self. Her grief and
disappointment over Hector's departure from England had passed away by
now, as so had her treasured dream of receiving Morella Winmarleigh as a
daughter. But Anne whispered to her that she need not worry forever, and
some day soon her brother might choose a bride whom even she would love.
Hector had continued his wanderings over the world for many months after
Josiah's death. He felt, should he return to England, nothing could keep
him from Theodora.
And she, too, had travelled and explored fresh scenes, and was now a
supremely beautiful and experienced woman--courted and flattered, and
besieged by many adorers.
But she was still Theodora, with only one love in her heart and one
dream in her soul--to meet Hector again and spend the rest of her life
in the shelter of his arms.
She heard of him often through her step-mother; and sometimes she saw
Anne--and both Hector and she understood, and knew the time would come
when they could be happy.
Jane Anastasia Fitzgerald had romantic notions. This pretty pair, whom
she looked upon as of her own producing, must meet again under her
auspices in like circumstances as they had done on the happy and
never-to-be-forgotten day when she herself had promised her heart and
hand to Dominic Fitzgerald.
"There is something lucky about Versailles," she said, "and they shall
experience it, too!"
So she planned a picnic, and arranged it with Hector before he reached
Paris. He was not to show himself or communicate with Theodora; he was
just to be there at the Réservoirs and wait for their arrival.
And the gods smiled--and the day was fine--and the trees were green--as
had been another day, two years ago.
And oh, the wild, mad joy that surged up in their hearts when their eyes
met once more!
They could not speak, it seemed, even the words of politeness; so they
wandered away into the spring woods, silent and glad; and it was not
until they reached the shrine of old Enceladus that Hector clasped
Theodora again in his arms, and gave rein to all the passionate love and
delirious happiness which was flooding his being.
There one can leave them--together--for always--looking out upon the
realization of that fair dream of life.
Safe in each other's arms, in those smooth waters, beyond the rocks.