UNBROKEN FAITH.
We left poor Enid Chichester in a faint in the arm-chair, into which she
had fallen on discovering who the bridegroom was; and there she had
remained unnoticed and uncared for until the excitement had somewhat
subsided—until every smuggler was firmly bound and put under close and
watchful guard.
Then some of her fair sisters had discovered her and immediately set
about her restoration. For a long time the efforts of her friends were
unsuccessful, but, at last, with a heavy sigh, she opened her eyes and
gazed wonderingly around her.
Soon she remembered where she was—why she was there, and what had
happened—that he—he who had promised to devote himself to the work of
liberating her—he upon whom she had placed her whole dependence, her
whole faith and trust, was married to another; worse than that! was the
wretch who had heartlessly forced the bonds of wedlock upon an unwilling
bride; and with a moan of pain she covered her beautiful face with her
hands.
“What is it, Enid—what made you faint?” gently asked one of her friends.
She started as if suddenly smitten with a rod, at the question.
Disagreeable as the fact might be, she realized that her heart had gone
out to this same sinful and erring man, with all its freshness and
wealth of affection; in plain words, that she loved him, in spite of the
hideous and glaring colors in which he now stood revealed.
But she would die before she would ever let any one suspect the truth.
So, setting her little teeth firmly together, and tossing her head
defiantly, she said, in reply to the query of her friend:
“Oh, nothing but a nervous shock, from which I shall soon recover.”
Then, anxious to turn the conversation from herself, she added: “But
what does all this mean?—and what makes you all look so happy?”
They explained everything to her, while she listened, laughing and
crying at the same time, with joy that once more they would all see home
and friends.
Finally, when Enid grew more calm, they all arose and joined the group
where such interesting revelations were being made, and where Rose
Ellerton had just thrown herself at the feet of her husband. They
listened with intense interest to the story of the long-parted husband
and wife, and Enid began to feel her heart warming toward Ralph again
when she heard how he had been deprived of a mother’s influence all his
life, and in the clutches of his vile uncle.
Then, when he so humbly begged forgiveness, her warm heart grew
sympathetic, and poor little Enid’s defiance and pride all melted away
like the dew before the sun, and bowing her pretty head, she sobbed out
her pity and her love—pity for the painful remorse he felt, and the
trial he did not spare himself in confessing it, and love for the good
that her tender, womanly heart told her was in him.
Ralph had seen her tears, and half-interpreting their cause, his heart
bounded; and when his mother had finished her story, and his father had
gone to seek the Italians, he arose, and approached her.
“Miss Chichester, why do you weep?” he asked, gently.
She started violently at the sound of his voice, and then looked up at
him.
The instant their eyes met both colored deeply, and the young girl
drooped her gaze, as she replied:
“Who could help weeping at all this happiness and good that has come so
unexpectedly?”
“I know strange things have developed themselves here to-night; but,” he
added, with a touch of sadness in his voice, “do you remember what you
promised me this morning?”
“Yes, I do remember.”
“I have come to release you from that pledge. You must have seen, ere
this, that I am unworthy to perform such a duty, and though I know you
have no friends to care for you, yet knowing what you now do of me, I
feel I have no right to expect you to trust in me. But I will find some
one who will care for you faithfully.”
His voice was full of regret and self-depreciation, and the sound of it
brought the tears again to the fair girl’s eyes. But she hastily lifted
her head, and glanced half-defiantly at him, as if daring him to accuse
her of being unmaidenly in what she was about to say, and replied:
“I do not desire to be released from my promise.”
“Miss Chichester! surely you do not mean it,” he said, eagerly, his
whole face lighting brilliantly.
“Yes, Mr. Ellerton, I do.”
“And can you trust me still, after knowing what you do?”
“I can. Do you not remember what I said this morning—that you might do
something, impelled by the force of circumstances, that would merit my
severest censure, but that even then I should feel there were goodness
and truth in you. My words have proved true! There is much of good in
you; I feel that you were intended for a noble man, and had the
influences around you been pure, you would never have been led into such
evil ways. I feel that the words you only a short time since uttered
were sincere, and I have no wish to retract anything that I have
pledged, least of all my faith in you.”
Ralph gazed at her in wondering admiration!
“I cannot tell you, Miss Chichester,” he said, “how deeply grateful I am
for your confidence in me. Your words move me more than I can express;
they give me new courage, they inspire me with a blessed hope.”