Camille had been in the drawing-room but a few minutes, when the
door-bell rang loudly, and sent a nervous tremor through her whole
frame.
“Some callers,” she thought, wondering why that strange presentiment
of evil trembled along her nerves. She shook it off, congratulating
herself that the drawing-room was well lighted and her costume elegant.
“I may as well receive them, for I must soon take my old place in
society,” she decided, as she heard a bustle in the hall, and knew that
the visitors were being admitted.
Norman de Vere and his mother had come down into the hall a few moments
before, and had been waiting most impatiently the signal to enter the
grand drawing-room. At the ringing of the door-bell he gave his mother
his arm, and with a stately step led her into the presence of Camille;
but ere the astonished woman could utter a word, the door opened again,
admitting visitors, at sight of whom Norman uttered a cry of joy and
sprung forward. He had caught sight of Thea on Lord Stuart’s arm, and
no power on earth but death could have hindered him from catching her
in his arms and straining her to his heart in a passionate embrace.
“Oh, my love, my darling, my wife!” he cried, wildly--but Lord Stuart
gently but firmly put them apart.
“Here is little Alan, my friend; give him your caresses just now,” he
said, as he placed the half-fainting Thea in a seat, and taking Baby
Alan from his sister, placed him in Norman’s arms. Then he greeted
Norman’s mother, and presented his sister and Dr. Hinton.
Camille stood like a statue, with dilated eyes gazing at the scene
before her. There was no greeting for her. No one seemed to see her as
she stood a little apart in her dark trailing velvet and glittering
diamonds, tall and elegant, with an angry sneer upon her thin lips.
Suddenly a hand touched her shoulder. She glanced around and saw
Finette close by her side.
“Miladi, I slipped in behind them. I thought you might need me,”
whispered the curious maid.
Camille did not reply. Lord Stuart had begun to speak, and she inclined
her head to listen.
“Mr. de Vere, will you show me now the clothes worn by Little
Sweetheart when you saved her life in the railway wreck many years
ago?” he asked.
Then every one saw that Mrs. de Vere, the elder, had been carrying
all the time a small bundle which she now began to unroll, while Lord
Stuart, taking his sister’s hand, led her forward.
“Look at these things, my dear, and see if you recognize any of them,”
he said, in a voice of tender emotion.
Lady Edith uttered a startled cry and slipped down upon her knees
before the gentle, white-haired lady, beginning to touch the pretty
embroidered robes with shaking fingers.
“Oh, brother, brother! these are the garments I embroidered for my
darling little daughter!” she faltered, “and--oh, Heaven! here is her
picture!” kissing it with despairing love. “Brother, brother! what does
it mean? Oh, my lost Little Sweetheart! my angel!” she wept, wildly.
He stooped and lifted her up so that he could hold the half-fainting
form in his arms.
“My darling, forgive me for deceiving you all these years,” he cried.
“It was done to save your life and your reason, for when you lay ill
so long and your little child was stolen from you, all efforts at its
recovery proving vain, we were afraid to tell you the dreadful truth.
We believed it better to pretend that the child had died and gone to
join its father in a better world than for you to know that it was in
the power of a wicked woman who stole it for purposes of revenge. I
have tried to trace the child for years, and at last, by a fortunate
accident, I found that our sweet Thea here was your missing child. Go
to her, my darling.” But Thea, with a rapturous cry, bounded forward,
and mother and child wept wildly in each other’s arms.