JOHN.
Hinton went to Mrs. Home's house. The children were out, Mr. Home was
not visible. Anne, now converted into a neat parlor-maid, received him
with broad grins of pleasure. She ushered him into the pretty,
newly-furnished drawing-room, and asked him to wait for her mistress.
"Missis 'ull be back afore long," she said, lingering a little to
readjust the blinds, and half hoping, half expecting, Hinton to make
some surprised and approving remark on the changed circumstances of the
Homes' surroundings.
He made none, however; and Anne, with a slight sigh, left him alone.
When she did so he rose to his feet and began to pace quickly up and
down the room. After a time, half an hour or so, he pulled out his
watch. Yes, he had already lost that express to the north. A good piece
of business would probably be also lost. But what matter! beyond
ascertaining the fact that he had missed his train, he did not give the
affair another thought. To tell the truth, his mind was agitated, his
heart was full; hope once more peeped upon the horizon of his being. A
month ago--for it was quite a month ago now--he had received as sharp
and cruel a shock as falls on most men. Fortune, love, and trust had all
been dashed from the lips which were already so close to the charmed cup
that its very flavor was apparent. The cup had never reached the lips
of Hinton. Fortune was gone, love was gone; worst of all, yes, hardest
of all, trust was gone. The ideal he had worshipped was but an ideal.
The Charlotte he had loved was unworthy. She had rejected him, and
cruelly. His letter was unanswered. He himself was refused admittance.
Then his pride had risen in revolt. If she could so treat him, he would
sue no longer. If she could so easily give him up, he would bow to her
decision. She was not the Charlotte of his love and his dream. But what
matter! Other men had come to an ideal and found it but a clay idol. He
would recover: he would not let his heart break. He found, however, that
he could not stay in London. An uncle of his, his only living near
relation, was a solicitor in the south of England. Hinton went to visit
his uncle. He received him warmly and kindly. He not only promised him
work, but kept his word. Hinton took chambers in a fashionable part of
the town, and already was not idle. But he was a changed man. That
shattered trust was making his spirit very hard. The cynical part of him
was being fostered. Mrs. Home, when she looked into his face, was quite
right in saying to herself that his expression had not improved. Now,
however, again, as he paced up and down, soft thoughts were visiting
him. For what doubts, what blessed doubts had Mrs. Home not insinuated?
How irregularly his heart beat; how human he felt once more! Ah! what
sound was that? A cab had drawn up at the door. Hinton flew to the
window; he saw the soft fawn shade of a lady's dress, he could not see
the lady. Of course, it was Mrs. Home returning. What news did she
bring? How he longed to fly to meet her! He did not do so, however; his
feet felt leaden weighted. He leant against the window, with his back to
the door. His heart beat harder and harder; he clenched his hands hard.
There was a quick step running up the stairs, a quick and springing
step. The drawing-room door was opened and then shut. He heard the
rustle of soft drapery, then a hand was laid on his arm. The touch of
that hand made him tremble violently. He turned his head, and--not
Charlotte Home--but _his_ Charlotte, beautiful and true, stood by his
side. Their eyes met.
"John!" she said.
"My own, my darling!" he answered.
In an instant they were clasped in each other's arms. That swift
glance, which each had given the other, had told all.
* * * * *
"John, I never got your letter."
"No!"
"John, you doubted me."
"I did, I confess it; I confess it bitterly. But not now, not after one
glance into your eyes."
"John, what did you say in that letter?"
"That I held you to your sacred promise; that I refused to give you up."
"But--but--you did not know my true reason. You did not know
why--why----"
"Yes, I knew all. Before I wrote that letter I went to Somerset house. I
read your grandfather's will."
"Ah! did you--did you indeed? Oh! what a dreadful time I have gone
through."
"Yes, but it is over now. Mrs. Home told me how your father had
repented. The sin is forgiven. The agony is past. What God forgets don't
let us remember. Lottie, cease to think of it. It is at an end, and so
are our troubles. I am with you again. Oh! how nearly I had lost you."
Charlotte's head was on her lover's shoulder. His arm was round her.
"Charlotte, I repeat what I said in that letter which never reached you.
I refuse to absolve you from your promise. I refuse to give you up. Do
you hear? I refuse to give you up."
"But, John, I am poor now."
"Poor or rich, you are yourself, and you are mine. Charlotte, do you
hear me? If you hear me answer me. Tell me that you are mine."
"I am yours, John," she said simply, and she raised her lips to kiss
him.