Love Conquers Pride; or, Where Peace Dwelt by Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - HTML preview

CHAPTER XLV.
 SUPREME JOY.

A year went slowly past, and found Pansy and Juliette still at the villa; but it was not likely that the latter would be there much longer, for she had lately made the acquaintance of a handsome young man, a rich New Yorker, who had wintered in Italy, and who had been so very much smitten with the charms of Miss Ives that he had proposed marriage on very short acquaintance, and had been accepted, for he was the first man who had ever touched her heart since she had lost Norman Wylde.

In truth, Juliette was very much altered for the better. She had taken gentle Pansy for her model, and was fast becoming a changed and improved woman. Not content with owning her fault to Pansy, she had written to the Wyldes, mother and son, and confessed her folly and her repentance, declaring that she now loved Pansy as fondly as she had once hated her, and that her dearest wish now was for the happiness of the two she had injured so much.

When Arthur Osborne first declared his love to Juliette she had a hard struggle with her pride, but before she gave him her answer she told him the whole story of her folly and sin and repentance.

“If you had known this you would not have asked me to be your wife,” she said sadly.

But she was mistaken, for he reiterated his offer, declaring that he admired her frankness and believed in her repentance.

“I will help you to forget your bitter past,” he said; then Juliette gave him a blushing yes.

The betrothal was a month old when, one day, as Pansy sat alone in the drawing-room of her beautiful home, some visitors were announced, and Mrs. Wylde, with her daughter and a beautiful little boy, entered the room.

Pansy sprang up with a little startled cry, and was immediately half smothered in kisses and embraces from all three.

“Forgive me for my share in your past unhappiness. I had never seen you, and believed you to be a coarse, ignorant girl, unsuited to my son in every way,” murmured Mrs. Wylde regretfully.

“Let us forget the past,” answered the noble girl she had injured, as she drew her child to her breast, wondering, yet not daring to ask, about his father.

Juliette came in presently, and they met her with the cordiality of old friends. Then she looked at Pansy.

“Norman is here, too,” she said smilingly, “but I think he was doubtful of a welcome, and he stopped in the summerhouse. Will you meet him halfway, Pansy?”

The blush that rose to her face betrayed her heart without words, and Mrs. Wylde said tenderly:

“Go, dear; we will excuse you.”

Juliette took her trembling hand and led her to the door. Then she kissed her fondly.

“Bless you both, dear!” she said earnestly, and went back to the guests.

But little Charley, now almost five years old, followed his newfound mother.

Norman was waiting in the flower-wreathed summerhouse, and at one glance into each other’s eyes the two read each other’s heart.

“You will not send me away again, my darling!” he murmured, as he clasped her to his heart in passionate love.

A few weeks sufficed for their second courtship. They were married on the same day with Arthur Osborne and Juliette Ives. Both the brides looked wonderfully beautiful, and both the bridegrooms handsome and happy.

In the spring they all went back to America. Juliette’s home was to be in New York, but not the least of Pansy’s pleasures was the fact that she would spend the rest of her life among the dear friends and old familiar scenes of her beloved Richmond.

THE END.