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.