"Did you compel Melty to own up to that much?" said the little detective, her tiny, white race full of interest.
"We did; and pursuit would he useless."
"When a Haughton weds and is dishonoured, divorce, not pursuit, will lie his action," said Vaura, her beautiful head erect; and now for our revenge, a sweeter strain than that of grief; we shall descend and so cover their retreat by our sparkling wit, and gay smiles, that they shall not be missed."
"Mrs. Haughton would get left anyway," said Blanche; "for the crowd all want to stare at you."
"Flashes of light and warm tints in a golden summer sky versus evening in her red robes sinking to the west," said Trevalyon, pressing Vaura to his side as they follow their companions.
"One for you, Sir Lionel," cried la petite looking over her shoulder.
And Lionel bends his handsome head down to the fair woman whose face is unturned to his. He says, whisperingly, while his face is illumined with happiness.
"A few days, beloved, and then we shall lead, till I weary my wife with the intensity of my love, the life of the lotus-eaters."
"Yes, my own tired love, yes; our home, until our world bids us forth, shall be a very 'castle of indolence,' 'a pleasing land of drowsy head, 'twill be of dreams that wave before our half-closed eyes, and of gay castles in the clouds that pass forever flashing round our summer sky.'"
And the large dark eyes are full of love's warm light, as the ayren voice dies away to a murmur.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's A Heart-Song of To-day, by Annie Gregg Savigny