The gentleman immediately arose
on the entrance of the lady, and Mr. Devenant was in the act of
introducing the stranger when he observed that Jerome had sunk
back upon the sofa, in a faint voice exclaiming,--
"It is she!"
After this, all was dark and dreary. How long he remained in this
condition, it was for others to tell. The lady knelt by his side
and wept; and when he came to, he found himself stretched upon the
sofa with his boots off and his head resting upon a pillow. By his
side sat the old man, with the smelling-bottle in one hand and a
glass of water in the other, while the little boy stood at the
foot of the sofa. As soon as Jerome had so far recovered as to be
able to speak, he said,--
"Where am I, and what does all this mean?"
"Wait awhile," replied the old man, "and I will tell you all."
After the lapse of some ten minutes, Jerome arose from the sofa,
adjusted his apparel, and said,--
"I am now ready to hear anything you have to say."
"You were born in America?" said the old man.
"I was," he replied.
"And you knew a girl named Clotelle," continued the old man.
"Yes, and I loved her as I can love none other."
"The lady whom you met so mysteriously last evening was she," said
Mr. Devenant.
Jerome was silent, but the fountain of mingled grief and joy stole
out from beneath his eyelashes, and glistened like pearls upon his
ebony cheeks.
At this juncture, the lady again entered the room. With an
enthusiasm that can be better imagined than described, Jerome
sprang from the sofa, and they rushed into each other's arms, to
the great surprise of the old gentleman and little Autoine, and to
the amusement of the servants who had crept up, one by one and
were hid behind the doors or loitering in the hall.
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