On his way back to the House he knocked at Mrs. Catanach's door, and said a few words to her which had a remarkable effect on the expression of her plump countenance and deep-set black eyes. When he reached home he ran up the main staircase, knocked at the first door, opened it and peeped in. There sat Lenorme on the couch, with Florimel on his knees, nestling her head against his shoulder, like a child that had been very naughty, but was fully forgiven. Her face was blotted with her tears, and her hair was everywhere, but there was a light of dawning goodness all about her, such as had never shone in her atmosphere before. By what stormy-sweet process the fountain of this light had been unsealed no one ever knew but themselves. She did not move when Malcolm entered--more than just to bring the palms of her hands together and look up in his face. "Have you told him _all_, Florimel?" he asked. "Yes, Malcolm," she answered. "Tell him again yourself." "No, Florimel: once is enough." "I told him _all_," she said with a gasp, then gave a wild little cry, and, with subdued exultation, added, "and he _loves_ me yet! He has taken the girl without a name to his heart!" "No wonder," said Malcolm, "when she brought it with her." "Yes," said Lenorme, "I but took the diamond casket that held my bliss, and now I could dare the angel Gabriel to match happinesses with me." Poor Florimel, for all her worldly ways, was but a child. Bad associates had filled her with worldly maxims and words and thoughts and judgments. She had never loved Liftore: she had only taken delight in his flatteries. And now had come the shock of a terrible disclosure, whose significance she read in remembered looks and tones and behaviors of the world. Her insolence to Malcolm when she supposed his the nameless fate had recoiled in lurid interpretation of her own. She was a pariah--without root, without descent, without fathers to whom to be gathered. She was nobody. From the courted and flattered and high-seated and powerful, she was a nobody! Then suddenly, to this poor houseless, wind-beaten, rain-wet nobody, a house--no, a a home she had once looked into with longing--had opened, and received her to its heart, that it might be fulfilled which was written of old, "A man shall be as an hiding-place from the wind and a covert from the tempest." Knowing herself a nobody, she now first began to be a somebody. She had been dreaming pleasant but bad dreams: she woke, and here was a lovely, unspeakably blessed and good reality which had been waiting for her all the time on the threshold of her sleep. She was baptized into it with the tears of sorrow and shame. She had been a fool, but now she knew it, and was going to be wise. "Will you come to your brother, Florimel?" said Malcolm tenderly, holding out his arms. Lenorme raised her. She went softly to him and laid herself on his bosom. "Forgive me, brother," she said, and held up her face.