Edgar went back with his heart and his eyes so full that he saw nothing. He gathered his small possessions together mechanically. His whole being was moved by the sweetness and the bitterness of this last parting and blessing. There was an unusual stir and commotion on the platform, but he took no notice. What was it to him who came or went? She might have been his bride--that tender creature with her soft voice, which came to him like a voice from heaven. So faithful, so tender, so sweet! It was all he could do to keep the tears which blinded him from falling. He threw his bag into the carriage; he had his foot on the step---- What was that cry? Once more, “Edgar! Edgar!” The party arriving had stopped and broken up. He turned round; through the mist in his eyes he saw who it was. They were standing at a distance in their bridal finery: he with a cloud on his face, with his hand upon her arm holding her back--yet not arbitrarily nor unkindly. And even in Arthur Arden’s face there was a certain emotion. They stood looking at each other as if across an ocean or a continent--more than that--a whole world. Then all at once she rushed to him, and threw her arms round his neck. “O Edgar, speak to me, speak to me!--forgive me! I am your sister still--your only sister; don’t go away without a word to me!” “God bless you, my dearest sister, my only Clare!” he cried. The tears rained down on his cheeks. He gave her one convulsive kiss, and put her into her husband’s arms. So all was over! The train rushed on, tearing wildly across the familiar country. And Edgar fell back in the solitude, the silence, the distance, parted from everything that was his; but not without a little of that reward Miss Somers had prayed for--enough of it to keep his heart alive. THE END. End of Project Gutenberg's Squire Arden; volume 3 of 3, by Margaret Oliphant