It was eighteen months after this before they met again--Hector and
Theodora; and now it was May, and the flowers bloomed and the birds
sang, and all the world was young and fair--only Morella Winmarleigh was
growing into a bitter old maid.

At twenty-eight people might have taken her for a matron of ten years
older.

She had wondered for weeks what was the result of her action with the
letters. She hoped daily to hear of some catastrophe and scandal falling
upon the head of Theodora. But she heard nothing. It was only after
Josiah's death that details were wafted to her through the Fitzgeralds.

How poor Mr. Brown had never really recovered from a slight stroke he
had had on leaving Beechleigh, and of Theodora's goodness and devotion
to him, and of his worship of her. And Morella had the maddening feeling
that if she had left well alone this death might never have occurred,
and her hated rival might not now be a free and beautiful widow, with
no impediment between herself and Hector when they should choose to
meet.

She had meant to be revenged and punish them, and it seemed she had only
cleared their path to happiness. There was really no justice in this
world!

Theodora had gone to meet her father and step-mother in Paris.

Her sisters were married and very happy, she hoped. Prosperity had
wonderfully embellished their attractions, and even Sarah had found a
mate.