"But," I gasped, "we must part."
"Part! part! Oh, God! Jack! what is it you say? part! no, no! Never, never!" She was as colorless as the lace about her neck. I then told her all.
When I had finished, she laid her arm around my neck, drew my cheek to hers, and said in a firm, brave voice, "No, Jack, my darling, we will not part. I am your wife, wedded in Heaven. God was witness to our betrothal under the open sky. God was sponsor to our marriage. We are man and wife and no man or woman can ever separate us. I am your Eve darling and with you would live in Eden, but if driven out, I will be by your side and wherever we go, there will be my paradise. You have not offended the law. You thought yourself free and no one can blame you."
I pressed her to my heart and cried, "My Rita, my noble Rita!"
"No, no! Jack, I am your Rita, but not your noble Rita. I am simply a woman; I am your wife and do no more or no less than any loving woman should do."
We resolved to go to Chicago, to live in seclusion while I should do all I could to increase my fortune, and then we would go off to some far off land, where there could be no possibility of having scandal's finger pointed at us. I then wrote you to forget me.
I again became Jack Felden, and my wife learned to like my olive hue and my dark hair better than my natural complexion. Chicago became our home. I courted fortune on change. For a while I was but indifferently successful. One year on almost the last day of August, Jim hurriedly entered my office saying:
"Mars Jack, your time is come. My ole ankles tells me thar will be a killing frost dis night; the corn will be cotched. I knows what I tells you. I run all way down town to tell you. Go out now, dis very minit, an' buy all de corn you can carry; put your las' dollar up and make a fortune. You'll win, Mars Jack; if you fails, you kin sell me for a ole grinnin possum."
The honest face of my old friend was ashy from excitement. With one word—"Jim I'll do it," I went on the board and before night nearly every dollar I owned on earth was up in margins on corn. That night there was a frost, corn went up several cents; this gave me additional margins, and I risked all. One month later I had cleared a handsome fortune.
The next year Rita and I went abroad to remain for two years. A boy was born to us in Egypt. We wanted Jim and Dinah to see him. For though they were our servants, we loved them as our best friends. I knew how Dinah would yearn to hold little Jack on her bosom; to live over in her deep loving fancy the days when her baby John drew his life from her breast. She had prayed that Miss Rita would let her nuss Mars John's Baby. She never saw him. In London he was exhaled as a dew drop. It was a sad blow; but my wife did not grieve as I feared she would.