"You are talking in riddles, Harry," she exclaimed, rallying from her alarm. "Am I not the happiest woman in the world? And don't you see how well and strong I am?"
She coaxed the whole story from his lips. Then with affected lightness, she said: "Is that all? Why, you frightened me terribly; I thought you were ill—had caught some horrible disease or other. See here!"
As she spoke she ran to her desk, took out her treasure, and poured it into his hands in her impulsive fashion.
"Eleanor! What is this?" staring like one dazed, from her radiant face to the notes in his hands.
"This? Why, this is only your silly wife's laziness and selfishness in another form."
Then her story had to be told. Their combined efforts still fell short of the required sum, but she triumphantly produced the deed to the Western land. For a season there were caresses and even tears, of mutual love and thankfulness.
"My precious wife!" he exclaimed, as he clasped her close. "What a treasure in you, if all the money in the world should fail!"
"But your piano!" he said, with regret overreaching his appreciation of her sacrifice.
"Let it go," she merrily replied. "I could not play worth listening to—this you must admit. It was just an expensive, cumbersome toy—that's all."