This last piece of impudence was too much for both Cannington and myself. We burst into peals of laughter, and then felt ashamed when Gertrude rose suddenly and left the room. I followed hastily.
"My own," I caught her as she was springing up the stairs, "forgive us both. We didn't mean it. But the letter----?"
"Yes, yes, I know." By this time she was sobbing on my breast. "But oh, Cyrus, to think that I should be the daughter of such a man."
"Never mind. It is said in Scripture that a woman shall leave her father and mother and cling to her husband. To-morrow you will be Mrs. Vance, and enter upon a life of unclouded happiness."
"Oh, I hope so, I hope so," she murmured, "but the past has been so dreadful that I am afraid of the future."
"You need not be," I said stoutly. "I am by your side now to defend you. All things connected with the Mootley murder are at an end. Miss Destiny is dead; your father will probably marry his Chicago heiress and remain for ever in the States. Striver has vanished with Lucinda, and neither of them will ever be heard of again. And best of all, the eye has been destroyed."
"Best of all," whispered Gertrude, clinging to me fondly, "we are together, my darling, never to part."
"Never! never! never!" and I kissed her once, twice and again.
"I can't go back to the drawing-room," said Gertrude, "let me retire, and take the boy back to the inn. To-morrow, when Mabel comes down to be my bridesmaid, we shall see one another again."
"Never to part any more!"