“And you were acquainted with a girl named Mary?” continued the old man.
“Yes, and I loved her as I can love none other.”
“That lady whom you met so mysteriously last evening is Mary,” replied Mr. Devenant.
George Green was silent, but the fountains of mingled grief and joy stole out from beneath his eyelashes, and glistened like pearls upon his pale and marble-like cheeks. At this juncture the lady again entered the room. Mr. Green sprang from the sofa, and they fell into each other’s arms, to the surprise of the old man and little George, and to the amusement of the servants, who had crept up one by one, and were hidden behind the doors or loitering in the hall. When they had given vent to their feelings, they resumed their seats, and each in turn related the adventures through which they had passed.
“How did you find out my name and address?” asked Mr. Green.
“After you had left us in the grave-yard, our little George said, ‘O, mamma, if there ain’t a book!’ and picked it up and brought it to us. Papa opened it, and said, ‘The gentleman’s name is written in it, and here is a card of the Hotel de Leon, where I suppose he is stopping.’ Papa wished to leave the book, and said it was all a fancy of mine that I had ever seen you before, but I was perfectly convinced that you were my own George Green. Are you married?”
“No, I am not.”
“Then, thank God!” exclaimed Mrs. Devenant, for such her name.
The old man, who had been silent all this time, said:
“Now, sir, I must apologize for the trouble you were put to last evening.”