For a while they sat in silence, their hearts too full for words. Then Rufus Black reverently touched her black garments, and asked simply:
“Are these worn for me?”
Lally shook her head.
“For the lost love and vanished trust?” he asked. “Yes, I see. But, my wife, if you will love and trust me again, I will try to make your life all rose color. Poor little wife! How you have suffered! I know the whole story from Miss Wroat. When I called at the house yonder last evening and asked for you as Mrs. Peters, a tall bony woman who stood in the hall came forward and said she was Mrs. Peters. I was completely mystified, for I had decided in my own mind that you were known here as Mrs. Peters, but I now see how it is. The old lady knows your story and was angry at me, and called herself Mrs. Peters to throw me off your track. She told me all your adventures since we parted. And now, little wife, let us seek your employer and tell her that you have taken me back, and that we are to be married to-morrow morning at Inverness.”
“So soon, Rufus?”
“Yes. I mean to make you mine in a new bond that no one can contest. I have never taken steps to have our first marriage set aside, and I think it still stands. But we will be married quietly to-morrow morning in a Presbyterian church, and we can be so married without a license or publication of bans. May I take you to church to-morrow, little wife?”
“Yes,” said Lally, softly. “Oh, Rufus, I do think you are going to be strong and brave and true henceforward, and if so I shall not regret what I have suffered. It has been very bitter,” and she shuddered; “but God is good to us at the last. I will try and be a good wife, and to strengthen and uphold you.”
“You were always a good wife to me,” sobbed Rufus, with a sudden remembrance of her gentleness, her tenderness, her strong faith in him, and her resolute faith that he would some day achieve honors and wealth. “Oh, Lally, I am not worthy to touch the hem of your garments, but for your sake I will be a man.”
Lally stroked his cheek softly, as she had been wont to do in the long-ago, at the dingy lodgings at New Brompton.
“My poor boy!” she whispered yearningly. “My poor dear boy!”