'Why?'
'Lest you might misunderstand me.'
'But you—you love me?'
'God alone knows how well!'
'Then, Jerry, will you marry me?' she said, while her sweet voice sank into a pleading whisper; 'I have always loved you.'
Jerry caught her wildly in his arms.
'Bella—my wife—my own little wife at last!' exclaimed Jerry, in a rather broken voice, as they kissed each other solemnly and passionately, for all doubts between them were ended now.
'Oh, Bella darling,' said Jerry, after sundry incoherences had been indulged in, 'though far, far away from you, I often dreamed of such an hour as this—for I was always with you in the spirit.'
'I would rather have had you, as I have you now, you dear, provoking old Jerry, in the flesh,' replied Bella, with one of her arch and waggish smiles. 'It is much more satisfactory.'
So Wilmothurst would return to the old line again, in all its vast extent of fertile acreage, and with the latter would come a bride second to none in brilliance and beauty that had ever come there before, though not—like haughty Lady Julia, the daughter of ever so many earls—but of a hale, stout, and warm-hearted old fellow, who loved Jerry as his own son—though, sooth to say, we fear he will never be able to abide his mother, who eventually took up her abode, in sullen and stately grandeur, with Cousin Emily, at the restored Dower House in Langley Park.