Caleb Confesses His Deceit
And she might have kept on, if just at that moment Caleb Plummer had not come in, leading his daughter.
“Why, Mary” (which was Dot’s other name, you remember). “Why, Mary!” said Bertha. “Not at the wedding?”
“I told her you would not be there, mum,” whispered Caleb. “I heard as much last night. But bless you,” said the little man, “I don’t care what they say. I don’t believe them. There ain’t much of me, but what little there is would be torn to pieces sooner than I’d believe a word against you!”
He put his arms around her neck and hugged her very much as a child might have hugged one of the dolls he had made.
“Bertha wanted to come see you instead of going to the wedding,” said Caleb, “so we started in good time. I often wish I had not deceived her in regard to Tackleton, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d better tell her the truth. You’ll stay with us while I tell her, won’t you, mum?” he inquired, trembling from head to foot. “I don’t know what effect it may have upon her. I don’t know what she’ll think of me; I don’t know that she’ll ever care for her father afterwards. But it’s best she should be undeceived, and I must bear the consequences as I deserve.”
“Mary,” said Bertha, “where is your hand? I heard them speaking softly last night of some blame against you. They were wrong. I told them so. I scorned to hear a word! I know and trust you, Mary, so well that could my sight be restored at this instant, I could choose you from a crowd—my sister!”
Her father went on one side of her, while Dot remained on the other, holding her hand.
“Bertha, my dear,” said Caleb, “I have something on my mind I want to tell you while we three are alone. Listen kindly! I have a confession to make to you.”
“A confession, Father?”