"Father," says she, "this is my husband—and I am
proud to tell you so." Page 159.
Here, catching sight of Tawnish with his wounded arm, she uttered a low cry, and in a moment was kneeling beside him, kissing his uninjured hand, and fondling it with a thousand endearing terms. And seeing the infinite tenderness in his eyes and the love-light in her own, I was possessed of a sudden, great content. In a while, remembering us, she looked up, and, though her cheeks were red, her glance met ours freely and unashamed.
"Father," says she, "this is my husband—and I am proud to tell you so."
There was a moment's silence, and Jack's frown grew the blacker.
"Father," says she again, "I am not so simple but that I found out your quarrel with Sir Harry, and knew that you came hither to-day to meet your death—so—so I sought aid of this noble gentleman. Yet first I begged of him to marry me, that if—if he had died to-day in your place, I could have mourned him as a beloved husband. Can you forgive me, father?"
As Pen ended, she rose and approached Jack with outstretched hands; for a moment longer he hesitated—then he had her in his embrace.
"And you, Uncle Bentley," says she, looking at us from Jack's arms, "and, Uncle Dick, dear, tender Uncle Dick, can you forgive your wilful maid?"
"God knows, my dear, there's naught to forgive," says I, "save that you are leaving us—"
"Nay, Sir Richard," cries Mr. Tawnish, "Uncle Bentley has seen to that—"
"Uncle!" says Jack.