Bertram turned his head away.
"I have been a scoundrel," he said at last.
The Rector laid his hand on his arm.
"You have been something uncommonly like it, my dear fellow. And the spirit of revenge does not sit well on you. Come, your mother is waiting. Change her despair to peace. Say some of the good things you have said to me to her, and the blessing of God will descend on you, Bertram, and on the young girl whom you will call your wife to-day. Give me your hand. Come."
Bertram went.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE BRIDE!
Miss Peters was lying in sound slumber, and Mrs. Butler, with a wet sponge in her hand, was standing over the little spinster's bed.
"Maria," she said, in her sharp voice. And at the same moment the sponge descended with unerring aim on the sleeper's upturned face.