“And keep my secret safe. I would rather divulge it myself,” she added.
He nodded in the affirmative, and was soon on his way to the depot, so bewildered with what he had heard, that he scarcely knew whether it were reality or a dream. Gradually, however, it became clear to him, and he remembered many things which confirmed the strange story he had heard.
Greatly he wished to write to Frederic, and tell him that Marian Grey was his wife, but he would not break his promise, and he was wondering how he could hasten the discovery, when, as the cars left the depot at Hartford, a broad hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a voice which sounded familiar, said, “Wall, captain, bein’ we’re so full, I guess you’ll have to make room for me, or else I’ll have to set with that gal whose hoops take up the hull concern.”
“Ben Butterworth,” Will exclaimed, turning his face toward the speaker, who recognized him at once.
“Wall,” he began, as he took the seat Will readily shared with him, “I didn’t ’spose ’twas you. How do you do, and how’s Marian? Has she gone to Riverside yet?”
“No,” returned Will, and looking Ben directly in the face, he continued, “How much of Miss Grey’s history do you know?”
“Mor’n I shall tell, I’ll bet. How much do you know?” and Ben set his hat a little more on one side of his head.
“More than you suppose, perhaps,” returned Will. “And if you, too, are posted, I’d like to talk the matter over, but if not, I shall betray no secrets.”
“I swan, I b’lieve you do know,” said Ben. “Did she tell you?”
Will nodded, and Ben continued, “She wrote to me that you knew Mr. Raymond, and liked him, too; I guess he ain’t a very bad chap after all, is he?”