“Her name is Laura. As I said before, I was at the burial of her first husband. The story is a long one and I can only give you an outline of it—I might not do that only that I feel in such a jolly humor on this, my wedding night.
“Jerry Collingwood and I were rivals—he won Laura by a trick, and she found it out after her marriage, despising him for it. Then came his tragic death, perhaps you remember it.
“After that, Laura went to live with her uncle, Colonel Rogers—she found him a stern man, and he was soon plotting against her.
“She was strangely influenced by him—he had a power over her, which he magnified in her mind, and she obeyed him unquestioningly until by accident we met again.
“I need not tell you all we passed through—Rogers wished her to marry his son, and we finally realized that he would give us trouble unless we took the bull by the horns.
“So we arranged this elopement—how well it has been carried out I leave to you to decide.
“Laura is now my wife—any man who dares to whisper a word against her good name, were he a dozen times a colonel, shall answer to me for it at the muzzle of the revolver. We have outwitted the wily Rogers, and he will have to give an account of his stewardship.”
“That is all?”
“Yes.”
“It is enough. Prescott, even when I had reason to believe you guilty of the most heinous sin on the calendar—that of stealing the affection of an honest man’s wife—there were points about you I admired. Since learning what your true work was, I can say without flattery that I am sincerely glad to know you—glad that you have accomplished what you set out to perform, and trust that your future as a Benedict may be free from clouds.”