“Jack, you owe me nothing,” Geoffrey responded, grasping him heartily by the hand. “I do not forget who cared for me during the first few years of my life, and if I have helped in any way to restore peace to you and happiness to Margery, I am more than paid already.”
“Thank ye, sir; but won’t ye come in and sup with us—that is if ye haven’t had something already.”
Jack pleaded with an air of humility.
“No. I’ve been too busy with my thoughts to care anything for eating, and I’ll join you with pleasure,” Geoffrey answered, cordially.
He returned to the parlor with Jack, where he found Margery with a beaming face, and the landlady laying the table for three.
It was two hours later before they separated for the night, and during that time many plans for the future were discussed by the reunited couple.
Neither Jack nor Margery felt inclined to remain in the West, where they had suffered so much, and where there would be constant reminders of the painful past, and it was finally decided that they should proceed at once to the farm which Jack still owned in New Jersey, and if Margery was pleased with the place they would settle there and spend the remainder of their lives upon it. The next morning they went to pay Farmer Bruce a visit, and inform him of the happy ending to all their trouble.
The following day they went to San Francisco, where they drew Margery’s money from the bank, in which it had remained so long, and a snug little sum it was, too, having accumulated for so many years. A week later they all turned their backs upon the Pacific coast and set their faces toward the East. Geoffrey accompanied them as far as Cheyenne, Wyoming, where he took leave of them, as he was going southward into New Mexico again. But he promised to pay them an early visit when he should return to Brooklyn.
While these events were transpiring in the far West, an interesting incident occurred in the far East—in no other city than Boston—which has its bearing on our story and properly belongs here.