“Who is she?” exclaimed Tom, opening his eyes, and then laughing merrily.
“It seems like an age since I left Boston, and I did not know but you had changed your mind.”
“An age! Why, it is only three months. My wife, of course, is no other than Bertha. We were talking seriously of marriage before you came away. We had fixed the time when I received your letter, but we made it two weeks earlier, so that we could take our bridal tour across the Atlantic. I desired to see you because I could not write you what I wanted to say.”
“You are more than a brother to me.”
“Wait till I bring Bertha up, before you say anything more. O, by the way, she knows nothing at all about this affair with the bank. Don’t say anything to her about it. It would only make her miserable for nothing. Besides, everything is all right with you, Paley. It is, upon my word.”
“How can we conceal it from her?” asked Lilian, as Tom left the room.
“We must do it, since he desires it,” I replied. “He says it is all right with me, and if Bertha don’t know any thing about my conduct, I suppose others do not.”
In a moment Tom appeared with his wife, who rushed into Lilian’s arms. They kissed each other, and I think Bertha was the happiest being I ever saw. My wife had not written anything about my crime to her friends, because she feared to compromise me.
“Why didn’t you write to us before, Lilian?” demanded Bertha.
“I did, but my letters did not reach you, it seems,” replied my wife; and I saw that she shuddered at the deception she was compelled to use.