Now the door opens, and now she is in his arms, and now there are more questions than answers:—
"When did he arrive? How did he find things out West? Has he been to supper? What is the news?"
"Now you are a perfect woman, you are enough to confuse a whirlwind. Sit down, and be quiet, and I will tell you all that you need to know. But first tell me who is this young lady; you forgot to introduce me."
"So I did, but of course she knows by this time that you are my uncle, and you will know directly all about her, for she was just going to tell part of her story, and I shall tell the rest before you go to bed."
"I will warrant that. Perhaps you would like to hear mine, and where I have been since I arrived."
"Yes, indeed, do tell me, and why you did not come right home?"
"I have been to jail, since I arrived; locked up in the criminal cells. It is a little singular too, how I got there. It is all owing to the newspapers."
"Owing to the newspapers, uncle, I do not understand how the papers should get you in prison."
"Very well I do. I saw an item in one of them this evening, about the arrest of a person whose name struck me very forcibly as being that of a man whom I once knew in Europe, and who I was very anxious to see, for I felt the deepest interest to know what had become of his wife. For him I cared nothing, I knew he was a villain, and felt rejoiced to think he had met his deserts at last; but his wife was a sweet good woman, a victim of unfortunate circumstances all through her life, and when I saw her last I had reason to fear that she was falling into a course adopted by many, many others, of drowning sorrow in wine. But I shall not tell my story now; I will sit down and hear yours."
"Well then, Agnes, tell what you did after landing."