“My husband, as he calls himself,” she said bitterly. “Oh, he is anywhere and everywhere; sometimes here for a day or two, and then absent for weeks. Indeed, he hardly dares stay for any length of time in any one place, for fear of the police getting hold of him.”
“My poor sister!” exclaimed Amos with a sigh; “but, at any rate, all is not dark,” he added. “I am bringing a little gladness with me. My dear father sends you his love—”
“What—what, Amos!” she exclaimed, interrupting him with almost a shriek. “Oh, say it again! Oh, can it really be?—my father send me his love! Oh, dearest Amos, was it really so?”
“Yes; he knows nearly all now, and his heart has opened to you, and he bids me tell you there is a place for you in the old home still.”
Sinking on the ground, the bewildered, agitated creature clasped her hands across her forehead, as though the swollen veins would burst with the intensity of her emotion. At last, yielding to her brother’s tender caresses, she grew calmer, and allowing him to draw her close to him, she wept a full flood of tears, which brought with them a measure of peace in their flow. “Oh! can it be?” she cried again, but now more hopefully—“a place for me yet in the dear old home, and my father’s smile on me once more.” Then she added in a scared, hoarse whisper, “But that doesn’t include him?”
“No, not your unhappy husband; my father could not receive him.”
“Of course not, Amos. Oh that I had never married him! Every spark of love for him has died out of my heart now. I hate him, and I loathe myself.”
“Nay, nay, dear sister,” said Amos soothingly, “don’t say so. He has sinned, greatly sinned, but all may yet be well.”
“Never, never,” she cried, “while he claims me for his wife!”
“Well, well,” said Amos, “calm yourself, dear Julia. See, here is proof visible of my father’s love to you: he has bid me put these two ten-pound notes into Mrs Allison’s hands for you. He sends them to yourself, but I am to place them with her, lest they should be taken from you.”