“Every word. I was up; I could not sleep. Does any man sleep the night before he is married? I could not. I lighted a cigar and went out upon the lawn. At the gate I stood, puffing away and looking up in this direction, wondering if my sweet wife that is to be had obeyed my parting injunctions and gone to sleep, when presently a carriage came tearing along, going in the very direction of my own thoughts. A man sat within; I cannot say that I exactly recognized that man in the moonlight, but I saw him move quickly back when he saw me, and that aroused my suspicions. I followed; I could not help following. Something told me my happiness was menaced, my love in danger. I was determined to know the truth, Mell. I listened.”
“And you do not hate me?”
“Hate you, Mell? Dearer to me than ever you are at this moment! I know how you have been tempted; I realize all you have overcome. Never could I doubt such love! Comforted by it, I can bear up even under so heavy a misfortune as the treachery of a friend. But the hour is late; we must not talk longer; you must snatch a little rest. Good-night once more, dear love. To-morrow, Mellville, you will be mine—to-morrow!”
“Aye, Rube! To-morrow, yours! Upon every day and every morrow of my life, always yours!”
THE END.
Transcriber’s Note:
Authors’ archaic and variable spelling and hyphenation is mostly preserved.
Authors’ punctuation styles are preserved.
Any missing page numbers in this HTML version refer to blank or un-numbered pages in the original.