“Forgotten! While life lasts, I shall remember this night.”
“Hush, this is the last. She is singing, 'Home, Sweet Home'.”
“Yes, 'Home,' for these wanderers from all over the earth. See how silently they file out.”
“There is many a tear among them. They will lie, tonight on memory's couch of sad dreams.”
“You are wrong, my friend,” said Dick bitterly; “they are more like to hasten down to the gambling hells to kill the visions memory would recall.”
“Sweet Bird, you cannot believe this thing of me!” The Singer-Lady raised her bright head from Dick's shoulder, and met, steadfastly, his passionately adoring eyes.
“Richard, how can you for one moment doubt me? I know you to be good and true. Were you not exonerated from the last accusation of which you informed me before you asked for my hand in marriage. And do we not know that this man is actuated by the motive of jealousy?”
“The Mormon beast! He knows well that I did not steal his mule.”
“No' naughty boy,” tapping him playfully with her fan, “'Twas something else you stole from Master Crow the woman he wanted. Often have I noticed on the streets how all women, every one, turn to look after you.”