“But did you really wear that dress I saw you in?”

“For that once only.  You see, I was at Watervliet when you came.  If you had only gone straight there, dear goose! instead of dodging in the road, you would have found me.  I had grown a little tired of the monotony of the village, and was glad to join the party starting for Niskayuna, it was such a glorious drive across the mountain.  I longed for you all the time.”

“Pretty little Shakeress!  But why did they put us on such a false track?”

“Oh, we had expected to reach home that night, but one of the horses was lame, and we did not start as soon as we had planned.  We came back on Saturday afternoon—­Saturday afternoon, and this is Monday morning!”, leaning back dreamily, and looking across the blue distance to the far-off hills.  “Then I got your card, and they told me about you, and I knew, for all the message, that you’d be back on Sunday morning.  But how could I tell then that Fanny Meyrick would not be with you?”

“Bessie!” and my hand tightened on hers.

“Oh, Charlie, you don’t know what it is to be jealous.  Of course I did know that—­no, I didn’t, either, though I must have been sure underneath that day.  For it was more in fun than anything else, after I knew you were in the meeting-house—­”

“How did you know?”

“I saw you drive up—­you and Hiram and Mrs. Hiram.”

“You didn’t think, then, that it was Mrs. Charles?”

“So I stole into Sophia’s room, and put on one of her dresses.  She is tall too, but it did not fit very well.”

“I should think not,” I answered, looking down admiringly at her.

“In fact,” laughing, “I took quite a time pinning myself into it and getting the neckerchief folded prim.  I waited till after the sermon, and then I knew by the singing that it was the last hymn, so I darted in.  I don’t know what they thought—­that I was suddenly converted, I suppose, and they would probably have given thanks over me as a brand snatched from the burning.  Did I do the dance well?  I didn’t want to put them out.”

“My darling, it was a dreadful masquerade.  Did you want to punish me to the end?”

“I was punished myself, Charlie, when you fell.  Oh dear! don’t let’s talk about the dreadful thing any more.  But I think you would have forgiven Elder Nebson if you had seen how tenderly he lifted you into the wagon.  There, now:  where are we going to live in New York, and what have we got to live on besides my little income?”

“Income!  I had forgotten you had any.”

“Ask Judge Hubbard if I haven’t.  You’ll see.”

“But, my dear,” said I gravely, drawing forth the packet from my breast, “I, too, have my story to tell.  I cannot call it a confession, either; rather it is the story of somebody else—­Hallo! who’s broken the seal?” For on shipboard I had beguiled the time by writing a sort of journal to accompany Fanny’s letter, and had placed all together in a thick white envelope, addressing it, in legal parlance, “To whom it may concern.”