doubt sudden and perhaps rash; but, Mrs. Fallow-Deer, young folks are not so slow as we old ones in their thoughts or in their ways, and I thought sincerely that I was acting for the best in helping the young man—"
"What do you mean, Mr. Carleton?—Farwell, I don't understand it," said Mrs. Fallow-Deer, faintly.
"The fact is, dear Mrs. Fallow-Deer, I trust you won't be angry, but—Gladys—" stammered Farwell.
"Well, what about Gladys? Do you know where she is? I have not seen her to-day."
There was a little rustle, and from behind a curtain Gladys appeared, blushing, confused, radiant. She looked neither at Charles Farwell nor the Rev. Abel, but glided up to Mrs. Fallow-Deer, and, throwing her arms about that good lady's neck, buried her head on her tight-laced but motherly bosom, and whispered,—
"Dear, forgive us,—but I—am Charlie's wife."
