"Yes," cried Waterman, in a full, sonorous voice, hearty as his own true soul.
Quicker than lightning, the enraptured young woman darted into the embrace of her lover, threw her arms convulsively around his neck, kissed him a dozen times on brow, lips, and cheek, and called him her angel, her preserver, and every thing else that could express the most heart felt gratitude and adoration.
The ceremony was performed. The amiable widow embraced a noble and devoted husband, and Waterman took to his heart the sweetest angel that ever wore that blessed garment called a petticoat!
Burr was invited to the wedding supper, but with excellent taste he did not respond to the invitation. He never intruded upon the domicile of his friend. Some five years afterwards, Burr encountered, in the northern part of New York, a manly, robust figure, with large whiskers and bushy hair, who regarded the former a few moments attentively, and then rushed forward, seized his hand, and shook it most cordially.
Burr looked at him with his penetrating gaze, and cried:
"Waterman!"
"The same," was the answer. "Burr, I am bound to you for ever! I owe you a debt of everlasting gratitude."
"How?"
"You have given me for a wife the most blessed woman—"
"What!" cried Burr. "Five years after marriage!"
"Yes, fifty, if you like. She is the most noble-hearted, angelic creature—the most devoted, affectionate, constant woman—the best wife that man was ever blessed with."
"Bravo!" exclaimed Burr; "but how do you get on, my dear fellow?"
"First-rate. My business went right up after my marriage, and I am now the owner of a whole block of houses in New York, and the father of four bouncing, beautiful babies, of whom I can speak in the highest terms, for they resemble their mother in their features and disposition."
"Rascal that I am," said Burr to himself, "this one good deed of mine will be a noble off-set to a thousand wicked ones!"
