’Are you the old Harry that you know all this?  But go on; don’t stop; it all comes back to me so plain when I hear you tell it.  She wore a straw bonnet trimmed with blue, and a white dress, but took it off directly for a black one because her mother was dead.  Did she tell you that?’

‘No,’ Jerrie replied.  ’She told me nothing of the dress, only how happy she was with you, whom she loved so much, and who loved her and made her so happy for a time that earth seemed like heaven to her, and then—­’

Here Jerrie faltered a little, but Arthur’s sharp ‘What then?’ kept her up, and she continued: 

’Then something came to you, and you began to forget everything, even poor little Gretchen, and went away for weeks and left her very sad and lonely, not knowing where you were; and then, after some months, you went away and never came back again to the little wife who waited, and watched, and prayed, and wanted you so badly.’

’Oh, Cherry! oh, Gretchen!  I’m so sorry!  I didn’t mean to do it; I surely didn’t.  May God forgive me for forgetting the little wife!  Was it long?  Was it months, or was it years?  I can’t remember, only that there was a Gretchen, and I left her,’ Arthur said.

’It was years, four or five, and—­and’—­Jerrie’s breath came heavily now and her words slowly, for she was nearing the point relating to herself and wondering what the effect would be upon him.  ’After a while there came into Gretchen’s life the dawning of a great hope, a great joy, which she felt would make you glad, and wishing to keep it a secret till you came home, she only gave you a hint of it.  She wrote:  “I have something to tell you which will make you as happy as it does me—­“’

‘Stop!’ and Arthur put out both his hands as if groping for something which he could not find; then he said, ‘Go on,’ and Jerrie went on, slowly now, for every word was an effort, and spoken so low that Arthur bent forward to listen to her.

’I don’t know just where Gretchen’s home was when she lived alone waiting for you.  I only know that after a while there came to it a little baby—­a girl baby—­Gretchen’s and yours—­’

She did not get any further, for with a bound Arthur was on his feet, every faculty alert, every nerve strung to its utmost pitch, and every muscle of his face quivering with wild excitement, as he exclaimed: 

’A baby!  Gretchen’s baby and mine!  A little girl!  Oh, Cherry, if you are deceiving me now!’

Jerrie, too, had risen, and was standing before him with her hands upon his arm and her eyes, so like Gretchen’s, looking into his, as she said: 

’I am not deceiving you.  There was a baby born to you and Gretchen sometime in January, 18—­, and it was christened in the little church where you were married by the Rev. Mr. Eaton.  Oh, Mr. Arthur, how can I tell you; she, the baby, is living yet—­grown to womanhood now, for this happened about twenty years ago, and the girl is almost twenty—­and is waiting and longing so much for her father to recognize and claim her.  Oh, don’t you understand me?  Look at me and then at Gretchen’s picture!’