So busy was she with her thoughts that she forgot all about Miss Rose’s promised piece of news, until, when the tea was over, Miss Rose spoke of it again.

“You must light the lamp now, brownie.  I want to talk to your aunt.  There is someone wanting to see her,—­someone that she wants to see, I think.”

Emma Smith turned quickly, an eager light flashing over her face.  “Is it—­Tom?” she asked, excitedly.

“Yes—­your husband.  He has behaved so well he got his discharge as soon as it was possible, and he has come in search of you.”

Suddenly the light and eagerness died out of her face.  “Charlie—­and the van!” she cried, growing white to the lips.  “I’ve got to tell him,—­he’ll never forgive me.”  Her lips quivered piteously.

“He knows,” said Miss Rose, soothingly.  “I told him.  I thought it better to explain quickly what had happened, and not let him be expecting to find them too.”

She did not tell of the scene there had been when first he had heard of the loss, nor the difficulty they had had in persuading him to see his wife, and be kind to her.  “I don’t want her; ’twas the horse and van I wanted,” he said, cruelly.

He was not really as cruel, though, as he appeared.  He seemed quite touched when he heard of his wife’s starving state when she came in search of Huldah, and of her condition now, and expressed a desire to see her.  “I won’t say nothing to upset her,” he promised, when they seemed to hesitate.

Huldah’s face had turned even whiter than Emma’s, when she heard who was near, and what he wanted, her fear of him had been so increased since he carried her away by force that night.  But when she saw how eager her aunt was to see him, she did try to overcome her fears.

Within a few moments of Miss Rose’s telling of her “news,” he was there, in their midst.  To pale, trembling Huldah, whose every nerve had been set quivering by the mere sound of his step on the stair, he threw only a cool nod, as, awkwardly enough, he made his way to his wife’s bedside, and sat down beside her.

“I hear you’m bad,” he said, coolly, but it was plain that her altered appearance shocked him.  Every now and again, when she was not looking, he gave long wondering glances at her, and his eyes were almost troubled.  “So I hear you and the kid have been living together again.”

“Huldah?  Oh, Tom, she’s been such a comfort to me—­”

“That’s all right.  I s’pose she isn’t such a bad kid, on the whole.”

“She’s more’n good to me.”  Then quickly, feverishly she began to pour out the story of her life since he “was took away.”  She told him of Charlie and the van, and how she was tricked.  Of her coming to Huldah, and their home together, and her own illness, until gradually her voice grew weary and fainter and fainter.  The flush died out of her cheeks, the light out of her eyes.  She was exhausted, but after she could not even whisper, a smile still hovered about her lips, and her hand held that of her husband.  He sat on, apparently content to do so.  When her voice ceased, he did not seem to notice.  He appeared to be lost in thought to which no one had the clue.