And she seems swooning in his arms.  Gently he bears her to the cot, lays her upon it, and with the solicitude of one whose heart she has touched with a recital of her troubles, smooths her pillow and watches over her until her emotions come subdued.

“And will you believe me innocent?  Will you hear my story, and reject the calumny of those who have sought my ruin?” speaks Maria, impressing a kiss upon the fevered lips of her deliverer, and, having regained her self-command, commences to recount some of the ills she has suffered.

“Maria!” rejoins Tom, returning her embrace, “you, whom I have loved so sincerely, so quietly but passionately, have no need of declaring your innocence.  I have loved you-no one but you.  My faith in your innocence has never been shaken.  I hastened to you, and am here, your protector, as you have been mine.  Had I not myself suffered by those who have sought your ruin, my pride might be touched at the evil reports that have already been rung in my ears.  Grateful am I to Him who protects the weak, that I have spared you from the dread guilt they would have forced upon you.”

Again and again he declares his eternal love, and seals it with a kiss.  His, nature is too generous to doubt her innocence.  He already knows the condition of her father, hence keeps silent on that point, lest it might overcome her.  He raises her gently from the cot and seats her in a chair; and as he does so, Mr. Snivel’s coat falls upon the floor, and from the pocket there protrudes four of his (Tom’s) letters, addressed to Maria.

“Here! here!” says Tom, confusedly, “here is the proof of their guilt and your innocence.”  And he picks up the letters and holds them before her.  “I was not silent, though our enemies would have had it so.”

And she looks up again, and with a sweet smile says:  “There truly seems a divine light watching over me and lightening the burdens of a sorrowing heart.”

The excitement of the meeting over, Maria rapidly recounts a few of the trials she has been subjected to.

Tom’s first impulse is, that he will seek redress at law.  Certainly the law will give an injured woman her rights.  But a second thought tells him how calmly justice sits on her throne when the rights of the poor are at stake.  Again, Mr. Keepum has proceeded strictly according to law in prosecuting her father, and there is no witness of his attempts upon her virtue.  The law, too, has nothing to do with the motives.  No! he is in an atmosphere where justice is made of curious metal.

“And now, Maria,” says Tom, pressing her hand in his own, “I, whom you rescued when homeless-I, who was loathed when a wretched inebriate, am now a man.  My manhood I owe to you.  I acknowledge it with a grateful heart.  You were my friend then-I am your friend now.  May I, nay! am I worthy of retaining this hand for life?”

“Rather, I might ask,” she responds, in a faltering voice, “am I worthy of this forgiveness, this confidence, this pledge of eternal happiness?”