th the
lady and obtained your address, and after travelling fourteen hours here
I am."

"How very extraordinary!" said the widow. "I wonder who it could have
been? Did she mention her name?"

Mr. Tucker shook his head. Inquiries as to the lady's appearance, age,
and dress were alike fruitless. "There was a mist before my eyes,"
he explained. "I couldn't realize it. I couldn't believe in my good
fortune."

"I can't think--" began Mrs. Bowman.

"What does it matter?" inquired Mr. Tucker, softly. "Here we are
together again, with life all before us and the misunderstandings of
long ago all forgotten."

Mr. Clark cleared his throat preparatory to speech, but a peremptory
glance from Mrs. Bowman restrained him.

"I thought you were dead," she said, turning to the smiling Mr. Tucker.
"I never dreamed of seeing you again."

"Nobody would," chimed in Mr. Clark. "When do you go back?"

"Back?" said the visitor. "Where?"

"Australia," replied Mr. Clark, with a glance of defiance at the widow.
"You must ha' been missed a great deal all this time."

Mr. Tucker regarded him with a haughty stare. Then he bent towards Mrs.
Bowman.

"Do you wish me to go back?" he asked, impressively.

"We don't wish either one way or the other," said Mr. Clark, before the
widow could speak. "It don't matter to us."

"We?" said Mr. Tucker, knitting his brows and gazing anxiously at Mrs.
Bowman. "_We?_"

"We are going to be married in six weeks' time," said Mr. Clark.

Mr. Tucker looked from one to the other in silent misery; then,
shielding his eyes with his hand, he averted his head. Mrs. Bowman, with
her hands folded in her lap, regarded him with anxious solicitude.

"I thought perhaps you ought to know," said Mr. Clark.

Mr. Tucker sat bolt upright and gazed at him fixedly. "I wish you joy,"
he said, in a hollow voice.

"Thankee," said Mr. Clark; "we expect to be pretty happy." He smiled at
Mrs. Bowman, but she made no response. Her looks wandered from one to
the other--from the good-looking, interesting companion of her youth to
the short, prosaic little man who was exulting only too plainly in his
discomfiture.

Mr. Tucker rose with a sigh. "Good-by," he said, extending his hand.

"You are not going--yet?" said the widow.

Mr. Tucker's low-breathed "I must" was just audible. The widow renewed
her expostulations.

"Perhaps he has got a train to catch," said the thoughtful Mr. Clark.

"No, sir," said Mr. Tucker. "As a