when Capitola's wonder was at its climax, and while she was sitting by
the little wood fire that that chilly evening required, Old Hurricane
came in, looking very unlike himself, in an humble, confused,
deprecating, yet happy manner, like one who had at once a mortifying
confession to make, a happy secret to tell.

"Cap," he said, trying to suppress a smile, and growing purple in the
face.

--"Oh, yes! You've come to tell me, I suppose, that you're going to put
a step-aunt-in-law over my head, only you don't know how to announce
it," answered Capitola, little knowing how closely she had come to the
truth; when, to her unbounded astonishment, Old Hurricane answered:

"Yes, my dear, that's just it!"

"What! My eyes! Oh, crickey!" cried Cap, breaking into her newsboy's
slang, from mere consternation.

"Yes, my dear, it is perfectly true!" replied the old man, growing
furiously red, and rubbing his face.

"Oh! oh! oh! Hold me! I'm 'kilt!'" cried Cap, falling back in her chair
in an inextinguishable fit of laughter, that shook her whole frame. She
laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes and
looked at Old Hurricane, and every time she saw his confused and happy
face she burst into a fresh paroxysm that seemed to threaten her life
or her reason.

"Who is the happy---- Oh, I can't speak! Oh, I'm 'kilt' entirely!" she
cried, breaking off in the midst of her question and falling into fresh
convulsions.

"It's no new love, Cap; it's my old wife!" said Old Hurricane, wiping
his face.

This brought Capitola up with a jerk! She sat bolt upright, gazing at
him with her eyes fixed as if in death.

"Cap," said Old Hurricane, growing more and more confused, "I've been a
married man more years than I like to think of! Cap, I've--I've a wife
and grown-up son! Why do you sit there staring at me, you little demon?
Why don't you say something to encourage me, you little wretch?"

"Go on!" said Cap, without removing her eyes.

"Cap, I was--a jealous passionate--Demmy, confession isn't in my line.
A diabolical villain made me believe that my poor little wife wasn't
good!"

"There! I knew you'd lay it on somebody else. Men always do that," said
Cap, to herself.

"He was mortally wounded in Mexico. He made a confession and confided
it to Herbert, who has just sent me an attested copy. It was Le Noir.
My poor wife lived under her girlhood's name of Marah Rocke." Old
Hurricane made a gulp, and his voice br