He went over the paper carefully--the deaths, the marriages--but he saw nothing about any one by the name of Wilcox. There was a society column, and he went over that, too, although he did not expect to find anything relating to her, for she had been very careful to impress upon his mind, with a sort of proud humility, that she belonged to the humble walks of life. “Ah!” he exclaimed suddenly. “You’ve found it?” exclaimed Mrs. Scruggs. “Oh, no, nothing relating to her,” he answered quickly. The paragraph that had surprised him was this: Norman Wylde has returned from his long sojourn abroad, and his much-talked-of marriage to the beautiful Miss Ives will take place very soon. Major Falconer knew both parties very well, but he had never spoken of them to Pansy. He forgot both almost immediately in his anxiety over the sick girl. “Mrs. Scruggs, I wonder if I might see her? I am a very old friend,” he said. “She is sitting up a little while to-day. I know she would be glad to see you,” was the answer, and she immediately conducted him to Pansy’s room. The sick girl was so surprised that she uttered a cry of joy. Her blue eyes lighted with pleasure. “Oh, I am so glad!” she exclaimed impulsively. Mrs. Scruggs went quietly out. He knelt down by her side and kissed her little hands with the ardor of a younger lover. Yes, all his prudent resolves had melted before his joy at seeing her again, and his pity for her suffering. Gently, so as not to startle her from him, he told her of his love, and begged her to be his wife. “I am old enough to be your father, I know; but my heart is young, and, then, I could take such good care of you, my darling,” he said. “Oh, you are too good to me, and I--I could not love you enough,” she faltered. “I would teach you to love me,” he answered. And she had such a deep regard for him that it seemed to her that it would be very easy to learn that lesson. CHAPTER XIV. A SECOND MARRIAGE. San Diego had a sensation when Colonel Falconer, the rich Southerner, married the beautiful young typewriter within a few days after his return from San Francisco. He had pleaded for an early marriage, and she, after some hesitancy, had consented. “There is no one whose consent I have to ask, I suppose?” he said; and, after a moment’s silence, she answered: “No, there is no one. I have reason to think that my mother believes me dead. I have no wish to undeceive her.” “But does not that seem cruel?” he asked, and tears started to her eyes as she answered bitterly: “She has her new husband and other children to comfort her for my loss.” He said no more on the subject, and preparations were made for a speedy marriage. He declared that that would be best, and Pansy could not gainsay the assertion. Her small stock of money had been exhausted during her illness, and she was still too weak to go back to work.