Now, at that, Chesterfield, uttering an oath, made a run for the saucy creature, as if he were minded to strike her. “No, damn it, Phil!” cried Hamilton, moving to interpose--“hold your hand. What cause have you either, for that matter!” “Cause!” cried the nobleman, glaring round. “What the devil do you do defending her? Are you in her confidence? Cause, by God! I’ll have her by the heels for a common rogue and impostor--I’ll----” and he was making for the girl again. She struck out at him, with a little shriek. “Jack Davis,” she cried, “are you going to see your wife ill-treated before your eyes?” There was a rustle in the shadows, and a long form came bounding out, and seemed to tumble towards the mound. “Zounds!” ejaculated Hamilton, “his wife! If it isn’t the harping prodigy!” He whistled. “’Tis all plain now.” “Hold, sir!” cried the musician. “This is indeed my wife.” He ascended the mound, and stood shoulder to shoulder beside that injured lady. Chesterfield fell back, snorting, while Kate ran to him and clutched his arm. That touch, so desired, so unfamiliar, seemed to fall like balm on his passion. Moll looked up, with a twinkle of dismal resignation, at the sad, adoring face above her. “So you’ve found me at last, Jack,” she said, “and all my fun’s over, I suppose, for the present. Well-a-day!” and she heaved a great sigh. “How did you know me?” “Know you!” he exclaimed; and O, the aching tragedy, to him, implied in those two words! “Was not your voice enough, child, when you cried ‘Brava!’ There is none other like it in all the world. I followed it--when I could, and some instinct led me hither. And then and then--O, I wondered if you could be moved in the old way; and--and----” “And I was moved, Jack; I had to sing when you made me. Lud, if you could only be always the angel your playing makes you! But”--she heaved her shoulders pettishly--“well, I must come back to be your wife again, I suppose.” “Will you, Molly?” Poor wretch--the rapture and the marvel! “O yes!” she said indifferently. “Well, what have you been doing with yourself all this while?” “Playing for bread,” he answered. “I took another name--Bannister--my mother’s; and I think it blessed me. I have been making a reputation and a fortune, Molly.” “A fortune!” cried the lady, opening her eyes. “Then I’ll come with you, sure. La, now! what must all these folks think of us, making love in public?” She led him down from the mound, up to the listening group, astonished spectators of this domestic reunion. She was quite cool and impudent.