It was very sweet, very comforting to her to be so loved after all the loneliness and barrenness of her life, during the long months of their separation. But presently she raised her head and searched his face earnestly. “What is it, dear? why are you so grave, as if you were regretting the fortune that I have lost?” he asked smilingly. “I was wondering how I could best tell you something else,” she remarked, with something of hesitation in her manner. “What do you mean? is it that old secret of the past?” he asked, growing grave, “the history of your life which has been the cause of so much suspicion, persecution, and wrong? Of course I shall be glad to have you give me your confidence, dear; but whatever you may have to tell me can never make the slightest difference in my love for you.” She smiled. “I know it,” she said, “and had I only known a little more of your own history, all this trouble and sorrow need never have come upon us. A word would have set everything right.” “If you had known a little more of my history? I do not understand you, Salome,” Dr. Winthrop remarked, looking perplexed. “Why did you not tell me about this Rochester-Hamilton contract?” “Because I hated the very thought of it; and after I had broken the conditions, and forfeited my fortune by marrying the woman I loved, there was nothing to be said. Besides, what possible difference could it have made in our relations?” “It would have made this difference, True,” Salome said, as she regarded him with tender earnestness, “that we should have escaped all that has made us so wretched, for I—your wife—am the Sadie Rochester whom you were destined by that arbitrary will to marry; you have already fulfilled the contract, which you so hated to contemplate, and the united estates of Brookside and Englehurst might have been our home long ago, if you had but confided to me the fact that you were Milton Hamilton’s heir and namesake.” Dr. Winthrop sat regarding his wife in speechless astonishment during this explanation. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed, as she concluded, “I am half tempted to believe that your brain has been turned after all. You surely cannot know what you are saying!” “Oh, yes, I do. What I have told you is a fact,” she quietly returned. “My true name—the poor name that has occasioned so much suspicion and trouble—is Salome Howland Rochester.” “And you are the Miss Rochester—the daughter of my uncle’s friend—whom these two wills destined me to marry?” the young physician cried, his face still blank with amazement and incredulity. “Yes.” “Then who is this other girl who has been masquerading under your name, and trying to trick me into a marriage with her?” he demanded in perplexity.