Guilty Bonds

“Serve the old scoundrel right!” declared Bob, in a tone of satisfaction. “It seems to me, Frank, old fellow, you owe your life to our newly-discovered friend.”

“Yes, that is true,” I admitted. “It is a debt I can never repay.”

“Don’t talk of it,” said Boris, tossing away his cigar-end. “My only desire has been to secure the happiness of my sister and yourself.”

“There is nothing to fear in that respect,” I said, laughing. “The dark clouds and terrible ordeals that overshadowed the first few months after our marriage have now passed, and brighter days, full of hope and enjoyment, have dawned. Our future lives will be devoid of sorrow, and there shall be no element of mistrust again to part us.”

“Frank, old chap,” cried Bob, enthusiastically, “I congratulate you on the recommencement of your honeymoon with all my heart. You and Mrs Burgoyne certainly deserve every happiness after the severe trials you have both undergone.”

Thanking him warmly, our hands gripped with the same hearty clasp as in days gone by.

While I had been speaking my wife had taken a little spray of stephanotis from her breast and with loving hands pinned it in the lapel of my coat.

As I kissed her passionately, she assured me, with a rippling laugh: “There shall be nothing wanting on my part to ensure perfect felicity, for I think, dearest, you can now place implicit trust in the woman who once was Vera Seroff, Nihilist.”

The End