pair of hot passionate lips clinging to mine—a soft low voice whispering in my ear, 'Mon amour! Ma Vie! Je t'aime!'
"That's how it happened, Harry. I told you she acted, didn't I! Yes! I married her. It was private, in the sacristy of the Cathedral. She told me I wasn't to say I was married just yet, because she had an engagement to play in Sydney, and if they knew it up there, it would hurt the business.
"See that dog, Harry—guess he sees further with his shut eyes now, than I did then with mine open. Devil a word did I say to anyone at all.
"I lived at one end of the town—she at the other. I saw her home from the church—had dinner. Don't I mind that dinner! There were green peas—wish we'd got some for tomorrow. Well, I kissed her—said good night—and went home.
"That was Monday, October 27, 1873. Tuesday she went to Sydney—to play an engagement.
"I used to write. It was queer sending letters to a wife—Harry—and my own at that. I think I used to write much better ones to other fellow's wives—at least judging from results.
"One day a telegram came, saying I was to direct to her in her maiden name, to the Post Office.
It seemed strange. But I thought of her engagement, and did it.
"Did I say she'd a sister? Well, she had. One day the sister came to me and asked for eight pounds. Wouldn't tell me what for. I hadn't got it by me; but I found it soon, and gave it her. Next day I heard what it was for. My wife had come down suddenly from Sydney, and wanted the money for expenses.
"Of course I went off directly to see her, but they said she was too ill, too tired from the sea passage, to be disturbed from bed. So I took a ring off my hand, sent it up to her with my love, and left.
