Brandon's first care on arriving at Glasgow was to disguise himself so effectually that there was no chance of recognizing him. Then he made his way to Acacia Villa, and told the servant that an old soldier, who had been with Captain Sinclair in Africa, wanted to see her mistress.
He was shown into the drawing-room, and in a few minutes Mrs. Sinclair, looking very pretty in her widow's weeds, came into the room. Brandon, who had tried to make himself look like an old soldier, was glad to see she did not know him again. He told her all the particulars concerning her husband's death, and handed her the locket and the letter. She looked long at the locket with tears in her eyes, and she read the letter through carefully. As she reached the end she started and looked hard at Brandon. “Did my husband have brain fever, or sunstroke Mr…?”
“Thompson, mum. Bill Thompson — at your service,” replied Brandon. “No, mum, I never see any signs of it.”
Mrs. Sinclair asked a few more questions, and when the messenger got up to leave she pressed a couple of sovereigns into his hand.
“I suppose an old soldier is not too proud to accept a present from an officer's widow,” she said.
To her surprise the old soldier dropped on his knees before her.
“I can keep up this deceit no longer,” he cried. “You see before you the wretch who did you a cruel wrong, but who has never ceased to reproach himself for it. I loved you from the first moment I set eyes oh you and the thought of you has been my stay in life many a weary night. Your image prevented me from taking my own life, or throwing it away, on a hundred occasions.
“Mr. Brandon!” she gasped.
“Yes, madame,” he replied, “the man who committed a dastardly offence on you; for which he again prays your forgiveness — and when he has attained that will dare to hope to win your love.”
Mrs. Sinclair was silent for a minute, then she handed her husband's letter to Brandon.
“Will you please read that paragraph?” she said.
Brandon took the paper and at the spot indicated read as follows:
Brandon read this through slowly and looked at Mrs. Sinclair.
The widow blushed, and cast down her eyes.
“Of course I must obey my husband's last wishes,” she murmured — and the next moment she was in her lover's arms.
Doubt not, dear love, nor hesitate to say:
Blush if thou wilt;
I love to see thy cheek
Grow hot with love-thoughts — let the word be said:
Between shy fingers whisper me the “yea”!
My soul will leap to hear as thine to speak.
Remember Love, forget the loveless bed;
Forget thy husband, and the cruel wreck
Of thy dear life on Wedlock's piteous sands:
Love's all in all, link on the golden bands
Forged in heaven without flaw or fleck.
I know thine answer by these amorous hands
That touch me thus to tempt me, by the kiss
Whose sudden passion burns upon ray neck
Thy heart clings to me in a perfect “Yes!”