For a while they sat clasped in each other’s arms, their tears commingling, while Mr. Cameron briefly explained to his wife the main facts in Lyle’s strange history.
“She shall be our own daughter, shall she not, Walter? She shall be to us just what Edna was?”
“Certainly,” was the response, “she is our own daughter, Marjorie Lyle Cameron.”
They returned to Guy’s room, Mrs. Cameron resuming her old place, with Guy’s head upon her breast, his hand in hers, only that now Lyle knelt beside her. At their side, and very near his son, was Mr. Cameron, while just back of them were Everard, Leslie and Morton Rutherford. Ned Rutherford and Van Dorn lingered in the door-way watching, while at the foot of the bed stood Mike, the tears coursing down his rugged face. On the other side of the bed stood the physicians and nurse, their keen eyes watching the subtle changes passing over the face, now white as marble, and almost as motionless.
Fainter and shorter grew the gasping breaths, more and more feeble the pulse, until at last it was evident to every one within that little room, that life had very nearly ebbed away.
But there was one who did not, for one instant, lose faith or hope. The sublime faith which had upheld her through all those years of a sorrow greater than death, did not desert her now. Lyle seemed to share her faith, and they alone remained calm and tearless, the saint-like face of the mother shining with love and trust.
Suddenly, upon that death-like stillness, her voice rang out, with startling clearness:
“Guy! oh, Guy, my darling!”
And to that soul, slipping through the fast-darkening shadows, almost within the grasp of the great enemy, there seemed to have come some echo of those tones, with their piercing sweetness, recalling him to life; for, with a long, quivering breath, Guy slowly opened his eyes, gazing, for an instant, with a dreamy smile, upon the faces surrounding him. His eyes closed with a gentle sigh, but while those about him anxiously awaited the next breath, they again opened, full of the light of recognition, while a rapturous smile grew and deepened upon his face, irradiating his features with joy, his lips moving in a whisper so faint that only the mother’s ear could catch the words:
“I thought––it was––all––a dream,––but––it––is true,” then, exhausted, he sank into a deep sleep like a child’s, his breathing growing more and more regular and natural, moment by moment.