She lifted the letter to her lips and kissed it, looked up again, and then our eyes met! Then I hardly remember what I did. I was unconscious of any deliberate thought; I only knew that there was my wife, and that not another second should pass before I had her in my arms.
I suppose I must have hurled myself against the casement; the lock yielded, and the window flew open. Enveloped in a whirl of floating snow I leaped into the warm room. With dilated, fixed eyes, with parted lips, she stood, terror-stricken, at first, yet erect and undaunted. I had counted all along on her courage, and it did not fail me! But before I had even time to speak, such a change came over her as is like the first upspring of sunlight upon the colourless world of dawn. As you may see a wave gather itself aloft to break upon the shore, so she drew herself up and flung herself, melting into tears, body and soul, as it were, upon my heart. And the next moment her lips sought mine.
Never before had she so come to me—never before had life held for me such a moment! Oh, my God! it was worth the suffering!
CHAPTER V
A knock without aroused us. With a stifled cry of alarm, the woman who had made no sound on the violent entry of an armed man upon her unprotected solitude, now fell into deadly anguish. She sprang to the door, and I could see the lace on her bosom flutter with the fear of her heart as she bent her ear to listen. The knock was repeated.
“Who is it?” cried Ottilie, in a strangled voice. “I had said I would be alone.”
“‘Tis I, child,” came the answer in the well-known deep note; “it is Anna, alone.”
I thrust my sword back into its scabbard; my wife drew a long breath of relief, and glanced at me with her hand pressed to her heart.