A cry from the upper room answered his words; he dashed into the apartment. There, on the humble bed, lay Elizabeth, pale and changed, but alive!
She was cowering back in deadly terror—putting out her hands in wild appeal.
"I'm going away," she moaned; "don't kill me! I can start now—I'll go—I'll go!"
He fell on his knees by the bed, he was telling the truth in wild, broken words.
"Only forgive me, Elizabeth; only forgive me; my wife, my darling, can you forgive me? You would if my heart lay in your hands. Oh, Elizabeth, speak to me!"
She could not comprehend what he was saying at the moment; when she did understand, her first thought was of the girl—his sister.
"Elsie! Elsie!"
"She is ill—dying perhaps. Oh, my wife! my wife! Try to speak—say that you forgive me."
She was too greatly agitated for words then, but she put out her hands with a gesture he understood. He lifted her in his arms and folded her close to his heart. She lay in their passionate clasp with a long sigh of content.
"God is very good," she whispered; "oh, my beloved, let us thank Him."