“‘Yes I have come, I have sought you. Why did you fly? Did you not see that my whole soul was turning to you as it never turned even to—to her in the best days of our unshaken love; and that I could never rest till I found you and told you how the eyes which have once been blind enjoy a passion of seeing unknown to others—a passion which makes the object seem so dear—so dear—’
“He paused, perhaps to look at her, perhaps to recover his own self-possession, and I caught the echo of a sigh of such utter content and triumph from her lips that I was surprised when in another moment she exclaimed in a tone so thrilling that I am sure no common circumstances had separated this pair:
“‘Have we a right to happiness while she— Oh, Francis, I can not! She loved you. It was her love for you which drove her—’
“‘Cora!’ came with a sort of loving authority, ‘we have buried our erring one and passionately as I loved her, she is no more mine, but God’s. Let her woeful spirit rest. You who suffered, supported—who sacrificed all that woman holds dear to save what, in the nature of things, could not be saved—have more than right to happiness if it is in my power to give it to you; I, who have failed in so much, but never in anything more than in not seeing where true worth and real beauty lay. Cora, there is but one hand which can lift the shadow from my life. That hand I am holding now—do not draw it away—it is my anchor, my hope. I dare not confront life without the promise it holds out. I should be a wreck—’
“His emotion stopped him and there was silence; then I heard him utter solemnly, as befitted the place: ‘Thank God!’ and I knew that she had turned her wonderful eyes upon him or nestled her hand in his clasp as only a loving woman may.
“The next moment I heard them draw away and leave the place.
“Do you wonder that I long to know who they are and what their story is and whom they meant by ‘the erring one?’”