"Oh, it is good to see your face again. I expect I look like a galvanized corpse, Sarah. What with the horror of my forced union with Medusa (a pet name I have for Mrs. Cole), and then brain fever, which, I don't wonder, caught me, and which, having that woman about me, aggravated. You banished, and maligned, at which I stuffed the bedclothes into my ears, and now my old enemy, inflammatory rheumatism, I have had a pretty tough time of it."
"Yes, indeed, you have, poor fellow," said Sarah, restraining her tears, and scarcely able to look at the wreck before her; "but you are on the mend now, and we must trust in God to bring you around soon. It has been a heartbreak to me, Mr. Cole, that I was not allowed to nurse you."
"Only another piece of their cruelty, Sarah. But tell me about yourself. Where did that old sinner incarcerate you? tell me everything," he said, with feeble eagerness, for sometimes the pain was intense, causing him to set his teeth, or catch his breath.
But Silas Jones, seeing how much she was affected, and wishing to give her time to recover, himself gave the sick man a vivid picture of her imprisonment and release.
"Jove! what a wretch—I mean Stone; for the man Lang was simply his tool. Gad! I shall exercise a treble amount of will-power to get well, and out of their clutches, and back to dear old Toronto. 'Out of every evil comes some good,' they say; though, in my case, not much; in Sarah's, yes, for you have given me a tonic, Jones. From this moment I am determined to recover."
"That's right; be brave, sir, and you'll pull through right smart," said Silas Jones; for Sarah is swallowing a lump in her throat.
"Yes, bear up, Mr. Cole," she said, trying to smile, as she seated herself on the bedside, taking his poor, worn hands into her own, warm with vitality. "But Silas has not given you a bit of good news—that the happiest part of our lives is to come, for from to-day, we pass them together!"
"Yes," said Silas, coming beside her, laying his hands on her shoulders; "yes, I have nothing more to wish for, with Sarah beside me. I cannot remember the time, sir, that I did not want Sarah."
Two tears rolled down the sick man's cheeks, as he thought of his own wretched fate; but, by a visible effort, controlling self, he said, simply:
"I am glad you are together, and happy. Yours is a blessed union. God help me to health and strength, that I can free myself of her presence," he cried imploringly. "Sarah, I have a fancy—it may be a dying one, heaven knows—it is to see a likeness of Pearl Villiers, the girl I was, by right, to have married."