Margaret shook her head: "I cannot hope for that, though of all things I think it would be the pleasantest; but do not be uneasy on my account. No doubt I shall manage very well by myself; and you will let me hear whenever any trace has been found?"
"Indeed I will, Mrs. Grey; and cheer up, for I believe that will be soon."
"God grant it!"
Margaret clasped her thin hands together. She looked so frail, so shadow-like in the failing light, that Arthur's heart gave a sudden bound. What if she were fading—if, before he could gladden her by the news she craved, her spirit should have passed from earth? The thought made him impatient. He longed to be up and doing, taking the first step at least in his self-set task. And here would be a plea to urge with her husband. If he had ever loved her, surely, surely he would forget everything and fly back to her side when he should hear of her state.
Arthur was ready with youth's burning eloquence to plead for her. He felt he could paint her in such colors that not the stoniest heart could resist him. And while he was thinking it all out, already at his goal, pouring into the ears of the man he sought the history that had come upon his own youth like a life-giving power, of the beautiful, patient lady wasting her fair life away in faithful solitude, she turned from the open window, crossed the little room and sat down by his side.
"God has been good to me," she said gently. "I thought He would take me away in my sadness, life's broken entangled threads lying loosely in my hands, but now He has given me back my hope. I shall live and not die, at least not yet. Young man, there is something in the Bible about the 'blessing of those who are ready to perish.' Surely in the sight of the All-pitiful that must be a good thing. It is yours. Poor that I am, I can offer you no more."
Arthur's eyes glistened. "I hold it more precious than gold," he said, stooping over her hand and raising it to his lips; "with this I think I could engage the world."