Maurice hung over her, breathless in his anxiety; he would meet her first glance. Adèle and Arthur stood together at the foot of the bed; the child had crept on to it, and lay very silent close beside her mother. It seemed a long time that they waited there together, but when the end came it was like a shock to them all.
A shiver convulsed her, her eyelids quivered; slowly she raised them, and first fixed her eyes upon her husband, then looked in a bewildered, half-frightened way about the room.
Maurice raised her on his arm. "Margaret," he whispered, and she looked at him again.
"Is it morning?" she asked, and when he had answered in the affirmative, "I knew it would come," she said, then lay silent, smiling calmly.
Evidently as yet she did not know where she was, and Maurice was perplexed.
Adèle came to the rescue. Motioning to him to give up his place, she stooped over her friend. "Margaret darling," she whispered, "Maurice has come, and little Laura and Arthur."
The familiar face and well-known voice seemed to arouse her. "It is not a dream, then," she said. "No," for the little Laura's clasping arms were about her neck, "my child is here, and Maurice; I thought I saw him last night and that he forgave me. Was it true, Adèle?"
Her voice sank, for she was very weak, but the old nurse came forward with a cordial, which restored her so much that her mind began gradually to take in all that had happened.
Later in the day they dressed her and laid her down once more on the parlor sofa. Until then she had not spoken much, she had been in a quiet, passive state, but with the familiar surroundings a full sense of the reality of her dream-like happiness seemed to come to her. The first person for whom she asked was Arthur.
In his boyish timidity he had vanished as soon as ever he had become certain that she was really awake. Adèle found him and brought him into the room. Margaret held out her hand. "How can I ever thank you, my best, my most untiring friend?" she said.