That night, when the soft spring moonlight lay over the water, a sail came gliding back to the castle, and a shape flew up the ladder; it was the bride of the morning.
'O father, father, I could not leave you so, I made him bring me back, if only for a few days! O father, father! for you are my father, the only father I can ever know,—and so kind and good!'
In the gloom she knelt by his bedside, and her arms were around his neck. Waring came in afterwards, silent and annoyed, yet not unkind. He stirred the dying brands into a flame.
'What is this?' he said, starting, as the light fell across the pillow.
'It is nothing,' replied Fog, and his voice sounded far away; 'I am an old man, children, and all is well.'
They watched him through the dawning, through the lovely day, through the sunset. Waring repentant, Silver absorbed in his every breath; she lavished upon him now all the wealth of love her unconscious years had gathered. Orange seemed to agree with her master that all was well. She came and went, but not sadly, and crooned to herself some strange African tune that rose and fell more like a chant of triumph than a dirge. She was doing her part, according to her light, to ease the going of the soul out of this world.
Grayer grew the worn face, fainter the voice, colder the shrivelled old hands in the girl's fond clasp.
'Jarvis, Jarvis, what is this?' she murmured, fearfully.
Waring came to her side and put his strong arm around her. 'My little wife,' he said, 'this is Death. But do not fear.'
And then he told her the story of the Cross; and, as it came to her a revelation, so, in the telling, it became to him, for the first time, a belief.