"You remember those dying words of Rachel Kynaston?"
"I have never forgotten them," he answered simply.
"They laid a charge upon me. I told myself that it was a sacred charge. Listen, my love—listen, and hate me! I have been to detectives. I paid them money to hunt you down; I have done this, I who love you. No, don't draw your arms away. I have done this. It was before I knew. Oh, I have suffered! God! how I have suffered! It has been an agony to me. You will forgive me! I will not let you go unless you forgive me."
He looked down at her in silence. His cheeks were pale and his eyes were grave. Yet there was no anger.
"I will forgive you, Helen," he whispered—"nay, there is nothing to forgive. Only tell me this: you do not doubt me now?"
"Never again!" she cried passionately. "God forgive me that I have ever doubted you! It is like a horrible dream to me; but it lies far behind, and the morning has come."
He kissed her once more and opened his arms. With a low happy laugh she shook her tumbled hair straight, and hand in hand they walked slowly away.
"You have been long gone," she whispered reproachfully.
He sighed as he answered her. How long might not his next absence be!
"It has seemed as long to me as to you, sweetheart," he said. "Every moment away from you I have counted as a lost moment in my life."