Eveley held her hands a moment, looking searchingly into the thin face and the shadowy eyes.
“Revolutions are hard work, aren’t they?” she asked with deep sympathy.
“Oh, Eveley, they are killing, heart-breaking, soul-wracking,” she cried. “And yet of course it was right and best for me to come,” she added gravely. “Does Lem seem to—miss me?” And there was wistfulness in her voice.
“He is out there now,” said Eveley, waving her hand toward the road. “He brought me up.”
At the first word, Miriam had turned quickly, ready to run down—not to the house for shelter, but to the car for comfort. But she stopped in a moment, and came back.
“I shall not see him, of course,” she said quietly.
“I brought a message from him. He says you must come home, Miriam, he says his madness is all purged away, and that you are his and he must have you. But he wants you to come and live your own life and do as you wish, only allowing him, to stay in the home not as your husband, but as your servant until you learn to love and trust him again. He says you must come, and let him work for you, and take care of you.”
Miriam’s face was very white, and her eyes deep wells of pain.
“Poor Lem!” she said tenderly. “So sweet—and so weak.”
“I think he is finding strength,” said Eveley.