He blew me a kiss—just a mean, tiny one—and vanished without answering, but poked his head in at the door immediately after, to ask, seriously,
"Shall I bring you a statement of your indebtedness to me when I return, Mrs. Denton?"
"I wish I'd cost you more," said I, crossly. "You just wait—I'm going to buy a trousseau when I get to New York that will put you in the poor-house. I'm afraid," said I primly, "that I must ask you to wait for your settlement, Doctor."
"I'll keep you so in debt," he declared, "that you will never be able to struggle out, and you'll pay me in love, young person, for every sleepless night I've spent, and every swear I've sworn behind closed doors, and for every time I've wanted to take you in my arms and kiss you till you cried for mercy—"
"I think—I shouldn't have cried," I said, reflectively.
He was back in the room again.
"For heaven's sake," said I, extricating myself with some difficulty, "what will people think—door open and everything?"
But it was fully ten minutes before he really went.
I closed my eyes, and with Father's miniature under my pillow, tried to sleep. So happy—so happy! It was hard to lie still and think. So I didn't think. I kissed the ring on my finger, under the bandages, half a dozen times, and slept, at last, drifting from dream into dream.
Life was very wonderful. And the Love that had suffered and strayed was the most perfect, at the last. For all the times I had hurt him, how I would repay my husband, with depth on depth of devotion. I would make it up to him—