She takes her father by the hand, and hurries him from the room,—let us not dare to read the emotions now contending on her corpse-like face. From that room, which was to have been her bridal chamber,—the starting-point of a new and happy life!
"I must now see after the other," Tarleton soliloquizes, as he crossed the threshold. "This one removed, the other must be ready for to-morrow."
And Frank and her father leave the room.
The chest of Nameless began to heave,—his eyes gradually unclosed. With a vacant glance he surveyed the apartment.
"It is a dream," he said.
But there were arms about his neck, kisses on his lips, a warm cheek laid next to his own. Certainly not the clasp, the kiss, or the pressure of a dream.
"Not in a dream, Carl," she said, calling, him by the name which he had borne in other days.
"Carl? Who calls me Carl?"
"Not in a dream, Carl, but living and restored to me."
Even as he lay in her arms, his head resting on her young bosom, he raised his eyes and beheld her face.