"Mary!"
"Thou art my husband!"
"Thou art my wife!"
That moment was a full recompense for all they had suffered, yes, for a lifetime of suffering and anguish. They forgot everything,—the dark past,—the strange chance or providence which had brought them together,—they only felt that they were living and in each other's arms.
At sight of the pure, holy face of Mary, all consciousness of the fascination which Frank had held over him, passed like the memory of a dream from the soul of Nameless.
"O, Mary, wife, thou art living,—God is good," he said, as she bent over him, baptizing his lips with kisses, and his face with tears. "Do you remember that hour, when I lay in the coffin, while you bent over me, and our souls talked to each other, without the medium of words: 'you have seen him for the last time,' they said; 'not for the last time,—we will meet again,' was your reply. And now we have met! Mary—wife! let us never accuse Providence again, for God is good!"
Moment of joy too deep for words.
Drink every drop of the cup, now held to your lips, Carl Raphael! For even, as the arms of your young wife are about your neck, even as her young bosom throbs against your cheek, and you count the beatings of her heart, death spreads his shadow over you. The poison is in your veins,—your young life is about to set in this world forever.