Miles away in the pleasant Surrey lane John Huish lay in happy ignorance of the fate of the man who had been his bitterest foe. He was very weak; but an awful load had been taken from his brain—the dread of insanity—and beside his bed knelt Gertrude, holding his hand with both of hers, and humbly asking his forgiveness for the doubts she had had.
“My darling!” he whispered, as he laid his other hand upon her soft, fair hair. “I am so happy, and life seems so bright before me that I cannot bear for you to lay one cloud upon its sunshine. Why, Gertrude, you might easily be deceived, when his presence, and the knowledge of such an existence, nearly drove me mad. There, little one, try and nurse me back to strength, for I have the hope now that nothing can take away. But if I die—” he said sadly, as he gazed out of the window.
“John—husband!”
“Yes, sweet,” he sighed, “if I die, remember I have been yours, and yours alone. Let no other hand touch me after death.”
“Husband!” cried Gertrude, in an agonised voice. “But no; you shall not die. John, darling, live for my sake—for the sake of our little child.”