He was down upon his knees by her bedside now, and the words seemed to be literally torn from his heart as he groaned:
“Helen!—Helen! my poor girl! has it come to this?”
“Yes!” she said, softly, “it seems like rest! I am happier now; but I thought—I should like to see you again—to say Good-bye!”
“No, no, no!” he cried, passionately. “You shall not leave me, Helen! My love—my darling—you shall not die!” She smiled faintly.
“I knew you loved me differently from the rest!” she said, softly, as he clasped her thin hand and held it to his lips; “that is why I sent. You said I should send for you—some day.”
“To ask me to take you for my wife,” he panted; “and, Helen, the time has come!”
“Yes,” she said, softly, “but it was the Helen of the past; not this wreck—this—this—Oh, Heaven!” she moaned, passionately, “did I sin so vilely that you should punish me like this?”
“Hush! hush!” he whispered, passing his arm beneath her light, too fragile form, and raising her till her head rested upon his breast. “That is all past now, and it is not the Helen of the past I love, but she who has sent for me at last. Helen, darling, speak to me again!”
“Speak?” she said, faintly; “what should I say, but ask you to forgive me, and say good-bye?”
“Good-bye?” he cried, frantically. “What, now that I have, as it were, begun to live?”