I touched the arm of the man standing beside me. He wheeled and saw her also. A cry broke from his lips, but he stood still. A whole life-time of sorrow, trouble, and love looked out of his eyes. Mrs. Falchion came nearer. Clasping her hands upon her breast, she peered up into his face, and gasped:
“Oh—oh—I thought that you were drowned—and dead! I saw you buried in the sea. No—no—it cannot be you! I have heard and seen all within these past few minutes. YOU are so strong and brave, so great a man!... Oh, tell me, tell me, are you in truth my husband?”
He spoke.
“I was your husband, Mercy Falchion. I was drowned, but this man”—he turned and touched my shoulder—“this man brought me back to life. I wanted to be dead to the world. I begged him to keep my secret. A sailor’s corpse was buried in my shroud, and I lived. At Aden I stole from the boat in the night. I came to America—to Canada—to begin a new life under a new name, never to see you again.... Do not, do not speak to me—unless I am not to lose you again; unless I am to know that now you forgive me—that you forgive me—and wish me to live—my wife!”
She put both her hands out, a strange, sorrowful look in her eyes, and said: “I have sinned—I have sinned.”
He took her hands in his.
“I know,” he said, “that you do not love me yet; but you may some day.”
“No,” she said, “I do not love you; but.... I am glad you live. Let us—go home.”
THE END.