"Margaret! Margaret! my sister! Have the dead come from the tomb? Do I find you again at last:"
"Ah!" she said, with an expression of joy impossible to render, as she sank in his arms, "I was certain he would recognise me."
But the shock she had received was too strong for the poor woman, whose organization was worn out by sorrow; accustomed to suffering, she could not endure joy, and fell fainting into her brother's arms. The Major carried her to a species of sofa that occupied one side of the room, and, without calling anyone to his aid, paid her all that attention her case required. The She-wolf remained for a long time insensible; but she gradually came to herself again, opened her eyes, and, after muttering a few incoherent words, burst into tears. Her brother did not leave her for a moment, following, with an anxious glance, the progress of her return to life. When he perceived that the height of the crisis was past, he took chair, sat down by his sister's side, and by gentle words sought to restore her courage. At length, the poor woman raised her head, dried her eyes—reddened by tears, and hollowed by fever—and turning to her brother, who watched her every movement, said in a hoarse voice—
"Brother, for sixteen years I have been suffering an atrocious martyrdom, which never ceased for an instant."
The Major shuddered at this fearful revelation.
"Poor sister!" he muttered. "What can I do for you?"
"All, if you will."
"Oh!" he exclaimed, with energy, as he struck the woodwork of the sofa with his fist, "could you doubt me, Margaret?"
"No, since I have come," she answered, smiling through her tears.
"You will avenge yourself, I think?" he went on.