‘No, no, my dear,’ said Annita, and she held his hands down; ‘you must not attempt to open your eyes. Your face is burnt; it would be dangerous; you must be careful.’
‘Give me your hand; let me kiss your hand; I will hold your hand in mine; I will grasp your hands as you once did mine, my dear Annita. Here you really are, alive, and with me in this wretched hovel! Then you are not dead? you were not robbed, not kidnapped, and not married to Anthony?’
‘No, indeed, nothing of the sort.’
‘How is all this possible? Where have you come from?’
‘I have come from your home, from our home, and I have brought you a greeting from your mother.’
‘How has all this come about?’
‘You shall know all by-and-by, but not now; I must go to our encampment and fetch some salve for your eyes, and then I will return and tell you all. You know now that I am alive and am here, and that I shall not leave you any more.’
‘Do you know who the woman is whom you brought here, Unnas?’ Ambrose said when Annita was gone.
‘No; but she seems to be good and kind.’
‘Good and kind!’ said Ambrose; ‘yes, Unnas, she is an angel, dearer to me than all the angels put together. Heavenly Father,’ he exclaimed, as he folded his hands across his breast, ‘I thank Thee with all my heart, that Annita lives, and that Thou hast also spared my life, whereas all my brethren have been slain. Even the aged Gurij is dead, and has not seen Annita.’ [[86]]