This flashed through my mind in a moment, but I did not stay to think of it. How could I? The dread "might be" had not become a reality, and my Ruth—the Ruth that I had been mourning as dead, Ruth for whom my heart had been weeping tears of blood—was alive; she was sitting up in her coffin, she uttered a cry. Ruth was not lost for ever.
And still I did not know what to do; still I could not act or speak! My mind was confused, my head was dizzy; the very vault in which I stood seemed to whirl around.
For a second we gazed into each other eyes; she with a fearful, yet curious, wondering look, I with a look of madness, at once of joy, of fear, of dread!
Then she spoke, slowly, tremblingly, but still clearly, and I remembered the voice.
"What is this? Where am I? Is this Heaven?"
"All is well!" I whispered.
"It must be," she said, in a dazed kind of way. "I am so rested, so free from pain, and then your voice is so familiar. Where am I, and who are you?"
"Think," I said; "but do not be afraid; remember where you were last, and then know that all is well."
"All is well," she repeated slowly, as if trying to impress the thought on her half-awakened mind, "I am so glad."
"You are safe here," I went on, "no one shall harm you in any way. Do not be afraid whatever you may see."