"Here! Here!" and she looked eagerly around. "Where am I? The light is so dim that I cannot see."
The candle was now very low in the socket of the lantern, and I scarcely knew what to do, but I tried to assure her that all was well.
"You need not be afraid," I said, "It was all a mistake. You were thought to be dead, and you were brought to the grave of your family."
"The grave, the family vault," she said, "in the church, under the Communion! But how came you here, and who are you?"
The time had come for me to tell her, and I trembled lest I should say a mistaken word, or arouse a harmful feeling. I felt that the slightest thing might unhinge her delicately-balanced mind, and I scarcely knew what to say.
"Can't you think who I am?" I said at length. "You called me home when I was away on the distant seas. I heard you say 'Roger, come home,' and I came, for I knew that you needed me."
"Roger! Roger!" she said; "what! my Roger?"
The words came out apparently unthinkingly. She did not know what she was saying.
"Yes, Roger," I said, "your Roger. I came back to find you, I heard you were dead, and it drove me nearly mad. I felt I must come and see your dead face, so I came here and found you, not dead, but only asleep, and I—I awoke you."
I watched her face as I spoke, still holding her hand in mine. Slowly she realised things as they were; slowly one fact after another passed through her mind, until she saw clearly.