It is sad indeed for the wife, be she young or old, when she trembles with fear at the thought of meeting reproachful looks and hard words from her husband.
"That's Paul," she said half aloud, rising and leaning on her elbow.
But she was mistaken this time; it was not Paul.
"Is Mrs. Dudley at home?" inquired a cheerful, manly voice of the waiting Bridget.
"Yes, sir, she's at home; but I can't tell without asking whether she'll be able to see yerself."
"Tell her, Mr. Wallingford, her brother, is here."
"Och, sir! and that's the news I'll be proud to tell. Walk in, sir. Yer welcome as the morning sun."
"Gerty, dear, I smell medicine. Are you ill?" he asked, opening the door and descrying her in the back parlor.
He had no time to say more, the youthful figure bounded from the sofa and almost fell into his outstretched arms.
"Oh, Edward!" was all she could say; but she nestled her head against his breast, and gazed into his face with such a loving, satisfied glance he needed no other assurance of welcome.