He laughed magnificently and turned to his wife; his face was wild in expression, his eyes wide open. “And you, of all of them, have been faithful!”
She took her gaze from the dead woman, put out her hand and clasped his, so that the red was over her wrist, too.
“You of all!” he repeated, and his voice was unsteady. He drew her up to the table edge, close to him, her grasp of his hand tightened; her breath came fast.
“John! John!”
He looked at her in a curious manner. “You of all!” he repeated, and his eyes wandered to Delia; he turned from the living to the dead whose lie was his judgment and his punishment and he smiled bitterly.
“John!” said Lady Stair again, faintly, softly.
With a little start he turned and looked at her.
“Ah—do you understand?” she said. “At last?” In the wild light of the red morn her blonde hair glimmered against his shoulder.
“At last—Ulrica—” his voice broke, but his eyes shone as his fingers closed over hers. “My dear! my dear!” And the day dawned upon their kiss.