“Papa’s tome!” Arthur said again, while Gertie, feeling sure that Mrs. Schuyler would be disturbed, carried him forcibly away, and left the husband and wife alone.
Then Colonel Schuyler arose, and bending over his wife, said softly:
“Edith, darling, I have come home. Are you glad to see me?” He did not wait for her to answer, but continued: “They tell me you are better, and I am so rejoiced. Kiss me, can you?”
She kissed him as he desired, and he felt her hot tears on his cheek as he held his face to her. She was much better than when he left her. Reason had come back again, and she could think of all that was past, and what lay before her, and she shrank from it, and from her husband, who must soon know everything, and who might turn from her in bitter scorn and disgust. Oh, how she loved him now! and how her poor heart ached when she thought of losing his respect and seeing his love for her turning into hatred. For he did love her; she was sure of that, and never had his manner been so full of manly tenderness as it was when he came to her after an absence of three days and asked her if she was glad. It seemed almost, she thought, as if he were pitying her, and he was, and wishing he could help her tell him what he was certain she wanted to. But it must not be that night; she was too weak to bear the excitement. He must wait till she was stronger, he thought, and when at last, as he supported her in his arms and stroked her face caressingly, she said to him:
“Now, Howard, please lay me down, and do not come again till I send for you;” he went away, but did not stay till she sent for him, lest it should be too long. Every day he went to see her, and tried to seem natural, and once, when she asked why he looked so thin and haggard, he answered evasively and said he had a cold, and then went straight to the cemetery, and, standing at Abelard’s grave, read the inscription aloud:
“James A. Lyle. Born in Alnwick, England. Died June 18th, 18—. Aged 23.”
Then he examined the stone and tried if it were firm in its place, and kicked the snow and dead leaves from a tuft of daisies, which looked so fresh and green that he stooped to examine it, and found to his surprise a tiny white blossom hidden under the snow and the pile of leaves and straw which Gertie had put there in the fall to protect the plants.
“Daisies under the snow on his grave. It is very remarkable,” he said, as he picked the little flower, and going back to the house he put it in some water, and set it on the table in his room, where he watched it all day long until it grew to be almost a phantom and he felt he could endure it no longer.
He must speak to Edith or go mad himself. She was much better now, and he would watch with her that night, and have it out when there was no fear of interruption. But he did not tell her of his intention lest she should oppose it, and she supposed her attendant was to be Gertie, who frequently slept in the room with her.
Edith’s habit was to sleep from nine to twelve, but this night it was nearly one when she awoke and looked about her. The gas was turned down and the bright winter moonlight came through the window and fell in a sheet upon the floor, making the room almost as light as day, and showing plainly the figure sitting so motionless in the chair at the foot of the bed. It was not Gertie, and Edith’s heart beat quickly when she saw it was her husband, and thought: