Twice he essayed to speak, but his tongue refused to move, and he sunk back exhausted, just as Adah rose from her knees and turned to leave the barn. He could not let her go. He should die before she came again; he was half dying now, and it would be so sweet to breathe out his life upon her bosom, with perhaps her forgiving kiss upon his lips.
“Adah!” he tried to say; but the quivering lips made no sound, and Adah passed out, leaving him there alone. “Adah, Lily, Anna,” he gasped, hardly knowing himself whose name he called in his despair.
She heard that sound, and started suddenly, for she thought it was her old, familiar name, which no one knew there at Sunny Mead. For a moment she paused; but it came not again, and so she turned the corner, and her shadow fell a second time on the haggard face pressed against that crevice in the wall, the opening large enough to thrust the long fingers through, in the wild hope of detaining her as she passed.
“Adah!”
It was a gasping, bitter cry; but it reached her, and looking back, she saw the pale hand beckoning, the fingers motioning feebly, as if begging her to return. There was a moment’s hesitation, and then conquering her timidity, Adah went back, shuddering as she passed the still beckoning hand, and caught a glimpse of the wild eyes peering at her through the crevice.
“Adah!”
She heard it distinctly now, and with it came thoughts of Hugh. It must be he; and her feet scarcely touched the ground in her eagerness to find him. Over the threshold, across the floor, and behind the hay she bounded; out stood aghast at the spectacle before her. He had struggled to his knees; and with his sprained limb coiled under him, his ashen lips apart, and his arms stretched out, he was waiting for her. But Adah did not spring into those trembling arms, as once she would have done. She would never willingly rest in their embrace again; and utter, overwhelming surprise, was the only emotion visible on her face as she recognized him, not so much by his looks as by the name he gave her.
“George, oh, George, how came you here?” she asked, drawing backward from the arm reached out to touch her.
He felt that he was repulsed, and, with a wail which smote painfully on Adah’s heart, he fell forward on his face, sobbing, “Oh, Adah, Lily, pity me, pity me, if you can’t forgive! I have slept for three nights in the woods, without once tasting food! My ankle is sprained, my strength is gone, and I wish that I were dead!”
She had drawn nearer to him while he spoke, near enough to recognize her country’s uniform, all soiled and tattered though it was. He was a soldier then—Liberty’s loyal son—and that fact awoke a throb of pity.