“I know—yes,” Wilford replied, having no suspicion as to who was standing outside his door, and listening, with a throbbing heart, to his rational questions.
In all their vigils held together no sign had ever passed from Dr. Grant to Marian that he knew her, but he had waited anxiously for this moment, knowing that Wilford must not be shocked, as a sight of Marian would shock him. He knew she was outside the door, and as Wilford turned his head upon the pillow, he went to her, and leading her to a safe distance, said softly,
“His reason has returned.”
“And my services are ended,” Marian rejoined, looking him steadily in the face, but not in the least prepared for his affirmative question.
“You are Genevra Lambert?”
There was a low, gasping sound of surprise, and Marian staggered forward a step or two, then steadying herself, she said,
“And if I am, it surely is not best for him to see me. You would not advise it?”
She looked wistfully at Morris, the great desire to be recognized, to be spoken to kindly by the man who once had been her husband overmastering for a moment all her prudence.
“It would not be best, both for his sake and Katy’s,” Morris said, and with a moan like the dying out of her last hope, Marian turned away, her eyes dim with tears and her heart heavy with a sense of something lost, as in the gray dawn of the morning she went back to her former patients, who hailed her coming with childish joy, one fair young boy from the Granite hills kissing the hand which bandaged his poor crushed arm so tenderly, and thanking her that she had returned to him again.