"My dear Mrs. Danton, I am happy to tell you it is. Don't faint now, or I shall tell you nothing more."
She leaned against a tree, white and trembling; her hands clasped over her beating heart.
"And he is ill, and I may not see him. Oh, tell me what is the matter."
"Fever. Don't alarm yourself unnecessarily. I do not think his life is in any danger."
"Thank God! Oh, thank God for that!"
She covered her face with her slender hands, and he could see the fast-falling tears.
"My dear Agnes," he said, kindly. "I don't like to see you distress yourself in this manner. Besides, there is no occasion. I think your darkest days are over. I don't see why you may not go and nurse your husband."
Her hands dropped from before her face, her great dark eyes fixed themselves on his face, dilated and wildly.
"You would like it, wouldn't you? Well, I really don't think there is anything to hinder. He is calling for you perpetually, if it will make you happy to know it. Tell Miss Danton your story at once; tell her who you are, and if she doubts your veracity, refer her to me. I have a letter from Mr. Crosby, testifying in the most solemn manner your innocence. I wrote to him, Agnes, as I could not find time to visit him. Tell Miss Kate to-day, if you choose, and you may watch by your husband's bedside to night. Good afternoon. Old Renaud is shouting out with rheumatism; I must go and see after him."
He strode away, leaving Agnes clinging to the tree, trembling and white. The time had come, then. Her husband lived, and might be returned to her yet. At the thought she fell down on her knees on the snowy ground, with the most fervent prayer of thanksgiving in her heart she had ever uttered.