"Christie, as there is a Heaven above us, I never set foot on the island from the day we parted there after your telling me of your interview with Sibyl!" said Willard, impetuously.
"And the note?" she said, faintly.
"Do you mean the note appointing our meeting on the beach that night of mystery?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, yes!"
"Christie, I sent that note, but I never went—never! I swear it by all that is sacred! That very hour I received news that my father was dying, which obliged me to start instantly for home, without even an opportunity of apprising you. Christie, that night I spent fifty miles away from the island."
She gasped for breath, grew deadly pale, and sank into a chair.
"Christie, Christie! do you not believe me?"
She lifted her eyes. There was truth in his face; and, with the wild flash of sudden joy, she cried out:
"I do! I do! I do! Oh, Willard, thank Heaven for this! Thank Heaven that you never raised your hand against my life!"
"Christie!"