When with that quick rush Barney reached the head of the stairs Iola moved toward him with arms upraised. “Barney! Barney! Have you come to me at last?” she cried.
A single, searching glance into her face told him the dread truth. He took her gently into his arms and, restraining his passionate longing to crush her to him, lifted her and held her carefully, tenderly, gazing into her glowing, glorious eyes the while. “Where?” he murmured.
“This door, Barney.”
He entered the little boudoir off her bedroom and laid her upon a couch he found there. Then, without a word, he put his cheek close to hers upon the pillow, murmuring over and over, “Iola—Iola—my love—my love!”
“Why, Barney,” she cried, with a little happy laugh, “don't tremble so. Let me look at you. See, you silly boy, I am quite strong and calm. Look at me, Barney,” she pleaded, “I am hungry to look at your face. I've only seen it in my dreams for so long.” She raised herself on her arm and lifted his face from the pillow. “Now let me sit up. I shall never see enough of you. Never! Never! Oh, how wicked and how foolish I was!”
“It was I who was wicked,” said Barney bitterly, “wicked and selfish and cruel to you and to others.”
“Hush!” She laid her hand on his lips. “Sit here beside me. Now, Barney, don't spoil this one hour. Not one word of the past. You were a little hard, you know, dear, but you were right, and I knew you were right. I was wrong. But I thought there would be more in that other life. Even at its best it was spoiled. I wanted you. The great 'Lohengrin' night when they brought me out so many times—”
“I was there,” interrupted Barney, his voice still full of bitter pain.
“I know. I saw you. Oh! wasn't that a night? Didn't I sing? It was for you, Barney. My soul, my heart, my body, went all into Ortrud that night.”
“It was a great, a truly great thing, Iola.”