He bowed his head silently, his fingers searching for his crucifix. I sat staring at him, crushed into helplessness.
In a few moments I felt the pressure of his fingers.
"The Lord hath preserved us as by fire," he said in low, solemn tone, "He hath ridden upon the flaming skies in his chariot, accompanied by angels and archangels. 'T is ours to bless His holy name."
I gazed into the rapt, boyish face, and said:
"On my knees have I already acknowledged His mercy. I am not ungrateful."
The troubled countenance brightened with a quick smile.
"God is most good," he murmured; "He hath spared us that we may continue to honor Him, and do His work. The woman—does she also live?"
The question brought me instantly to my feet, wondering how I could have neglected her so long. But before I could advance to where she lay, she sat partially up, her face turned toward us.
"Eloise," I cried, the heart joy apparent in my voice. "Good God! I had forgotten."
She held forth her hand, her eyes smiling.