“Joscelyn—lost—lost!”
Then with a sudden resolve she came out of the shadow into the dim light of the room, and kneeling by his couch, drew his one arm over her shoulder and laid her head on his breast.
“I am here—Richard.”
“You? Dear love, dear love, what does this mean?”
“Can you not guess?” she whispered, slipping the gold piece into his hand, her own tremulous with emotion.
“I dare not.”
“What was the gold piece to be?” Her voice was scarcely more than a thread of sound.
“Our wedding ring—at least, I hoped so once.”
She pressed his fingers together over it, her face still hidden on his breast. “Give it back to me sometime—in that shape.”