"WE SHALL MEET AT BREAKFAST"
"But how is it with you, Agnes? Is life as black as ever?"
"My husband died two years ago," she barely whispered.
The eyes of those who have been long imprisoned cannot, at first, when freedom comes, see in the ordinary light of day, much less when it is glorious sunlight, and it was some moments before the souls' eyes of these two became accustomed to its splendor. Even then, no word was said. They were alone. He but gathered her closely in his arms and kissed her without stint. He had been starving long enough. So he held her for a time and, when he released her and spoke at last, it was but to say in a voice by no means modulated:
"Agnes, I cannot talk, and you know why. I am going away now. We shall meet at breakfast. I but thank God."
And so he left her.
CHAPTER XXVIII
LOVE'S INSOLENCE