“She is coming!” exclaimed Ellison, in a voice of exultation.
The footsteps approached rapidly. They were at hand; and then the door flew open and a woman entered.
“My husband!” fell from her lips as she sprang forward and caught Ellison in her arms, who, sobbing like a child, nestled helplessly, but with the gladness of a half unconscious babe, upon her bosom.
Liston gazed on this scene in profound amazement. He expected every moment to see the life-blood again thrown back upon the heart of his sick friend, and his eyes closed once more in dark insensibility. But it was not so. The meeting produced no disastrous shock.
“I have been looking for you to come,” said Ellison, lifting his head from the bosom of his wife, after he was a little composed, and gazing into her face.
A shadow fell upon the countenance of Clara, and she turned her eyes upon Liston with a look of troubled inquiry.
“It is true, as he says,” remarked Liston, perceiving what was in her mind. “He spoke of you, and said you were coming ere I could hear the sound of your approaching footsteps.”
“But I heard them,” said Ellison, with a smile that lit up his whole countenance. “And I knew that you were here.”
It was now plain to Clara that her husband’s mind had lost its balance.
“Has he been sick long?” she asked of Liston.