“Then there's hope,” she exclaimed, clasping her hands, and looking up to heaven, “there is hope—for him—for him—for us all! Oh my heart,” she exclaimed, quickly, “what is this?” and she scarcely uttered the words, when she sank upon the ground insensible—sudden joy being sometimes as dangerous as sudden grief.
Art, who now forgot his own sorrow in apprehension for her, raised her up, assisted by little Atty, who, as did the rest of the children, cried bitterly, on seeing his mother's eyes shut, her arms hanging lifelessly by her side, and herself without motion. Water, however, was brought by Atty; her face sprinkled, and a little put to her lips, and with difficulty down her throat. At length she gave a long deep-drawn sigh, and opening her eyes, she looked tenderly into her husband's face—
“Art dear,” she said, in a feeble voice, “did I hear it right? And you said you were sorry?”
“From my heart I am, Margaret dear,” he replied; “oh, if you knew what I feel this minute!”
She looked on him again, and her pale face was lit up with a smile of almost ineffable happiness.
“Kiss me,” said she; “we are both young yet, Art dear, and we will gain our lost ground wanst more.”
While she spoke, the tears of delight fell in torrents down her cheeks. Art kissed her tenderly, and immediately pulling out the medal, showed it to her.
She took the medal, and after looking at it, and reading the inscription—
“Well, Art,” she said, “you never broke your oath—that's one comfort.”
“No,” he replied; “nor I'll never break this; if I do,” he added fervently, and impetuously, “may God mark me out for misery and misfortune!”