“This might come to you,” she said, “by Reilly's death; yes, this might come to you in that way; but there is another token which is known to none but himself and me.”
“Whisper,” said he, and as he spoke he applied his mouth to her ear, and breathed the token into it.
She stood back, her eyes flashed, her beautiful bosom heaved; she advanced, looked once more, and exclaimed, with a scream, “It is he! it is he!” and the next moment she was insensible in his arms. Long but precious was that insensibility, and precious were the tears which his eyes rained down upon that pale but lovel countenance. She was soon placed upon a settee, but Reilly knelt beside her, and held one of her hands in his. After a long trance she opened her eyes and again started. Reilly pressed her hand and whispered in her ear, “Helen, I am with you at last.”
She smiled on him and said, “Help me to sit up, until I look about me, that I may be certain this is not a dream.”
She then looked about her, and as the ladies of the family spoke tenderly to her, and caressed her, she fixed her eyes once more upon her lover, and said, “It is not a dream then; this is a reality; but, alas! Reilly, I tremble to think lest they should take you from me again.”
“You need entertain no such apprehension, my dear Helen,” said the lady of the mansion. “I have often heard your father say that he would give twenty thousand pounds to have you well, and Reilly's wife. In fact, you have nothing to fear in that, or any other quarter. But there's his knock; he and my husband have returned, and I must break this blessed news to him by degrees, lest it might be too much for him if communicated without due and proper caution.”
She accordingly went down to the hall, where they were hanging up their great coats and hats, and brought them into her husband's study.
“Mr. Folliard,” said she with a cheerful face, “I think, from some symptoms of improvement noticed to-day in Helen, that we needn't be without hope.”