“O God!” he cried in his agony. “Will she not know me? Has my secret come upon her too suddenly? Darling! darling! I could not see your tears, I could not hear your sobs, I could not feel the desolation and misery that was breaking your heart, and still keep myself hidden from you. Oh, bitter has the trial been to watch you—to know you to be mine—to see my little child—and to be as a stranger to you! Call me John! Call me husband! Speak to me, Dolly! Tell me that no change that pain and suffering have made in me can disguise me from your love!”
She released herself from his arms and sprang a yard away from him; and there, as she stood transfixed, watching him with large, steady eyes, her dishevelled hair about her forehead, her hands clenched, and her head inclined forward, she looked like a marble figure of madness, her habiliments carven to the life.
She had thought him dead. For many, many months she had prayed to him as one in Heaven. Did she know him now? Yes, but as a dead man might be known—with unspeakable fear and unspeakable love; with the horror of superstition and the passion of deep affection.
Thus they stood for awhile, their eyes fixed on each other: then a heavy sigh broke from him; he turned to his child.
“Nelly, my little one, come to me! I am thy father!”
He extended his arms. The action and words broke the spell. With an indescribable cry Dolly fled to him.
“John! John!” she murmured. “My husband—my very own! Come back to me from the dead! Come back to me after all this cruel waiting!”
And then she broke from him again, and watched him yet again from a distance, then ran and flung her arms around his neck, crying, “John! John! Why did you not come to me before? why did you not come to me before?”
The hot tears were streaming down his cheeks now: he held her tightly, saying, in broken tones:
“We are together—never more to part. I am thy very husband! I have loved thee always! Oh, God be praised, the merciful God be praised for this!”