Armstrong’s recovery came unexpectedly, even after the long days of waiting. The perfect July day was drawing to a close, and Helen had watched the sinking sun from the window beside his bed. It was all so beautiful! The world seemed full of glorious hopefulness and promise, and her heart filled to overflowing at the thought that for her, who loved it so, that promise no longer held good. She turned to the silent figure lying upon the bed. Would he ever realize what she had gone through and must still endure for him? She sank upon her knees, burying her face in the counterpane, as if to shut out the overpowering grandeur, which produced so sad a contrast. Suddenly she felt a hand resting upon her head, and a voice spoke her name.
She looked up quickly straight into her husband’s eyes, now wide open and filled with an expression so full of love and devotion that her heart sprang forth in eager response. It was the expression which his face had worn when she had first confessed her love for him, and the intervening months, with their brief joy and their long sorrow, were obliterated on the instant. Once more he was the devoted, thoughtful, irresistible lover, and Helen felt the weight of years roll off her tired shoulders, leaving her the happy, buoyant girl, proud of having won this strong man’s affection. She gazed at him silently, fearing lest the eyes close again, and unwilling to lose a moment of their present significance; but they remained open.
“Helen,” Armstrong repeated, still looking intently at her, “be patient, dear. I know how shamefully I have neglected you, I know how much I have hurt you; but my work is nearly finished now. Then, believe me, all will be as before.”
The voice was calm and sustained. There was no hesitation, no rambling. Still, she did not fully comprehend that he was himself again.
“Yes, dear,” she replied, humoring him; “then all will be as before.”
He could not see the sharp pain which showed in her face as she spoke, nor did he realize how her heart wished that it might be so.
“I must get up,” he continued, after a moment’s silence. “What time is it? I shall be late at the library.”
“You have finished your work for to-day, Jack,” she answered, quietly.
“Have I?” he asked, simply.
His glance slowly wandered about the room. “Is it not morning?” he queried, at length.