"Yes," he answered, and looked like death itself.

She dared not to throw herself upon his pillow and tell him how happy
she was that he was restored. Her heart beat rebelliously that she did
not declare to him the consuming passion of love which she felt.

Oh, let him resign his honors! Let him travel with her alone! Let her
love him--love him as he loved Davy--as he must love her!

But the caution of love and experience had warned her to be still. Had
not David waited until the child was dead before she saw the man as he
really loved that child?

"I think I can do my duty," he said, wearily.

"I am so glad you were elected!" she said.

"Yes," he answered, and became whiter.

She had sat by the bed, growing uneasy. Ought she to have told him
all? Ought she to have acknowledged her deep devotion? Why was he so
sad? Surely they could mourn for Davy together! Tears had come in her
eyes as she gazed on the couch where Davy's soul went away.

The man had been comforted. "Were you remembering Davy?" he asked.

"Yes, dear," she said.

He had put his weak hand in hers. She was the happiest she had ever
been.