She was afraid in every sense, and yet she hungered for another sound
of that loved voice. Every hour of its banishment was regretted at
that moment. There seemed no future without it.

Every nerve listened.

At first she heard nothing but the restless moving of the air, which
merely emphasized her loneliness, then she caught the pulsation of
slow regular breathing.

She started to her feet.

She snatched up the lantern and quickly mounted to the bier. She
looked sharply down into the dead face.

Silent, with its white hair, and worn lines, it rested on its white
pillows.

No sound came from the cold still lips.

Yet, while her eyes were riveted on them, once more the longed-for
voice breathed her name. "Margaret!"

It came from behind her.

She turned quickly.

There in the moonlit doorway, with a sad, compassionate smile on his
strong, young face--as if it were yesterday they had parted--stood the