"Annie!" he gasped slowly. "Is it you?"

She caught at both his hands, brought her face to his with staring eyes,
murmured, "Good God, Cyrus!" and sank upon her knees before him.

He tried to disengage the hand that she wrung with passionate entreaty.

"No, no! Cyrus, you will forgive me--you will forget the past! God has
sent you here to-day. You will come with me. You will--you must--save
him!"

"Save who?" cried Cyrus hoarsely.

"My husband!"

The blow was so direct, so strong and overwhelming, that, even through
her own stronger and more selfish absorption, she saw it in the face of
the man, and pitied him.

"I thought--you--knew--it," she faltered.

He did not speak, but looked at her with fixed, dumb eyes. And then
the sound of distant voices and hurrying feet started her again into
passionate life. She once more caught his hand.

"O Cyrus, hear me! If you have loved me through all these years, you
will not fail me now. You must save him! You can! You are brave and
strong--you always were, Cyrus. You will save him, Cyrus, for my sake,
for the sake of your love for me! You will--I know it. God bless you!"