thought you never would come!" And then the eyes closed, and heaven and
earth faded away together in a trance of blissful rest.

But it was no dream; for an hour later you might have seen a manly form
sitting in that selfsame place, bearing in his arms a pale figure which
he cherished as tenderly as a mother her babe. And they were talking
together,--talking in low tones; and in all this wide universe neither
of them knew or felt anything but the great joy of being thus side by
side.

They spoke of love mightier than death, which many waters cannot
quench. They spoke of yearnings, each for the other,--of longing
prayers,--of hopes deferred,--and then of this great joy,--for _one_
had hardly yet returned to the visible world.

Scarce wakened from deadly faintness, she had not come back fully to
the realm of life,--only to that of love,--to love which death cannot
quench. And therefore it was, that, without knowing that she spoke, she
had said all, and compressed the history of those three years into one
hour.

But at last, thoughtful of her health, provident of her weakness, he
rose up and passed his arm around her to convey her home. And as he did
so, he spoke one word that broke the whole charm.

"You will allow me, Mary, the right of a future husband, to watch over
your life and health."

Then came back the visible world,--recollection, consciousness, and
the great battle of duty,--and Mary drew away a little, and said,--