smond let himself go. With a low cry he leaned
down, and slipping both arms under her, pressed his lips upon her cold
ones, long and passionately, as though he would impart to her the very
power of his spirit, the living warmth of his body and heart. And at
length, he was aware of a faint unmistakable attempt to return his
pressure. He could have shouted for sheer triumph. It was as if he
had created her anew. But love, having achieved its perfect work, must
be kept under subjection till the accepted moment.

A little more brandy, a little more chafing of hands and limbs, and the
miracle was complete. By degrees, as imperceptible as the coming of
dawn, life stole back in response to his touch. She stirred, drew a
deep breath, and opened her eyes.

"Theo, . . is it you? Have I . . got you . . still?"

It was her own voice, clear and low, no longer the husky whisper of
cholera. The caress in it penetrated like pain; and tears, sharp as
knives, forced their way between his lids.

"Yes, my darling; . . . and I've got _you_ still," he answered, his
tenderness hovering over her like a flutter of wings.

"But what happened? I thought . . ."

"Don't tire your dear head with thinking. By God's mercy, I dragged
you back from the utmost edge of things; and you've come to stay.
That's enough for me."

Ten minutes later she was sleeping, lightly and naturally, her head
nestling in the crook of his elbow, one hand clinging to a morsel of
his shirt; while he leaned above her, half-sitting, half-lying on the
extreme edge of the bed, not daring to shift his strained position by
so much as a hair's-breadth; till overwhelming weariness had its way
with him, and he slept also, his head fallen back against the wall.

When at last he awoke, a pale shaft of light was feeling its way across
the room from the long glass door that gave upon the verandah. Outside
in the garden the crows and squirrels were awake, and talkative. The
well-wheel had begun its plaintive music, punctuated with the plash of
falling water, and the new day, in a sheet of flame, rolled up
unconcernedly from the other side of the world.

Honor had turned over in her sleep, leaving him free to rise, and
stretch himself exhaustedly; and as he stood looking down upon the
night's achievement, upon the rhythmical rise and fall of his wife's
breast beneath its light covering, new fires were kindled in the man's
deep heart; new intimations of the height an