verdict behind him, she called to Jonathan,
who, bewildered by his grief, sank down on his knees at her bedside and
sobbed upon her breast.

"Don't grieve," she said; "this is my share of the burden. If I have
taken too much from you and David, now comes the atonement. Many things
have grown clear to me. David was right when he said that there was no
blame. But my time is even less than the doctor thinks: where is David?
Can you not bid him come?"

"I can only call him with my heart," he answered. "And will he hear me
now, after nearly seven years?"

"Call, then!" she eagerly cried. "Call with all the strength of your
love for him and for me, and I believe he will hear you!"

The sun was just setting. Jonathan went to the great ash-tree, behind
the barn, fell upon his knees, and covered his face, and the sense of
an exceeding bitter cry filled his heart. All the suppressed and baffled
longing, the want, the hunger, the unremitting pain of years, came upon
him and were crowded into the single prayer, "Come, David, or I die!"
Before the twilight faded, while he was still kneeling, an arm came upon
his shoulder, and the faint touch of another cheek upon his own. It was
hardly for the space of a thought, but he knew the sign.

"David will come!" he said to Ruth.

From that day all was changed. The cloud of coming death which hung over
the house was transmuted into fleecy gold. All the lost life came back
to Jonathan's face, all the unrestful sweetness of Ruth's brightened
into a serene beatitude. Months had passed since David had been heard
from; they knew not how to reach him without many delays; yet neither
dreamed of doubting his coming.

Two weeks passed, three, and there was neither word nor sign. Jonathan
and Ruth thought, "He is near," and one day a singular unrest fell upon
the former. Ruth saw it, but said nothing until night came, when she
sent Jonathan from her bedside with the words, "Go and meet him?"

An hour afterwards she heard double steps on the stone walk in front of
the house. They came slowly to the door; it opened; she heard them along
the hall and ascending the stairs; then the chamber-lamp showed her the
two faces, bright with a single, unutterable joy.

One brother paused at the foot of the bed; the other drew near and bent
over her. She clasped her thin hands around his neck, kissed him fondly,
and cried, "Dear, dear David!"

"Dear Ruth," he said, "I came as soon as I could. I was far a