ear the footstep coming up the pathway to
the ledge where she was sitting, the footstep which paused at intervals,
as if the comer were weary, or else in quest of some one, but which at
last came on with rapid bounds as an opening among the trees showed
where Helen sat. It was a tall young man who came, a young man sunburned
and scarred, with uniform soiled and worn, but with the fire in his
brown eyes unquenched, the love in his true heart unchanged, save as it
was deeper, more intense for the years of separation, and the long,
cruel suspense which was all over now. The grave had given up its dead,
the captive was released, and through incredible suffering and danger
had reached his Northern home, had sought and found his girl-wife of a
few hours, for it was Mark Ray speeding up the path, and holding back
his breath as he came close to the bowed form on the rock, feeling a
strange throb of awe when he saw the mourning dress, and knew it was
worn for him. A moment more, and she lay in his arms, white and
insensible, for with the sudden winding of his arms around her neck, the
pressure of his lips upon her cheek, the calling of her name, and the
knowing it was really her husband, she had uttered a wild, impassioned
cry, half of terror, half of joy, and fainted entirely away, just as she
did when told that he was dead! There was no water near, but with loving
words and soft caresses, Mark brought her back to life, raining both
tears and kisses upon the dear face which had grown so white and thin
since the Christmas Eve when the wintry starlight had looked down upon
their parting. For several moments neither could speak for the great
choking joy which wholly precluded the utterance of a word. Helen was
the first to rally, and lying in Mark's lap, with her head pillowed on
Mark's arm, she whispered:

"Let us thank God together. You, too, have learned to pray."

Reverently Mark bent his face to hers, and the pine boughs overhead
heard, instead of mourning notes, a prayer of praise, as the reunited
wife and husband fervently thanked God, who had brought them together
again.

Not until nearly half an hour was gone, and Helen had begun to realize
that the arm which held her so tightly was genuine flesh and blood, and
not a mere delusion, did she look up into the face, glowing with so much
of happiness and love. Upon the forehead, and just beneath the hair,
there was a savage scar, and the flesh about it was red and angry stil