and you may see her yet. She will surely come by and by."

Thus reassured, Wilford grew calm and fell asleep, while the watchers by
his side waited anxiously for the first sound which should herald the
arrival of the train.

* * * * *

It was dark in the hospital, and from every window a light was shining,
when Morris carried rather than led a quivering figure up the stairs and
through the hall, where, in a corner, Marian Hazelton's white face
looked out upon him, her hands clasped over her heart, and working
nervously as she watched Katy going where she must not go--going to the
room where the Camerons were, the father standing at the foot of
Wilford's bed, and Bell bending over his pillow, administering the
stimulants which kept her brother alive. When Katy came in, she moved
away, as did her father, while Morris, too, stepped back into the hall,
and thus the husband and wife were left alone in this their first
meeting since the parting at Yonkers nearly one year ago.

"Katy, precious Katy, you have forgiven me?" he whispered, and the rain
of tears and kisses on his face was Katy's answer as she hung over him.

She had forgiven him like a true, faithful wife, and she told him so,
when she found voice to talk, wondering to find him so changed from the
proud, exacting, self-worshiping man, to the humble, repentant and
self-accusing person, who took all blame of the past to himself, and
exonerated her from every fault. But when he drew her close to him, and
whispered something in her ear, she knew whence came the change, and a
reverent "Thank the Good Father," dropped from her lips.

"The way was dark and thorny," Wilford said, making her sit down where
he could see her as he talked, "and only for God's goodness I should
have lost the path. But he sent one Morris Grant to point the road, and
I trust I am in it now. I wanted to see you before I died, to tell you
with my own lips how sorry I am for what I have made you suffer; but
sorriest of all for sending Baby away. Oh, Katy, you do not know how
that rested upon my conscience, or how often in my sleep upon the tented
plain or hillside I have felt again the touch of Baby's arms and Baby's
cheek against my own as I felt it that day when I came home and took her
from you. Forgive me, Katy, that I robbed you of your child."

He was growing very weak, and he looked so white and ghastly that Katy
called for Bell, who came at once, as did h