d wanted to--at any rate, it
was not Miriam's affair. She bitterly resented the fact that he had not
even shaken hands with her when he came home, after his long absence.
She hung up his coat and hat, lighted the fire, as the room was cool,
went out into the kitchen, and closed the door.

The familiar atmosphere and the comfortable chair in which he sat
brought him that peculiar peace of home which is one of the greatest
gifts travel can bestow. Even the ticking of the clock came to his
senses gratefully. Home at last, after all the pain, the dreary nights
and days of acute loneliness, and only one more day to wait--perhaps.

"To see again," he thought. "I am glad I came home first. To-morrow, if
God is good to me, I shall see my baby--and the letter. I have dreamed
so often that she could walk and I could see!"

He took the two sheets of paper from his pocket and spread them out upon
his knee. He moved his hands lovingly across the pages--the one written
upon, the other blank. "She died loving me," he said to himself.
"To-morrow I shall see it, in her own hand."

[Sidenote: Why Not To-Day]

Sunset flamed behind the hills and brought into the little room faint
threads of gold and amethyst that wove a luminous tapestry with the
dusk. The clock ticked steadily, and with every cheery tick brought
nearer that dear To-Morrow of which he had dreamed so long. He
speculated upon the difference made by the slow passage of a few hours.
To-morrow, at this time, his bandages would be off--then why not to-day?

The letter fell to the floor and he picked it up, one sheet at a time,
fretfully. The bandage around his temples and the gauze and cotton held
firmly against his eyes all at once grew intolerable. It was the last
few miles to the weary traveller, the last hour that lay between the
lover and his beloved, the darkness before the dawn. He had been very
patient, but at last had come to the end.

[Sidenote: He Opens his Eyes]

If only the bandages were off! "If they were," he thought, "I need not
open my eyes--I could keep them closed until to-morrow." He raised his
hands and worked carefully at the surgical knots until the outer strip
was loosened. He wound it slowly off, then cautiously removed the layers
of cotton and gauze.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he leaned back in his chair, with his
eyes closed, determined to keep faith with the physicians, and, above
all, with Doctor Conrad, who had been so very kind. The