ciously.

"And then I thought I was going to die, and I was glad, for I felt I
could not endure being wedded to another."

She spoke as if dreaming, or as if she unknowingly expressed the
thoughts that dimly passed through her mind.

"Well," I said, "you wanted to die; you grew weaker and weaker, until
your friends thought you were dead, and you were brought here."

"Here! Here!" and she looked eagerly around. "Where am I? The light
is so dim that I cannot see."

The candle was now very low in the socket of the lantern, and I
scarcely knew what to do, but I tried to assure her that all was well.

"You need not be afraid," I said, "It was all a mistake. You were
thought to be dead, and you were brought to the grave of your family."

"The grave, the family vault," she said, "in the church, under the
Communion! But how came you here, and who are you?"

The time had come for me to tell her, and I trembled lest I should say
a mistaken word, or arouse a harmful feeling. I felt that the
slightest thing might unhinge her delicately-balanced mind, and I
scarcely knew what to say.

"Can't you think who I am?" I said at length. "You called me home when
I was away on the distant seas. I heard you say 'Roger, come home,'
and I came, for I knew that you needed me."

"Roger! Roger!" she said; "what! my Roger?"

The words came out apparently unthinkingly. She did not know what she
was saying.

"Yes, Roger," I said, "your Roger. I came back to find you, I heard
you were dead, and it drove me nearly mad. I felt I must come and see
your dead face, so I came here and found you, not dead, but only
asleep, and I--I awoke you."

I watched her face as I spoke, still holding her hand in mine. Slowly
she realised things as they were; slowly one fact after another passed
through her mind, until she saw clearly.

At first there was an expression of horror on her face, then she looked
eagerly at me and I saw tenderness--love in her eyes.

I dropped her hand and opened my arms. She did not hesitate a moment,
but struggled to come to me, so I took her in my arms and pressed her
to my heart!

Oh, how she clung to me, while I held her fast, my heart trembling for
joy as I heard her whisper, "My Roger come home to me!" Then I
realised how cold she was, and saw too, that she was wrapped only in a
shroud.

"You are cold, Ruth," I said.

"So cold, Roger; but I do not mind now!"

The light in the lantern became dimmer