nd laying them about her neck, placed her cheek upon his.
For some minutes these three remained knit in a close embrace; love,
strong and tender, spoke and answered in that silence.

"It is good to be at home," he said, speaking with difficulty.

"It was not home without you, dear," murmured his wife, laying her lips
softly upon his forehead. Ruth, kneeling beside the bed, noticed how
loosely the dark signet-ring he wore hung upon his slender finger.

"You look ill, my Ruth," he said, after a pause. "Lay my head down,
Esther love; you must be tired. Sit before me, dear, I want to see your
two faces together."

His gaunt eyes flitted from one to the other.

"It is a fair picture to take with one," he whispered.

"To keep with one," softly trembled his wife's voice; his eyes met hers
in a commiserating smile.

Suddenly he started up.

"Ruth," he gasped, "will you go to Louis? He must be worn out."

She left the room hurriedly. Her faint knock was not immediately
answered, and she called softly; receiving no reply, she turned the
knob, which yielded to her hand. Sunbeams danced merrily about the room
of the young man, who sat in their light in a dejected attitude. He
evidently had made no change in his toilet; and as Ruth stood
unnoticed beside him, her eyes wandered over his gray, unshaven face,
travel-stained and weary to a degree. She laid her hand upon his
shoulder.

"Louis," she called gently.

He shook under her touch, but made no further sign that he knew of her
presence.

"You must be so tired, Louis," she continued sympathetically.

It may have been the words, it may have been the tone, it may have been
that she touched some hidden thought, for suddenly, without premonition,
his breast heaved, and he sobbed heavily as only a man can sob.

She started back in pain. That such emotion could so unstring Louis
Arnold was a marvel. It did not last long; and as he rose from his chair
he spoke in his accustomed, quiet tone.

"Forgive my unmanliness," he said; "it was kind of you to come to me."

"You look very ill, Louis; can't I bring you something to refresh you,
or will you lie down?"

"We shall see; is there anything you wish to ask me?

"Nothing."

After a pause he said,--

"You must not be hopeless; he is in good hands, and everything that can
be done will be done. Is he resting now?"

"Yes; if to breathe like that is to rest. Oh, Louis, when I think how
for months he has suffered alone, i