Once inside the little cabin, I saw Ernest’s face in the light.  With the exception of the prison pallor, there was no change in him—­at least, not much.  He was my same lover-husband and hero.  And yet there was a certain ascetic lengthening of the lines of his face.  But he could well stand it, for it seemed to add a certain nobility of refinement to the riotous excess of life that had always marked his features.  He might have been a trifle graver than of yore, but the glint of laughter still was in his eyes.  He was twenty pounds lighter, but in splendid physical condition.  He had kept up exercise during the whole period of confinement, and his muscles were like iron.  In truth, he was in better condition than when he had entered prison.  Hours passed before his head touched pillow and I had soothed him off to sleep.  But there was no sleep for me.  I was too happy, and the fatigue of jail-breaking and riding horseback had not been mine.

While Ernest slept, I changed my dress, arranged my hair differently, and came back to my new automatic self.  Then, when Biedenbach and the other comrades awoke, with their aid I concocted a little conspiracy.  All was ready, and we were in the cave-room that served for kitchen and dining room when Ernest opened the door and entered.  At that moment Biedenbach addressed me as Mary, and I turned and answered him.  Then I glanced at Ernest with curious interest, such as any young comrade might betray on seeing for the first time so noted a hero of the Revolution.  But Ernest’s glance took me in and questioned impatiently past and around the room.  The next moment I was being introduced to him as Mary Holmes.

To complete the deception, an extra plate was laid, and when we sat down to table one chair was not occupied.  I could have cried with joy as I noted Ernest’s increasing uneasiness and impatience.  Finally he could stand it no longer.

“Where’s my wife?” he demanded bluntly.

“She is still asleep,” I answered.

It was the crucial moment.  But my voice was a strange voice, and in it he recognized nothing familiar.  The meal went on.  I talked a great deal, and enthusiastically, as a hero-worshipper might talk, and it was obvious that he was my hero.  I rose to a climax of enthusiasm and worship, and, before he could guess my intention, threw my arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips.  He held me from him at arm’s length and stared about in annoyance and perplexity.  The four men greeted him with roars of laughter, and explanations were made.  At first he was sceptical.  He scrutinized me keenly and was half convinced, then shook his head and would not believe.  It was not until I became the old Avis Everhard and whispered secrets in his ear that none knew but he and Avis Everhard, that he accepted me as his really, truly wife.

It was later in the day that he took me in his arms, manifesting great embarrassment and claiming polygamous emotions.