“It’s very dark,” she said, and turning one of the shutters Richard came back and stood just where the light would fall upon his face as it did on hers.

He saw now how changed she was; but she was none the less dear to him for that, and he spoke to her very tenderly: 

“Ethie, darling, don’t you know me?  I am Richard, your husband, and I am so glad to get you back.”

There did seem to be a moment’s consciousness, for there crept into the eyes a startled, anxious look as they scanned Richard’s face; then the lip quivered again, and Ethie said pleadingly: 

“Don’t send me away.  I am so tired, and the road was so long.  I thought I would never get here.  Let me stay.  I shall not be bad any more.”

Then, unmindful of consequences, Richard gathered her in his arms, and held her there an instant in a passionate embrace, which left her pale and panting, but seemed to reassure her, for when he would have laid her back upon the pillow, she said to him, “No, not there—­on your arm—­so.  Yes, that’s nice,” and an expression of intense satisfaction stole into her face as she nestled her head close to Richard’s bosom, and, closing her eyes, seemed to sleep again.  And Richard held her thus, forgetting his own fatigue, and refusing to give up his post either to Andy or Melinda, both of whom ventured in at last, and tried to make him take some refreshment and rest.

“I am not hungry,” he said, “and it is rest enough to be with Ethelyn.”

Much he wondered where she had come from, and Melinda repeated all Ethelyn had said which would throw any light upon the subject.

“She has talked of the Nile, and St. Petersburg, and the Hellespont, and the ship which was bringing her to Richard, and of Chicopee, but it was difficult telling how much was real,” Melinda said, adding, “She talked of Clifton, too; and were it possible, I should say she came direct from there, but that could not be.  You would have known if she had been there.  What was the number of your room?”

“102,” Richard replied, a new revelation dawning upon him, while Melinda rejoined: 

“That is the number she talks about—­that and 101.  Can it be that she was there?”

Richard was certain of it.  The Miss Bigelow who had interested him so much lay there in his arms, his own wife, who was, if possible, tenfold dearer to him now than when he first held her as his bride.  He knew she was very sick, but she would not die, he said to himself.  God had not restored her to him just to take her away again, and make his desolation more desolate.  Ethie would live.  And surely if love, and nursing, and tender care were of any avail to save the life which at times seemed fluttering on the very verge of the grave, Ethelyn would live.  Nothing was spared which could avail to save her, and even the physician, who had all along done what he could, seemed to redouble his efforts when he ascertained who his patient was.