His eyes filled as he read, and two great drops fell as he laid it down.

He picked up the lamp and hastened back to her.

As he drew near she opened her eyes, sent one frightened glance round the room and up into his pale, troubled face, then covering hers with her hands, burst into hysterical weeping.

He set down the lamp, knelt by her sofa and gathered her in his arms, resting her head against his breast.

“Zoe, my little Zoe, my own dear wife!” he said in faltering accents, “have I really been so cruel that you despair of my love?  Why, my darling, no greater calamity than your loss could possibly befall me.  I love you dearly, dearly! better far than I did when I asked you to be mine—­when we gave ourselves to each other.”

“Oh, is it true? do you really love me yet in spite of all my jealousy and wilfulness, and—­and—­oh, I have been very bad and ungrateful and troublesome!” she sobbed, clinging about his neck.

“And I have been too dictatorial and stern,” he said, kissing her again and again.  “I have not had the patience I ought to have had with my little girl-wife, have not been so forbearing and kind as I meant to be.”

“Indeed, you have been very patient and forbearing,” she returned, “and would never have been cross to me if I hadn’t provoked you beyond endurance.  I have been very bad to you, dear Ned, but if you’ll keep me and love me I’ll try to behave better.”

“I’ll do both,” he said, holding her closer and repeating his caresses.

“Oh, I’m so glad, so glad!” she cried, with the tears running over her cheeks, “so glad I have to weep for joy.  And I’ve been breaking my heart since you went away and left me in anger and without one word of good-by.”

“My poor darling, it was too cruel,” he sighed; “but I found I could not stand it any more than you, so had to come back to make it up with you.  And I frightened you terribly down there at the door, did I not?”

“O Ned,” she murmured, hiding her blushing face on his breast, “how very good you are to be so loving and kind when you have a right to be angry and stern with me.  You haven’t even asked me what I was doing down there in the night.”

“Your note explained that,” he said in moved tones, thinking how great must have been the distress that led to such an act, “and I fear I am as deserving of reproof as yourself.”

“Then you will forgive me?” she asked humbly.  “I thought I had a right to go away, thinking it would make you happier, but now I know I hadn’t, because I had promised myself to you for all my life.”

“No; neither of us has a right to forsake the other (we ’are no more twain but one flesh.  What, therefore, God hath joined together, let no man put asunder’); we are husband and wife for as long as we both shall live, and must dwell together in mutual love and forbearance.  We will exchange forgiveness, dearest, for we have both been to blame, and I forgive your attempt of to-night on condition that you promise me never, never to do such a thing again.”