His eyes shot open.  It was Marie-Anne, with her head nestled in the crook of his arm as she knelt there beside him on the floor.  He could see only a bit of her face, but her hair was very near, crumpled gloriously on his breast, and he could see the tips of her long lashes as she remained very still, seeming not to breathe.  She did not know he had roused from his sleep—­the first sleep of those three days of torture which he could not remember now; and he, looking at her, made no movement to tell her he was awake.  One of his hands lay over the edge of the bed, and so lightly he could scarce feel the weight of her fingers she laid one of her own upon it, and a little at a time drew it to her, until the bandaged thing was against her lips.  It was strange she did not hear his heart, which seemed all at once to beat like a drum inside him!

Suddenly he sensed the fact that his other hand was not bandaged.  He was lying on his side, with his right arm partly under him, and against that hand he felt the softness of Marie-Anne’s cheek, the velvety crush of her hair!

And then he whispered, “Marie-Anne—­”

She still lay, for a moment, utterly motionless.  Then, slowly, as if believing he had spoken her name in his sleep, she raised her head and looked into his wide-open eyes.  There was no word between them in that breath or two.  His bandaged hand and his well hand went to her face and hair, and then a sobbing cry came from Marie-Anne, and swiftly she crushed her face down to his, holding him close with both her arms for a moment.  And after that, as on that other day when she kissed him after the fight, she was up and gone so quickly that her name had scarcely left his lips when the door closed behind her, and he heard her running down the hall.

He called after her, “Marie-Anne!  Marie-Anne!”

He heard another door, and voices, and quick footsteps again, coming his way, and he was waiting eagerly, half on his elbow, when into his room came Nepapinas and Carmin Fanchet.  And again he saw the glory of something in the woman’s face.

His eyes must have burned strangely as he stared at her, but it did not change that light in her own, and her hands were wonderfully gentle as she helped Nepapinas raise him so that he was sitting up straight, with pillows at his back.

“It doesn’t hurt so much now, does it?” she asked, her voice low with a mothering tenderness.

He shook his head.  “No.  What is the matter?”

“You were burned—­terribly.  For two days and nights you were in great pain, but for many hours you have been sleeping, and Nepapinas says the burns will not hurt any more.  If it had not been for you—­”

She bent over him.  Her hand touched his face, and now he began to understand the meaning of that glory shining in her eyes.

“If it hadn’t been for you—­he would have died!”

She drew back, turning to the door.  “He is coming to see you—­ alone,” she said, a little broken note in her throat.  “And I pray God you will see with clear understanding, David Carrigan—­and forgive me—­as I have forgiven you—­for a thing that happened long ago.”