She was sure he would come in a moment. He must have gone on one
of his long walks. She could see the elevated cars on their long
trestle, count the stations, and guess how many minutes it would
take him to climb the hill and rush up the steps. Over and over
she did this, and now it was one o'clock and he had not come.
What if he had been stricken suddenly with mortal illness! His face
had looked so weary and drawn. She began to cry incoherently, and
sank on her knees.
"Lord, forgive me. I am weak and selfish, and I was wicked to-night.
Hear the cry of my heart. Bring him to me quickly, or I shall die!"
As the sobs choked her into silence, she sprang to her feet, both
hands on her lips to keep back a scream of joy, for she had heard
his footstep on the stoop.
The latch clicked, and he was in the hall.
There was a flash of red silk and two white arms were around his
neck, her form convulsed with a joy she could not control or try
to conceal.
He soothed her as a child, and, as he kissed her tenderly, felt
her lips swollen and wet with the salt tears of hours of weeping.
"You will not remember the foolish things I said to-night, dear?"
she pleaded.
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