the dead. Mary, whose childish face looked very drawn, was seated before a book, open upon the table, her head resting upon her hands, and a strange expression of melancholy in her great dark eyes. But Roderick lay upon a sofa-bunk, and was fast asleep, with the novel which he had been reading lying crumpled upon the floor.
I had opened the door so gently that neither of them moved as I entered the room. It was to me the best moment of my life to be looking again upon them, and I waited for one minute till Mary raised her head, and our eyes met. Then I bent over the cabin table and kissed her, and I felt her clinging to me, and though she never spoke, her eyes were wet with hot tears; and when she smiled through them, it was as a glimpse of bright sunlight shining through a rain-shower. In another moment there was nothing but the expression of a great childish joy on her face, and the old Mary spoke.
"Mark, I can't believe it," she said, holding me close lest I might go away again, "and I always guessed you'd come."
But Roderick awoke with a yawn, and when he saw me he rubbed his eyes, and said as one in a dream—
"Oh, is that you?"
****
The tea which Mary made was very fragrant, and Roderick's cigars had a fine rich flavour of
