The kiss roused her a little, and turning upon her pillow, her lips moved, and he heard her say, “Abelard,” while a pang, keener, sharper, and different from anything he had known, shot through his heart and brought great drops of sweat to his brow and lips. During the dreadful three days when he was “thinking it out” he had experienced no jealousy of the dead youth, or for an instant believed that Edith loved him still, or could have loved him had he lived till now and met her for the first time in the fulness of her womanhood. But she was dreaming of him sure, and Colonel Schuyler would have given much to know the nature of the dream. She was sleeping again, and he drew a chair beside her, and with his eyes fastened upon her face, sat looking at her until he heard Gertie light the gas in the adjoining room, preparatory to putting Arthur to bed. This was something the child would allow no one else to do, and now, when this was done, he insisted upon “tissin’ mamma just once” before going to his crib. “Yes, Gertie, let him come,” the colonel said, as he heard the clamor at the door, and in his long night-gown the boy came in, screaming with joy at sight of his father, and crying out, as he reached out his arms to touch his mother’s face: “Oh, mamma! mamma! papa’s tome! I’se so glad!—is you?” Edith was awake now, and started when she saw the dark figure and guessed whose it was. “Papa’s tome!” Arthur said again, while Gertie, feeling sure that Mrs. Schuyler would be disturbed, carried him forcibly away, and left the husband and wife alone. Then Colonel Schuyler arose, and bending over his wife, said softly: “Edith, darling, I have come home. Are you glad to see me?” He did not wait for her to answer, but continued: “They tell me you are better, and I am so rejoiced. Kiss me, can you?” She kissed him as he desired, and he felt her hot tears on his cheek as he held his face to her. She was much better than when he left her. Reason had come back again, and she could think of all that was past, and what lay before her, and she shrank from it, and from her husband, who must soon know everything, and who might turn from her in bitter scorn and disgust. Oh, how she loved him now! and how her poor heart ached when she thought of losing his respect and seeing his love for her turning into hatred. For he did love her; she was sure of that, and never had his manner been so full of manly tenderness as it was when he came to her after an absence of three days and asked her if she was glad. It seemed almost, she thought, as if he were pitying her, and he was, and wishing he could help her tell him what he was certain she wanted to. But it must not be that night; she was too weak to bear the excitement. He must wait till she was stronger, he thought, and when at last, as he supported her in his arms and stroked her face caressingly, she said to him: