“Not know Lonny! Not know your own son! I beg you to forgive me, though, for all my rudeness. I was so excited—I was almost crazy; but, oh, please, _please_, bring him to me at once!” “I will, my dear, I will!” said the old man as he arose from his seat, beckoned his son to approach and then glided silently out of the room. Leonidas Bruce went towards his wife. She had risen on her elbow, and was eagerly watching the door out of which the commodore had passed. She evidently expected Lonny’s entrance through that way. But he came to her from the opposite direction, and said softly: “Emolyn!” With a slight cry she started, turned and threw her arms about his neck as he bent over her. “Oh, Emolyn, my beloved! This meeting pays us for all—does it not?” he said as he clasped and pressed her to his heart. Instead of replying she burst into a storm of tears and sobs, crying between her gasps: “Oh, Lonny! Lonny! Oh, Lonny! Lonny!” She was thinking at this hour of the child she had borne and lost under such heart-rending, soul-harrowing disasters. Her husband tried to soothe her. He thought she was crying in memory of their long separation, which was like the parting by death, as it was long supposed to be. “Do not weep so! You will make yourself ill. It _has_ been a long, dreary, hopeless absence—yes, and silent as the grave; but it is over now, forever, dearest, and surely you are glad I have come back at ‘long last?’ This meeting, I repeat it, repays us for all the past.” “Yes,” she said with a profound sigh. “And it is over now, dear Emolyn. That first parting and long separation shall be our last also.” “Yes,” she sighed. “We meet now to part no more in this world, until the Lord’s summons comes for one or the other, or both—I hope it may be for both, Emolyn—to go ‘up higher.’” “Yes, I hope it will be ‘for both,’” she added, wiping her eyes and striving to command herself. She perceived that he had not heard of the terrible ordeal through which she had passed, and not for the world would she, any sooner than his father, darken the first day of his return with the knowledge of the blight that had fallen on her young life. Later, Lonny should know all—_all!_ but not to-day, no, nor to-morrow. They must have a little rest before such a revelation. “But that day of summons and departure is probably far enough off for both of us, dear Emolyn. We are both young yet. Remember, we married when we were children. You a little over fifteen, I eighteen. Just seventeen years and a half have passed. You are not yet quite thirty-three. I no more than thirty-five. Why, unmarried people at that age pass for young ladies and gentlemen! We have a long time yet to live and love, even in this world, dear Lynny.” “Yes,” she said, smiling. CHAPTER XXXV A SUDDEN SUMMONS