By-and-bye she grew more composed; had conquered and mastered her emotion, and turned her head towards her husband; but he was reading, and if he saw her, never raised his eyes from his book. Unconsciously her thoughts wandered, wandered away to the days at Somerton when she had been so happy. Ah! what a world of woe had overtaken her since then. Her boy dead, her only one; her husband worse than dead, his love estranged, perhaps gone for ever! and yet if he had only allowed her to speak,--not to attempt to palliate her fault, but only to tell how dearly she loved him! she felt she _had_ rightly forfeited some of his esteem, but scarcely deserved all the bitter misery his coldness had cost her. Would he ever trust her again? Ever believe her love? Yet if she died for it, she must tell it him; the weight of it was killing her, and she clasped her small white hands tightly over her knees as she thought that perhaps the time for her to speak had come. Only a few moments ago he had spoken almost tenderly to her, and more like his former self, and he was better, almost well now, and able to bear what she had to say. The excitement of her sad tale would not hurt him half so much as the telling it would grieve her. He was no longer weak, but gaining strength every day; there was scarcely any trace of his illness now, save that ugly scar near his temple, and that was gradually fading away. How should she begin? What should she say? As she essayed to think, the suffocating feeling arose again in her throat; again the large heavy tears dropped one by one; but her face was turned full on her husband now, his eyes on hers, yet she knew it not; knew not that his book had been laid down long ago, and that he was watching eagerly the various emotions flitting over face. As the tears sprung from her eyes, he said, hastily reaching out his hand, "Come here, Amy! Come nearer to me." She saw him _then_. Their eyes met, and that one glance told _him_ his wife's love was his; told _her_ she was trusted and forgiven. In another moment she had tottered forward and was gathered to his heart, her tears falling like rain on his breast. "Oh! Robert! Robert!" she wailed. But loving words poured impetuously in her ears, loving arms were round her. "My wife! my own! My darling Amy. Hush! hush, love!" But she could not hush; but lay weeping, weeping passionately, nestled close to him; clasped tightly in his arms, as though he feared to lose her.