"Yes, Roger," I said, "your Roger. I came back to find you, I heard you were dead, and it drove me nearly mad. I felt I must come and see your dead face, so I came here and found you, not dead, but only asleep, and I--I awoke you." I watched her face as I spoke, still holding her hand in mine. Slowly she realised things as they were; slowly one fact after another passed through her mind, until she saw clearly. At first there was an expression of horror on her face, then she looked eagerly at me and I saw tenderness--love in her eyes. I dropped her hand and opened my arms. She did not hesitate a moment, but struggled to come to me, so I took her in my arms and pressed her to my heart! Oh, how she clung to me, while I held her fast, my heart trembling for joy as I heard her whisper, "My Roger come home to me!" Then I realised how cold she was, and saw too, that she was wrapped only in a shroud. "You are cold, Ruth," I said. "So cold, Roger; but I do not mind now!" The light in the lantern became dimmer, and I had no more candle. I thought of the candles in the church, and wondered how I could get at them. "Ruth," I said, "could you bear to stay here while I go into the church for another light? Our candle is nearly out." "No, Roger," she said, clinging to me, "I could not bear for you to leave me," and she clung to me more closely. I lifted her out of her narrow bed and prepared to carry her. I had not much difficulty in this. She was very light, very thin. Taking the lantern in my hand I bore her away from her dread resting-place. With what a sense of relief I lifted my darling through the narrow entrance! With what gladness I realised that she was not dead! When I went down my heart was cold and heavy as lead; now it was warm; it beat with new life. I went down in what seemed to be the darkness of death; I came out into the light of Heaven! I seized a candle which stood on the Communion table and lit it from the one in my lantern which had almost gone out. Then I tried to take off my coat to wrap her in, but this she would not allow me to do. She was still unselfish Ruth, suffering herself rather than let another suffer. So I took the cloth that lay on the table, the doth which was marked with a cross. I wrapped her in that, and surely I committed no sacrilege in doing so. It was large and warm, and entirely covered her, all but her white feet that peeped out from under her shroud. I took another look at her, a longing, loving look. Her old beauty was coming back; she was losing all fear as she realised my presence. "Ruth," I said, "it is your Roger who asks you, may I kiss you?" A faint smile came into her face, something like the smile I had seen in the olden days. "Dare you kiss me in my shroud, Roger?" she said. Even then she could not repress the quaint, quiet humour I had loved years before.