"Here!" She did not say more, but gazing at me with great dazed eyes, she raised her hand and beckoned to me. And I had no choice but to obey; to go nearer to her, out into the light. "Mrs. Wigram," I said hoarsely, my voice sounding to me only as a whisper, "I have news of your late--of your husband. It is good news." "Good news?" Did she faintly echo my words? or, as her face, from which all color had passed, peered into mine, and searched it in infinite hope and infinite fear, did our two minds speak without need of physical lips? "Good news?" "Yes," I whispered. "He is alive. The Indians did not----" "Alfred!" Her cry rang through the room, and with it I caught her in my arms as she fell. Beard and long hair, and scar and sunburn, and strange dress--these which had deceived others were no disguise to her--my wife. I bore her gently to the couch, and hung over her in a new paroxysm of fear. "A doctor! Quick! A doctor!" I cried to Mrs. Williams, who was already kneeling beside her. "Do not tell me," I added piteously, "that I have killed her!" "No! no! no!" the good woman answered, the tears running down her face. "Joy does not kill!" An hour later this fear had been lifted from me, and I was walking up and down the library alone with my thankfulness; glad to be alone, yet more glad, more thankful still, when John came in with a beaming face. "You have come to tell me," I cried eagerly, pleased that the tidings had come by his lips, "to go to her? That she will see me?" "Her ladyship is sitting up," he replied. "And Lord Wetherby?" I asked, pausing at the door to put the question. "He left the house at once?" "Yes, my lord, Mr. Wigram has been gone some time." A BLORE MANOR EPISODE. Not very remarkable was this courtship: there was nothing very strange about it, or more romantic than is apt to be the case with such things. I doubt not that since the daughters of the children of men were wooed, there have been many millions of such May-time passages of greater interest, and that countless Pauls and Virginias have plucked the sweet spring flowers together amid more picturesque surroundings. Every matron--and some maids, if they will, though we deprecate the omen--can recall at least one wooing which she can vouch as a thousand million times more extraordinary than that of my commonplace hero and heroine. That is so: but for that very reason let her read of this one, and taking off the cover of her own potpourri savor some faint scent of the dewy roses of the past springtime.