An expression which he cannot read, crosses her face. A moment of profound and harrowing thought,--a glance at the kneeling girl, who hides in her flowing hair, the face of her unconscious husband. "Be it so," Frank exclaims, "give me the vial; I will administer it." Taking the vial from her father's hand, she advances to the cabinet, and for a moment bends over the open drawer. And the next instant she is kneeling beside Nameless and the weeping girl. "Mary!" whispers Frank, and the young wife raises her face from her husband's forehead, and they gaze in each other's face,--a contrast which you do not often behold. The face of Frank, dark-hued at other times, and red with passion on the cheek and lip, but now, lividly pale, and only expressing the intensity of her organization in the lightning glance of the eyes,--the face of Mary, although touched by want and sorrow, bearing the look of a guileless, _happy_ soul in every outline, and shining all the love of a pure woman's nature from the large, clear eyes. It was as though night and morning had met together. "Mary!" said Frank,--her hand trembling, but her purpose firm,--"your husband will die unless aid is rendered at once. Let me revive him." Before Mary can frame a word in reply, she places the vial to the lips of Nameless, and does not remove her hand until the last drop is emptied. Tarleton yonder watches the scene, with his head drooping on his breast, and his hand raised to his chin. "He will revive presently," Frank exclaims with a smile. "God bless you, generous woman,----" But Frank does not wait to receive her thanks. Returning to her father's side,--"Come, let us leave them, _now_," she whispers; "_now_ that your request is obeyed." "But he must not die in this house." "O, you will have time, ample time to remove him before the vial has done its work,"--a bitter smile crosses her face,--"Leave them together for an hour at least. Let them at least enjoy one hour of life, before his eyes are closed in death; only one hour, father!" She takes her father by the hand, and hurries him from the room,--let us not dare to read the emotions now contending on her corpse-like face. From that room, which was to have been her bridal chamber,--the starting-point of a new and happy life! "I must now see after the _other_," Tarleton soliloquizes, as he crossed the threshold. "_This one_ removed, _the other_ must be ready for _to-morrow_." And Frank and her father leave the room. The chest of Nameless began to heave,--his eyes gradually unclosed. With a vacant glance he surveyed the apartment. "It is a dream," he said. But there were arms about his neck, kisses on his lips, a warm cheek laid next to his own. Certainly not the clasp, the kiss, or the pressure of a dream. "Not in a dream, Carl," she said, calling, him by the name which he had borne in other days. "Carl? Who calls me Carl?" "Not in a dream, Carl, but living and restored to me."