“Ray, do you know me--your little Annette? My hero, will you forgive me?” “Oh, my darling, how noble of you to come to me before--I died! I have done all I could to atone. It is for you to forgive,” the weak voice murmured. “Oh, Ray, you will not die. I will pray, pray, pray, as you did when you brought Royall through the fire to safety. God will let you live for me, my own love, and we will forgive each other everything and be happy at last.” Oh, the strength of Love! It fought with death and came out triumphant. There were long and weary weeks of patient suffering, but love and care brought him back at last from the dark borders of the grave to life and happiness. * * * * * Annette’s precipitate flight created such consternation in the minds of the doctor and Mrs. Bell that Royall felt called on to explain. “Poor fellow! He was Annette’s sweetheart, and I would give half my fortune to save his life as he so nobly saved mine. But they said at Bellevue that it was impossible for him to live.” Then his thoughts flew back to Daisie, and he cried pleadingly: “Doctor, you must not let my wife die now, when I am so miraculously restored to her as from the grave. No expense must be spared. Have you had consulting physicians?” “Two of the best in Baltimore. Everything that is possible has been done. We can only await the issue with hope and prayer. The crisis will almost certainly come to-night.” “You will let me share the watch by her side?” pleadingly. “Yes, if the good nurse will consent, though she is very arbitrary. But we cannot afford to go against her wishes. She is from the Baltimore Hospital, and the best nurse procurable.” He went into the sick room to look at the patient again, and to ask leave for her husband to stay in the room. “He may try it, but she is very susceptible to the influence of any one who enters the room,” replied the clever nurse, whose patient had again relapsed into seeming stupor. So by and by Royall went in and sat by the window to watch the night out in mingled hope and fear. How deathly his wife looked, as if the grim King of Terrors had already claimed her as his own. She lay so still and so seemingly lifeless that it was almost a relief when she began to toss and turn again, and to mutter wild, incoherent words. When this had gone on some time, the intelligent nurse whispered in his ear: “I beg your pardon, Mr. Sherwood, but it would almost seem as if your presence had some disturbing influence on her, and not for the best, either. Will you kindly retire a while, and let me see what effect it may have on her restlessness?” Bitterly chagrined, he left the house and went down to the sea to pace the yellow sands for an hour, brooding bitterly over his sorrow.