She would
come to-morrow, and every tick of the clock brought to-morrow a second
nearer.
A steadily increasing warmth came into his veins and thawed the ice
around his heart. The cold hand that had held it so long mercifully
loosened its fingers. He turned his face toward the Eastern window, that
he might watch for the first faint glow.
A single long, deepening shadow struck across the far horizon like the
turning out of a light. Almost immediately, the distant East brightened.
Day was coming--the sun, and Isabel.
With the first hint of colour, hope dawned in his soul, changing to
certainty as the light increased. It was not in the way of things that
he, who had always had everything, should at one fell stroke be left
desolate. Out of the wreckage there was one thing he might keep--Isabel.
He laughed at the thought that she would accept her release. What would
he have done he asked himself, were it she instead of him? Could
mutilation, or even death, change his love for her? He was equally sure
that hers could not be changed.
It was fortunate that she was saved--that it was he instead of Isabel.
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