Page:The Best continental short stories of and the yearbook of the continental short story 1924-25.pdf/75

 laments his lack. He cannot yet be fully sure that Edith is really well. He cannot say with confidence, “She is alive!” Ah, his eyes, dim with gazing into the depths of the centuries, long to rest on Edith!

Severus arrives. It is June. The cherry trees no longer bloom. A cool wind stirs the treetops, the nodding wheat is murmuring in the breeze. The train speeds through interminable forests, across unending prairies. Everything is sparkling. In the sky, the fleecy clouds float by before the winds.

She is waiting for him. Edith, his wife, is here! She lives. The two stretch out to each other their eager arms. She is wearing a plaid skirt, her hat has a blue ribbon on it, the sleeves of her jacket are rustling at her movements. Severus sees her still youthful beauty reflected from every line and curve. His eyes stray over her dear, shining eyes, linger at her smile. Again he hears that sweet, deep voice. She is there.

His dear, beloved wife is there. In the garden, the half-open roses offer a caress. Flowers of the summertime and of joy are all a-bloom. Severus comes back into the house. Beside him walks Edith. Still does he possess her smile, her voice, her love. His breast swells with his supreme felicity. A tremor runs throughout his being. He recalls, in a sudden flash of recognition, the goodness of God; and, from the depths of his heart, he renders thanks and homage.