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 passed from her face, and the storm in her dark eyes seemed stilled by a steady radiance from the soul.

"I'm glad to see you looking better, Ruth," he said, with feeling.

"Yes, I have a new standard now of measuring life, its pain and its joy. The soul can only pass once through such a moment as that I lived, prostrate on the floor at your feet last Monday. I have looked Death in the face. I am no longer afraid."

"I am very, very sorry to give you such pain. I did not think you cared so deeply," he said, gently.

"Yes, I know I have seemed indifferent and resentful for the past year. I thought you would come back to your old self by and by. In my poor proud soul I thought I was punishing you. How little, dear, I dreamed of this! The thought of really losing you never once entered my heart. It was unthinkable. I do not believe it yet. Such love as ours, such tenderness and devotion as you gave to me once, the delirium of love's joy that found itself in my motherhood and wrought itself in the forms of our babies—no, Frank, it cannot die, unless God dies! And I shall not lose you at last, unless God forgets me, and He will not."

Her face, even through her tears, was illumined by an assurance so strong, so prophetic, the man was startled.

"I need not tell you, Ruth, that I desire your