She drew him, with his starved love of beauty and his need of companionship; drew him with a mighty power, and he knew it at last.

He remembered how he had felt and faintly thrilled under a certain soft suppression in her tones when she had spoken to him of late; this had drawn him, and the new light in her eyes and her whole freshened womanhood, even before he knew it.

Now that he did know it he felt himself shaken and all but lost; clutching weakly at some support that threatened every moment to give way.
And she was his wife, his who had starved year after year for the light touch of a woman's hand and the tones of her voice that should be for him alone.

He knew now that he had ached and sickened in his yearning for this, and she stood there for him in the soft night.

He knew she was waiting, and he knew he desired above all things else to go to her; that the comfort of her, his to take, would give him new life, new desires, new powers; that with her he would revive as she had done.