And Richard touched her hands first--the little, soft, white hands he used to think so pretty, and which he now kissed so softly as he knelt by the bedside and tried to look closely into Ethie's face.
"My poor, sick darling, God knows how glad I am to have you back," he murmured, and his tears dropped like rain upon the hands he pressed so gently.

Then softly caressing the pale forehead, his fingers threaded the mass of tangled hair, and his lips touched the hot, burning ones which quivered for a moment, and then said, brokenly: "A dream--all a dream.

I've had it so many times." She was waking, and Richard drew back a step or two, while the bright, restless eyes moved round the room as if in quest of someone.
"It's very dark," she said, and turning one of the shutters Richard came back and stood just where the light would fall upon his face as it did on hers.
He saw now how changed she was; but she was none the less dear to him for that, and he spoke to her very tenderly: "Ethie, darling, don't you know me?
I am Richard, your husband, and I am so glad to get you back." There did seem to be a moment's consciousness, for there crept into the eyes a startled, anxious look as they scanned Richard's face; then the lip quivered again, and Ethie said pleadingly: "Don't send me away.

I am so tired, and the road was so long.

I thought I would never get here.