My thoughts became broken and confused, and my senses numb, I remained, lost in a sort of stupid dream of trouble, I do not know how long, when the touch of a hand on my shoulder made me start, and a voice said, "What is the matter with you, my poor woman ?" It was a man's voice--a familiar voice; my children, it was the voice of John Hollingford.

With a cry I flung back the cloak from my face.
"John!--John!" I cried, and grasped him by both hands.

There he stood unhurt.

I burst into a fit of weeping, though not a tear had I shed all the while I had pictured him lying dead or dying.

"I thought I never should have seen your face again except in the coffin!" I sobbed in my joy, hardly knowing what I said.
"Margery!" he said.