His weakness was over. He thanked God, and took courage. New life
rushed through every vein. He rose to his feet in conscious
strength.
"Can you strike a light, and let me see you, Donal?" said Arctura.
Then first she called him by his Christian name: it had been so
often in her heart if not on her lips that night!
The dim light wasted the darkness of the long buried place, and for
a moment they looked at each other. She was not so changed as Donal
had feared to find her--hardly so change to him as he was to her.
Terrible as had been her trial, it had not lasted long, and had been
succeeded by a heavenly joy. She was paler than usual, yet there was
a rosy flush over her beautiful face. Her hand was stretched towards
him, its wrist clasped by the rusty ring, and tightening the chain
that held it to the post.
"How pale and tired you look!" she said.
"I am a little tired," he answered. "I came almost without stopping.
My mother sent me. She said I must come, but she did not tell me
why."
"It was God sent you," said Arctura.
Then she briefly told him what she knew of her own story.
"How did he get the ring on to your wrist?" said Donal.
He looked closer and saw that her hand was swollen, and the skin
abraded.
"He forced it on!" he said. "How it must hurt you!"
"It does hurt now you speak of it," she replied. "I did not notice
it before.
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