..
He took the misshapen figure into his arms, he rained kisses upon
the pinched, discolored face. But Rosa did not respond; her puny
strength had flown and she lay inert in his embrace, scarcely
breathing. Tears stole down her cheeks and very faintly her
fingers fluttered over his bearded cheeks.
Dazed, doubting, astounded, it was some time before Johnnie could
convince himself of the reality of this moment, and even then
words did not come to him, for his mind was in turmoil. Joy,
thanksgiving, compassion--a thousand emotions--mingled in a sort
of delirium, too wild for coherent thought or speech.
Fear finally brought him to his senses, for he became aware that
Rosa had collapsed and that his endearments left her unthrilled.
Quickly he bore her to the bench and laid her upon it. After a
time she smiled up into his eyes and her words were scarcely more
than a murmur:
"God heard my prayers and sent you to me."
"Rosa! You are ill, you are weak--"
Her eyelids fluttered. "I am dying, O'Rail-ye. I only waited to
see you."
"No, no!" In agony he gathered her once more into his arms.
"Oh yes!" Her bloodless fingers touched his face again, then his
thin, worn rags. "You, too, have suffered. How came you to be so
poor and hungry, O'Rail-ye?"
"I'm not poor, I'm rich. See!" He jingled the coins in his pocket.
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