But suddenly it seemed as if his lady's spirit stood beside him in the
firelight's flickering gleam, whispering words of hope, pleading to come
back from the cold grave to his heart, there to abide and comfort him.
He heard her golden voice once more, and it fell like soft, healing rain,
so that he stretched out his arms, and cried aloud:
"My darling, beloved one, forgive me for these five wasted
years--sweetheart, come back to me never to part again. Come back to my
heart, and dwell there, Angel Queen!"
* * * * *
Then, as the days went on, all the world altered for him. Instead of the
terrible bitterness against fate which had ruled his heart, a new
tenderness grew there. It seemed now as though he were never alone, but
lived in her ever-present memory. And with this golden change came thoughts
of his child--that little life neglected for so long. What had he done?
What cruel, terrible thing had he done in his selfish pain?
Each year Dmitry had sent him a letter of news, and each year that day had
held ghastly hours for him in the reopening of old anguish--the missive to
be read and quickly thrust out of sight, the thought of it to be strangled
and forgotten.
And now the little one would soon be five years old, and his father's
living eyes had never seen him! But this should no more be so, and he wrote
at once to Dmitry.
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