.
With one accord we halted before it.

"Do you know who this is, Ruth?" I asked.

"Of course I do," she answered. "It is Artemidorus."

We stood, hand in hand, facing the mummy, letting our memories fill in
the vague silhouette with its well-remembered details. Presently I
drew her nearer to me and whispered:

"Ruth! do you remember when we last stood here?"

"As if I could ever forget!" she answered passionately. "Oh, Paul!
The sorrow of it! The misery! How it wrung my heart to tell you!
Were you very unhappy when I left you?"

"Unhappy! I never knew, until then, what real heart-breaking sorrow
was. It seemed as if the light had gone out of my life for ever. But
there was just one little spot of brightness left."

"What was that?"

"You made me a promise, dear--a solemn promise; and I felt--at least I
hoped--that the day would come, if I only waited patiently, when you
would be able to redeem it."

She crept closer to me and yet closer, until her head nestled on my
shoulder and her soft cheek lay against mine.

"Dear heart," I whispered, "is it now? Is the time fulfilled?"

"Yes, dearest," she murmured softly. "It is now--and for ever."

Reverently I folded her in my arms; gathered her to the heart that
worshiped her utterly. Henceforth no sorrows could hurt us, no
misfortune vex; for we should walk hand in hand on our earthly
pilgrimage and find the way all too short.

Time, whose sands run out with such unequal swiftness for the just and
the unjust, the happy and the wretched, lagged, no doubt, with the
toilers in the room that we had left. But for us its golden grains
trickled out apace, and left the glass empty before we had begun to
mark their passage. The turning of a key and the opening of a door
aroused us from our dream of perfect happiness. Ruth raised her head
to listen, and our lips met for one brief moment. Then, with a silent
greeting to the friend who had looked on our grief and witnessed our
final happiness, we turned and retraced our steps quickly, filling the
great empty rooms with chattering echoes.

"We won't go back into the dark-room--which isn't dark now," said Ruth.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because--when I came out I was very pale; and I'm--well, I don't think
I am very pale now. Besides, poor Uncle John is in there--and--I
should be ashamed to look at him with my selfish heart overflowing with
happiness."

"You needn't be," said I. "It is the day of our liv