tty. What a
sweet place San Salvatore was. And that gorgeous lilac on the table--
she must go and put her face in it . . .

But she never got to the lilac. She went one step towards it,
and then stood still, for she had seen the figure looking out of the
window in the farthest corner, and it was Frederick.

All the blood in Rose's body rushed to her heart and seemed to
stop its beating.

She stood quite still. He had not heard her. He did not turn
round. She stood looking at him. The miracle had happened, and he had
come.

She stood holding her breath. So he needed her, for he had come
instantly. So he too must have been thinking, longing . . .

Her heart, which had seemed to stop beating, was suffocating her
now, the way it raced along. Frederick did love her then--he must love
her, or why had he come? Something, perhaps her absence, had made him
turn to her, want her . . . and now the understanding she had made up
her mind to have with him would be quite--would be quite--easy--

Her thoughts wouldn't go on. Her mind stammered. She couldn't
think. She could only see and feel. She didn't know how it had
happened. It was a miracle. God could do miracles. God had done this
one. God could--God could--could--

Her mind stammered again, and broke off.

"Frederick--" she tried to say; but no sound came, or if it did
the crackling of the fire covered it up.

She must go nearer. She began to creep towards him--softly,
softly.

He did not move. He had not heard.

She stole nearer and nearer, and the fire crackled and he heard
nothing.

She stopped a moment, unable to breathe. She was afraid.
Suppose he--suppose he--oh, but he had come, he had come.

She went on again, close up to him, and her heart beat so loud
that she thought he must hear it. And couldn't he feel--didn't he
know--

"Frederick," she whispered, hardly able even to whisper, choked
by the beating of her heart.

He spun round on his heels.

"Rose!" he exclaimed, staring blankly.

But she did not see his stare, for her arms were round his neck,
and her cheek was against his, and she was murmuring, her lips on his
ear, "I knew you would come--in my very heart I always, always knew you
would come--"

Chapter 21

Now Frederick was not the man to hurt anything if he could help
it; besides, he was completely bewildered. Not only was his wife here
--here, of all places in the world--but she was clinging to him as