joy--he became more than a spirit or an impalpable presence; he was again
almost corporeal, almost to be felt and touched, almost a living man.
Shrinking and fearing, yet she was glad; she welcomed his exemption from
the grave and abetted him in his rebellion against death; and for her
that restless spirit almost clothed itself again in flesh.

She sat up with a great start and a low cry. Her hand had been hanging
over the arm of the chair, it had grown cold; now it was held in another
cold hand, and it was raised. Awake but thinking she still dreamed, she
waited in mingled fear and anticipation. Cold lips pressed her hand. She
dreamed then, and in her dream he came from the grave to kiss her hand.
He came not only back to the world where he had triumphed, he came also
to the woman he had loved, who had not loved him. Again the kiss came
cold on her hand. She fell back with a sudden sob, not knowing whether
terror or repulsion or joy, held greater, sway in her. The kisses covered
her hand. Ah, the marvel! They grew living, they were warm now and
passionate. This was not a dead man's kiss. With a second cry she turned
her head. Quisante himself knelt by her, kissing her hand. His eyes rose
to hers, and she cried, "It is you! You're not dead! Thank God, thank
God!"

His eyes were gleaming in the strong excitement of his heart; he knew how
he had found her.

"No, not dead, not dead yet," he said. "But by heaven, when I am dead, I
won't leave you. I can't leave you. As I kiss your hand now, so will I
kiss it always, and with my soul I will worship you. But neither now nor
then will I kiss your lips."

"You won't kiss my lips?"

"No. They have lied for me; I won't stain them any more."

For a moment she looked at him. Then she caught her hand away and flung
her arms round his neck. She kissed him on his lips, crying, "For good or
evil, for good or evil, but always, always, always!" Then she drew away,
and, with her arms still round his neck, she broke into her low laugh:
"Oh, but how like you to make that little speech about my lips!"

CHAPTER XX.

THE QUIET LIFE TO-MORROW.

Old Miss Quisante was not as sympathetic as might have been wished. She
acquiesced indeed (as who would not?) in the new programme of at least a
year's complete rest; she offered to find funds--happily it was not
necessary, since the sale of some Alethea shares at a handsome premium
s