a prayer of inexpressible thanksgiving. He
kissed the child, and called him David with the kiss, and said to
his soul, "The Lord hath accepted my contrition."

For some weeks this still and perfect happiness continued. The
days were dark and stormy, and the nights long; but in Liot's home
there was the sunlight of a woman's face and the music of a baby's
voice. The early spring brought the first anxiety, for it brought
with it no renewal of Karen's health and strength. She had the look
of a leaf that is just beginning to droop upon its stem, and Liot
watched her from day to day with a sick anxiety. He made her go
to sea with him, and laughed with joy when the keen winds brought
back the bright color to her cheeks. But it was only a momentary
flush, bought at far too great a price of vitality. In a few weeks
she could not pay the price, and the heat of the summer prostrated
her. She had drooped in the spring; in the autumn she faded away.
When Christmas came again there was no longer any hope left in
Liot's broken heart; he knew she was dying. Night and day he was
at her side, there was so much to say to each other; for only God
knew how long they were to be parted, or in what place of his great
universe they should meet again.

At the end of February it had come to this acknowledgment between
them. Sometimes Liot sat with dry eyes, listening to Karen's sweet
hopes of their reunion; sometimes he laid his head upon her pillow
and wept such tears as leave life ever afterward dry at its source.
And the root of this bitterness was Bele Trenby. If it had not
been for this man Liot could have shared his wife's hopes and
said farewell to her with the thought of heaven in his heart; but
the very memory of Bele sank him below the tide of hope. God was
even then "entering into judgment with him," and what if he should
not be able to endure unto the end, and so win, though hardly, a
painful acceptance? In every phase and form such thoughts haunted the
wretched man continually. And surely Karen divined it, for all
her sweet efforts were to fill his heart with a loving "looking
forward" to their meeting, and a confident trust in God's everlasting
mercy.

One stormy night in March she woke from a deep slumber and called
Liot. Her voice had that penetrating intelligence of the dying which
never deceives, and Liot knew instantly that the hour for parting had
come. He took her hands and murmured in tones of anguish, "O Karen,
Karen!