She felt the tension of his hand relax. He went
to sleep so gently that in her infinite relief she too dropped into
sleep, her head beside his, the black hair mingling with the gray on the
same pillow.
The servant coming in, as he had been told, looked at them in
astonishment, and stole away again.
An hour or so later Oliver woke.
"I have had no morphia, and I am not in pain. My God! what does it
mean?"
Trembling, he put out his hand. Yes!--Diana was there--asleep in her
chair. His _wife_!
His touch roused her, and as she bent over him he saw her dimly in the
dim light--her black hair, her white dress.
"You can bring that old French fellow here whenever you like," he said,
holding her. Then, faintly, his eyes closed: "This is New Year's Day."
Once more Diana's kisses fell "on the tired heart like rain"; and when
she left him he lay still, wrapped in a tangle of thought which his
weakness could not unravel. Presently he dropped again into sleep.
Diana too slept, the sleep of a young exhaustion; and when she woke up,
it was to find her being flooded with an upholding, enkindling joy, she
knew not how or whence.
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