The Spark and the Blaze

I found Nickols lying in his own dim and high bedroom, perfectly
motionless under the white sheet, as he had been for two days, the only
difference that now his great dark eyes burned into mine and on his
mouth there rested a faint trace of the old mocking smile. I sat down
close beside his pillow on a low chair which the nurse placed for me as
she gave me a warning look and left us alone.

"This is your wedding day, Charlotte, and the license is over on the
desk to destroy," he said, with the mocking light in his eyes flaring up
into greater strength. "I suppose you are duly grateful for the merciful
escape accorded you."

"Please don't, dear," I said, and I reached out and took his burning
hand in mine.

"You never really cared, Charlotte. You cold women make havoc in a man's
life. I've no excuses to make, but I wish I could hear you say that you
forgive me. I'd go out more contentedly." And the light that sprang up
into his face showed me just what a hold I had on his loyalty and the
thing a man calls his honor. And it came to me on the wings of a quick,
silent prayer, prayed in a heart unlearned in the forms of petitions,
that I must make a fight to give him the peace of his heritage of
immortality before he entered it.

"I do forgive you, Nick dear, as I hope to be forgiven by the Master for
the wrongs I have done others--the wrong of accepting your life--in
coldness," I answered, looking him steadily in the eye as I made my
simple declaration of my new-found faith to him.