"Oh, God, Belle," he said with a ragged cry. "Please, please hold on. If you cannot do it for me then do it for your family. They love you so much. You wouldn't want to hurt them, would you? And think about all the books you haven't read yet. I promise I'll sneak Byron's next one to you if they won't sell it in your bookstore. There's still so much for you to do, my love. You can't leave now."

Throughout John's passionate soliloquy Belle remained limp, her breathing shallow. Finally, in utter desperation, he broke down and bared his soul. "Belle, please ," he begged. "Please, please don't leave me. Belle, I love you . I love you, and I couldn't bear it if you died. God help me, I love you so much." His voice broke off, and like a man who has suddenly realized the fruitlessness of his situation, he sighed raggedly and laid her gently back down on the bed.

Unable to hold back the lone tear that rolled down his cheek, John tenderly pulled up the blankets and tucked Belle in. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward. God, it was torture to be so close to her. He lightly brushed his lips against her ear, whispering, "I love you, Belle. Remember that always."

Then he left the room, praying that "always" would last longer than the next hour.

***
Belle was lying in bed a few hours later when she felt a comforting warmth suffuse her body. Funny how her toes had been cold for so long, even when the rest of her had been going up in flames. But now they felt warm, even-pink. Belle wondered if toes could feel pink, and then decided that they must, because that was precisely the word to describe the way her toes were feeling.

In fact, her entire body felt kind of pink. Pink, and cozy, and a little fuzzy, but mostly she just felt good. For the first time in-she frowned, realizing that she had no idea how long she'd been ill.

Gingerly, she hoisted herself into a sitting position, surprised at how weak her muscles were. Blinking her eyes a few times, she took in her surroundings. She was back home in the room she and John had shared on their wedding night. How had she returned? All she remembered was the rain and the wind. Oh, and the fight. Her awful fight with John.

She sighed, bone tired. She didn't care any longer if he didn't want her to say that she loved him. She would take him any way she could have him. All she wanted to do was end this vexing problem with George Spencer and go back to the country, back to Bunford Manor.

Bunford Manor? No, that wasn't right.

Drat. She'd never remember the name of that place. She tilted her head to the side. Sore. She flexed her fingers. Sore. She pointed her toes and groaned. Her entire body ached.

As she sat there testing out various body parts, the doorknob quietly turned and John entered the room. He had finally forced himself to take a fifteen minute break so that he could splash some water on his face and shove some food down his throat. Now he was terrified that he'd find Belle had lost her tenuous hold on life while he was gone.

To his great surprise, when he reached the side of the bed, he saw that the object of his desperate worry was sitting up, shrugging her shoulders. Up, down, up, down.

"Hello, John," she said weakly. "What's the name of your house in Oxfordshire?"

John was so stunned, so completely thrown off balance by her bizarre question, it took him several moments to reply. "Bletchford Manor," he finally said.,

"That's an awful name," Belle replied, making a face. Then she yawned, for the sentence had taken a lot of energy to get out.

"I've-I've been meaning to change it."

"Yes, well, you should do so soon. It doesn't suit you. Nor me, for that matter." Belle yawned again and snuggled down into the bed. "If you'll excuse me, I seem to be extremely tired. I think I'd like to get some sleep."

John thought wildly of the countless times he had begged her to wake from her nightmares and found himself nodding. "Yes," he said softly. "Yes, you should get some sleep." Dumbstruck, he sank down into the chair that had been his home throughout his prayerful vigil at her bedside.

The fever had broken. Strangely, joyously, amazingly, the fever had broken. She was going to be all right. He was stunned by the force of emotion which thundered through him. For once, his prayers had been answered.

And then a strange thing happened. An odd, warm feeling began somewhere in the vicinity of his heart and began to spread.

He had saved her life.

He could feel a weight being lifted from him. It was a physical sensation.

He had saved a life.

A voice resounded in the room. You are forgiven.

He looked quickly over at Belle. She didn't seem to have heard the voice. How odd. It had seemed prodigiously loud to him. A female voice. Rather like Ana's.

Ana. John closed his eyes and for the the first time in five years, he could not picture her face.

Had he finally atoned for his sins? Or, perhaps, was it that his sin had never been quite as eternally condemning as he thought?

He looked back over at Belle. She had always believed in him. Always.

He was so much stronger with her by his side. And so, perhaps, was she. Together they had faced the fiercest enemy of all and won. She would live, and he would never again have to face the future alone.

John took a deep breath, planted his elbows on his thighs, and let his face fall forward into his hands. A crazy smile cracked his face, and he began to laugh. All the stress and anguish of the past few days worked themselves out in this strange, rocking laughter.

Belle rolled over and opened her eyes at the sound. Although his face was covered, she could tell that he looked haggard. The skin on his arms was stretched tight, and the top few buttons of his shirt were carelessly undone. He slowly lifted his head and looked back at her, his brown eyes filled with an emotion she couldn't name. Undaunted, Belle continued her examination. His eyes looked gaunt, and his chin was covered with several days' growth of beard. And his normally thick and shiny hair looked dull. Belle frowned and reached her arm out, covering his hand with her own.