Year: 1872

tcoNTINuED FROM YEsTEkDAY. i5a


After an hour or so the gun was fired;
and presently Miss Armour came back.
with the disorder of the strong sca.wind
in her hair, and its freshness In her pretty
pink cheeks. I'll, -. =


II We come as l said," she murmured.
dropping at my feet again and smiling an.
as though she had got where she best
loved to be. just such smile as she would
have given to the stokers down in the en-.
gine room. or to the ships cat, Bot It was
lovely to look upon while it. lasted; and
we middle-aged people have learned to
warm ourselves in any chance ray of SUM-
light, without stopping to consider wheth-
er It Is likely to be perpetual. sA4


This time the bit Of sunshine did not
stay long, for there came up an artist with
his sketch book; and when Miss Armour
had sufficiently admired his graphic pen
Cling of the captain and the quartermas-
ter, and the sea-sick occupant of an up
per berth, 1t was time to throw the log;
and so he bore her of. to find out by her
own eyes whether we were actually 90
ing at the rate of thirteen knots, or only
twelve and half a'a


That was how the days went. The pas
sengers read and paced the deck, played
games and guessed riddles, and were al
ways hungry: the pilot stood steady and
| firm at the wheel; the sailors ran up and
down abont the rigging like overgrown
spiders. and were forever securing and
scrubbing, tying and untying, drawing up
and letting down. Thus at last we had
come safely almost to our desired haven
With fair sailing, we were only one day
out from port and. fond as we had grown
to be of each other, We were getting inn
patient to part.


Miss Armour, during all the voyage,
had kept on as she had begun, beguihng
every one with her trick Of lip and eye.
They ran after her like boys at the string
of a kite. Well, they had nothing better
to do just then: and when she had faded
out as the rainbow fades. made no doubt
she would be as easily forgotten, or only
remembered as a midsummer day dream,
| by all. unless it might be solitary, warm
hearted man like the New Zealander. To
tell the truth, was little sorry for him.
Evidently life had not brought him all it
might; and he was hungry for the love
and confidence that had never been his.
So was afraid he would miss the little
sparkle of girlhood and warm youth, and
find the void deeper when it had gone out.


To the very last day, Rosa kept her
place by my chair; and to the last the
New Zealander kept his place by her.
when no one younger stepped in to carry
her off, which was pretty often, to be sure.
Then. he always quietly went away him.
self, with a kind of brave regret in his
face. On this last morning. Miss Armour
had just left us along with young law
Yer to drop oranges and lemons among
the steerage passengers, when noticed
the New Zealander looking after her with
a sadder regret than usual--almost pain
in his eyes. He had such handsome dark
eyes l could see that without my glass.
eS. ~


Now" said to myself. II hope he
ism going to get sofia sensible. gentle
manly agreeable man like him, and quite
old enough to be her tather." and so l
looked at him to see if he was, when sud-
denly he turned upon me.


"At least, you might have written, Ag-
atha Wells!n he said sharply.


started, as you may think, to hear my
own name spoken so familiarly by stran-
ger: when looking again, behold! saw
beneath the bronze, face that twenty
years before was the dearest in the world





parted one day expecting to meet on the
next; but that evening he was called
away, and wrote instead of coming. Iu
his letter he said. what he had said before
with his eyes-yes, those same beautiful
eyes-that was the choice of his heart
and the desire of his life.''


ANSWER me" he wrote, II cannot wait
to see you"


So l answered-a long, foolish letter.
though there was no need of writing; for
he had read all l could say long before
with those eyes of his. Then l waited
and waited for him but never saw him or
heard one word more. If you are young.
YOU can imagine the slow dying out of
hope and expectation. And if you are old
you know how such things can be lived
over, and hidden in secret graves.


But now, as though the graves had been
opened. and the Judgment set, came this
sudden reproachtul question up from the
buried past fairly caught my breath.
as turned back my eyes and looked him
in the face again.


"Forgive me-" said he directly, in a
gentler tone. II did not mean TO speak
lou brought it out with your eyes; that
questioning was so familiar. OF course
you were quite right and l never blamed
you. never meant you to see me again
but the temptation to feel myself beside
you, only TO be in the soothing charm OF
your presence, was too great. 1t has been
Il blessing shall carry with me all the
rest of my life"


He was rising to 60 away, but put Out
my hand. Il did write, Duncan Ashley,
said 1.-THE letter must have gone wrong
| ~ GU did You wrote ~ he cried sink
ing back in his chair again. and looked at
me eagerly. What did say P'


There was only one thing | could say
and said that answered, blushing as
) though had just written the letter.
A midde-aged woman in hood and wa
ter-proof! But, dear me it was only my
face that was middle-aged after all; my
heart was as young and silly as ever.
Andlas for Duncans face. the marks OF
, care. and thought. and time fell of, leav-
ing in it only the eternal youth of love.


Ii was the old story of a lost letter, and
the older story of a proud man believing
himself rejected and Inundated. and fee