Year: 1872

beautiful eyes-that [ was the choic,
of his heart and the desire of hi
life.


"Answer me, said he; "I canno


wait till l see You"


Sol answered "a long, foolish let
ter, though there was no need o


writing; for he had read all l coulC
say long before, with those eyes o


his. Then | watched and waited
for him; but never saw him MOI
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 anC
hidden in secret graves


But now, as Though the graves haC
been opened and the Judgment set
came this sudden reproachful ques
ton up from the buried past. L fair
ly caught my breath, as / turned
back my eyes, and looked him in the
face again.


Forgive me" said he directly, il
a gentler tone. Il did not mean tc
speak. You brought it out with
your eves-that questioning turn
was so familiar OF course you were
quite right, and Nnever blamed you
l never meant you should see me
again; but the temptation to fee
myself beside you, only to be in the
soothing charm of your presence
was too great. 1t has been a bless
ing l sha carry with me all the rest
of my life"


He was rising to go away, but l
put out my hand, q did write,
Duncan Ashley" said l the letter
must have gone wrong"


You did You wrote - be cried,
sinking back in his chair again, and
looking at me eargerly. " What did
you say ?"


There was only one thing 1 could
say; and l said that" l answered,
blushing as though l had just writ
ten the letter.


A middle-aged woman in hood
and waterproof! But, dear mel it
was only ny face that was middle
aged, alter all; my heart was young
and silly as ever. And as for Dun
cans face, the marks of care, and
thought, and time, fell off, leaving
in it only tue eternal youth of love.


It was the old story OF a lost
letter, and the older story of a proud
man believing himself rejected and
humiliated, and fleeing to the ends
of the earth with his pain.


"Twenty precious years wasted!"
said my New Zealander. eve Will
not be separated another day while
we both live. There is a clergyman
among our passengers; and we viii
be married this very hour"


That was so like his headlong de-
cisions Certainly he did not need
a sober second thought ike me for
ballast. "That cannot be- / cried.
% The ceremony wouldn't be legal
a license or som ething. And
[ would by no means do anything so
and conspicuous"


g But, bless your heart might
as well have tried to wipe up the At
antic with my pocket handkerchief
He was so grieved and so impatient,
and so resolute, and, indeed, when
one comes to think of it, twenty
years is long enough for an engage
mentO that [ finally dropped off my
and sea-sickness, and
stood up behind the pinnacle, and
was married before eight bells that
very morning-ring and all. Dun
can produced ii from a small casket,
where he had carried it n his waist
coat pocket for the whole twenty
years


81 could never bear to put the lit
tie thing away" sid he, looking at
it tenderly.


The next day we came to port,
with the sun shining and our flags
flying There was furry of good
byes, hoisting of trunks, q welcom-
ING of friends on the shore, and Il
glad hurrying to and fro.


Among the rest was an instant's
nesting of Miss Armour's lips on
my cheek. and little cling Of her
hand in mine, the vanishing of a
smile-and she was gone, like the
flash OF a freely, out of my sight
forever. But wherever she is, and
however she fares, she has the daily
blessing of two middle-aged hearts,
whose way to each other she uncon-
lighted