.

Ah, sisters, my destiny has come! I feel it in every breath I draw, in
every sweet thought that haunts my brain. To-morrow I shall see him
again. To-morrow!

Oh, sisters, he has just left me. Alas! alas! for human aspirations. I
had written thus far when he came.

I received him in my room, looking pale, and, I think, interesting, for
the sweet romance of my feelings left its imprint on my features. He
came in with hesitation, and sat down on the edge of his chair, looking
ill at ease, as if wishing to escape a mention of his own heroism. I
felt a glow of admiration, a thrill of tender gratitude.

"You have saved my life," I said, clasping my two hands, "and from this
hour I devote that life to your happiness. Tell me how I can begin to
repay you."

He sat uneasily; he shifted in his chair. Then he murmured:

"Anything you please; I never thought of asking. It was only my duty."

"Heroic man!" I exclaimed; "and brave as modest. It is my pleasure to be
more than grateful. Never, never can I repay you save with the warmest
and sweetest emotions of a woman's heart. I owe you--ah, how much--how
much!"

My hands were clasped, my eyes were uplifted; emotion prevented me
finishing my sentence. He spoke, while my soul halted for words--

"Well, if you think so much of just helping you out of the way of a
seaward wave, supposing we say five dollars. It is my duty, as
bathing-master, to help people up from the sand when they get face
downwards, as you did; but as you insist, I don't mind a fiver."

Oh, sisters!

XCII.

PLEASURE BAY.

Dear sisters:--I really do think that Cousin Dempster is one of the best
creatures that ever lived. He seems to understand all the wounds and
pains that a female woman's heart is exposed to, and sort of eases them
off, so that you are cheated out of half your natural suffering.

I cannot say that the bathing in the salt-sea waves was not a failure as
a matrimonial speculation; but that is my luck. In some respects, the
future to me is like a mirage--I put my hand out hopefully, and grasp
nothing but fog.

That bathing-master was a fine-looking man until he opened his mouth and
attempted to sit down on a chair. He created a pleasant delusion in my
bosom for a few moments, and then--well, we will say nothing more about
that--the private sanctuary of a female woman's thoughts are too sacred
for a Report.

If I wept in the stillness of the night, no one but the angel that