rs, opens his eyes, tosses feebly, and in low tones says:

"A squall! They reef the sails! A typhoon!"

After brief pause he whispers audibly:

"Dark! So dark!" Then exclaims:

"The star! the star! Mother!"

Somewhere in pulsing zone, circling this vexed human state, there is
commotion. Rock-posing Barjona, think not to question this outgoing! At
sight of inverted spike-prints echoes not yet that morning crowing in
old Jerusalem?

Faster than light, swifter than sweep of angelic herald, quicker than
aught else than Infinite quickening at human prayer, speeds the mystery
of motherhood.

Gently ministering to most intricate throbbings of that suspended spirit
consciousness, as her own had dominated embryo pulsings pending
expectant miracle of birth, each disordered beat is soothed to rest. Who
may more than hint those voices, sounding not above the din of
life--whisperings to That, not always checked by vesturing clay nor
indexed by crude registers of flesh?

Oswald lay long in this still sleep. The fevered crisis past, he slowly
returns to conscious memory. There seems no curiosity as to future
plans. When there is but slight danger of relapse, the nun who had been
present at critical stage asks his name, and suggests that he may desire
his mail brought to the hospital. This seems proper. It soon arrives.
There is only one letter, but this bears a suggestive postmark. Its
contents electrify Oswald, who hardly can restrain his joy. His impulse
is to confide the good news to that kind-hearted sister who stands
smiling at this handsome patient. Oswald checks his feelings and
remarks:

"It is only good news from England, sister!"

The nun now learns that Oswald's home is near London, and that he has
been away for years.

The rigid reserve relaxes, and he talks freely, yet saying nothing about
causes for such absence. Recovery is now rapid. The letter arrived in
New York about three weeks before its delivery at the hospital.

Not knowing anything about Oswald's past life or name, there had been no
call for his mail.

As he would not be able to take the sea voyage for several days, a
letter is sent, addressed to Sir Donald Randolph, stating the reasons
for delay in receiving and answering, with expectation of being able to
start homeward within two weeks. This had been dictated to an obliging
nurse.

The now happy convalescent hardly can suppress within discreet bounds
his longing for speedy return. Within t