te soothed her, she drew off the sparkling rings. "These
must go back to you," she said; "some day you must give them to Diana."

He shook his head. "I shall give her pearls. She belongs to the sea,
Bettina; she's the wife for a man of sailor instincts like myself--we
love the harbor, and the great lights that are high above it, and the
little lights that are low--and so I shall give her pearls.

"But you must keep these," he went on; "not to wear on your third
finger--Justin, please God, shall some day look after that--but to wear
on your right hand, as my gift to you--for luck and a long and happy
life."

In the evening they rode over to see Miss Matthews, and found her
sitting up. "I feel better," she said, "and there's something in the
air. I want to know why I have a nurse, and why Bettina went away while
I was asleep?"

"And I want to know," said Anthony, sternly, "why you are out of bed?"

"Because I am better," said Letty Matthews, "there's nothing in this
world that can cure a person like curiosity--and I had to know what was
going on."

So Anthony told her, and she wept to think of the fate of the bird man
with the broken wings.

But she was cheered by the coming of Captain Stubbs. He bore on a tray
such a supply of delicious viands that Miss Matthews urged that Bettina
and Anthony should stay and have supper.

Bettina could not eat.

"Please, I'm not hungry," she said, and went down the winding stairway,
and when she came back her arms were full of roses.

"Will you let him have them in his room?" she asked Anthony.

"He shall see them first when he opens his eyes," Anthony promised;
"they shall carry all of your messages to him."

In the hushed room at Harbor Light there was darkness--and there was the
fragrance of many flowers.

Out of the darkness a faint voice wavered, "Lilacs?"

The nurse bent over the high hospital bed. "Roses--lovely ones."

A long silence. Then, "Lovely ladies?" said the faint voice.

He could see them with his eyes shut--a whole procession of pretty
ladies, all floating in the dimness. Just their faces on a broad band of
light, over which the gray mists rolled now and then and blurred the
outlines. Then the faces would again shine out, smiling--gay and sad,
pensive and glad.

"Lovely ladies," he said again.

They followed him into his dreams, and kept him company until the pain
began--that racking, wrenching pain; then they flew from him and left
him alone to s