to claim his own, when
there will be a crown given you which outshines the sun." To go about
his daily routine of life, to feel that heavy aching load on his heart
crushing and consuming him, made his existence almost unbearable.

He lost all interest in the little field, the tame goats and birds, and
for two or three days even neglected to take food himself. An appalling
silence had fallen upon the island. He seemed to still hear her voice
in the house and about it, and when he closed his eyes in sleep, after
being utterly exhausted, he saw her sweet face bending over him and felt
the sunshine of her smile on him. It was so hard to realize that she was
gone, and he could scarcely believe that he would not find her down on
the beach gathering shells, as he had so often seen her.

Frequently when alone in the cabin he would start, half expecting to see
her enter with her cheering smile; but she was gone forever; her sweet
smiles and cheering voice would no more be heard on earth.

It required long months before he could settle down to that life of
loneliness. Hitherto he had not lived the life of a Crusoe or Selkirk;
but now he was destined to know what real solitude was. John Stevens at
last began to take some interest in his domestic affairs. He sadly
missed the thousand little attentions which feminine instincts suggested
for his comfort; but anon he became accustomed to being alone. He grew
morose and melancholy, even wicked, for at times he blamed Providence,
first for casting him away on this lonely island, and lastly for taking
from him the companion he had failed to appreciate, until he felt her
loss; but soon he turned to God and prayed for light.

He read the Bible and from this living fountain of consolation drank
deep draughts of that which, to his starving soul, was the elixir of
life. Strange as it may seem, in the first ebullition of his grief, John
Stevens seemed to forget his wife and children. So long had he been from
them, that they had lost their place in his thoughts. Time, the great
healer of all wounds, the great reconciler to all fates, the great
arbitrator of all disputes, had almost lost to him those tenderest ties
which had lacerated his poor heart.

To the fatalist, John Stevens would seem to be one of those unfortunate
beings doomed to be made the sport of a capricious fortune. His domestic
relations in Virginia were a strange intermixture of good and bad. His
business had been decidedly