antly, and each day become more feeble. I am coming home, Emmy;
coming home, I fear, to die. I am but a ghost of my former self. I write
you this that you may not be alarmed when you see me. It is too late now to
repine, but, oh! Em, if my lot had only been cast with yours--had we never
been separated--I might have been to-day as happy as you are."

It was a clear bright morning when Charlie stepped into a boat to be
conveyed to the ship in which Clarence had returned to New York: she had
arrived the evening previous, and had not yet come up to the dock. The air
came up the bay fresh and invigorating from the sea beyond, and the water
sparkled as it dripped from the oars, which, with monotonous regularity,
broke the almost unruffled surface of the bay. Some of the ship's sails
were shaken out to dry in the morning sun, and the cordage hung loosely and
carelessly from the masts and yards. A few sailors lounged idly about the
deck, and leaned over the side to watch the boat as it approached. With
their aid it was soon secured alongside, and Charlie clambered up the
ladder, and stood upon the deck of the vessel. On inquiring for Clarence,
he was shown into the cabin, where he found him extended on a sofa.

He raised himself as he saw Charlie approach, and, extending his hand,
exclaimed,--"How kind! I did not expect you until we reached the shore."

For a moment, Charlie could not speak. The shock caused by Clarence's
altered appearance was too great,--the change was terrible. When he had
last seen him, he was vigorous-looking, erect, and healthful; now he was
bent and emaciated to a frightful extent. The veins on his temples were
clearly discernible; the muscles of his throat seemed like great cords; his
cheeks were hollow, his sunken eyes were glassy bright and surrounded with
a dark rim, and his breathing was short and evidently painful. Charlie held
his thin fleshless hand in his own, and gazed in his face with an anguished
expression.

"I look badly,--don't I Charlie?" said he, with assumed indifference;
"worse than you expected, eh?"

Charlie hesitated a little, and then answered,--"Rather bad; but it is
owing to your sea-sickness, I suppose; that has probably reduced you
considerably; then this close cabin must be most unfavourable to your
health. Ah, wait until we get you home, we shall soon have you better."

"Home!" repeated Clarence,--"home! How delightful that word sounds! I feel
it is going _home_ to go to