tened the parched lips.

"Fever has burned him up. The tide is nearly out. It is only a
question of a few hours," he said.

Through the night, Ruth, sitting by his bedside, in the calm and
stillness, heard the clock strike the passing hours. At times she
heard, through the open windows, the faint ripple of the surf rolling
in from the restless sea. Soon for him the waves of life would break
upon a shoreless ocean. It was her hand that fanned him; that wiped
the death-damp from his forehead; dropped the refreshing cordial on
his tongue; held the mirror to his nostrils to ascertain if still,
perchance, he breathed. The tides of the ocean had reached their
farthest ebb and were setting towards the flood once more, bringing
sweet and refreshing odors from the ever-heaving sea. The night winds
were drying the dampness from the marble brow. Day was dawning, its
amber light flowing along the horizon. The fluttering heart was
beating more strongly; more deep the breathing.

"Oh, 'Rinthia! He isn't going; he's coming back. God has heard my
prayer," said Ruth.

The sun was rising, and its rays streaming into the chamber. The
closed eyes slowly opened and gazed wonderingly. Where was he? What
the meaning of this flood of light? No longer straggling beams through
iron-grated windows, no longer the bare floor and earth-polluted
garments, but linen white and clean. Was it an angel bending over
him,--whose eyes of love and infinite tenderness looked into his own?
Was it one of the seraphim that pressed her lips to his, that dropped
tears upon his cheeks? Were there tears in Heaven? Surely this must be
Paradise! The eyes closed, the vision faded, but the angel still was
fanning the fevered cheeks.

As shone the face of Moses, the lawgiver of Israel, when he descended
from the Mount of God, so the countenance of Ruth Newville was
illuminated by a divine radiance when once more she entered her home.
During the night she had been transfigured.

"What has happened, daughter?" her father asked.

"Where have you been? what is it?" the exclamation of the mother,
gazing with wonder and amazement upon the face of her child.

"Sit down, please, and I will tell you. I must go back to the
beginning. Do you remember a day, six years ago, one September
afternoon, when I came into the house greatly agitated? and when you
asked, as you have now, what had happened, I would not make reply?"

"Yes, Ruth, and you have been a mystery to me ever