rt that needs not lips to proclaim it, a secret
telegraphy that brings together those who love. The touch of a hand
thrills as no other touch can, and the sound of a voice heard
unexpectedly causes the heart to almost cease beating.

At length he makes an opportunity, as only a bold and determined lover
can. They have gone in the street-cars to the terraced heights of
Mustapha Superieur, to visit a house which most tourists see--a house
with a remarkable history--and in departing, John and Lady Ruth somehow
are separated from the rest. The fault lies with him, because at the
last moment he proposed a final view of the wonderful scene spread out
below, to which Lady Ruth consented, and as the others boarded the
tram-car that would take them back to the city, John called out their
intention, and that they would join them later.

There is nothing singular about this, and yet Lady Ruth's cheeks turn
rosy as she hears Aunt Gwen's laugh, and stealing a glance over her
shoulder discovers that quaint individual shaking her finger out of the
car-window.

Upon a rustic seat the two rest. The grand panorama spread before them
charms the eye, and they feast upon the glorious scene. How blue the sea
appears, and the numerous sails are like splashes of white against the
deep background.

There lies Algiers in all her glory, modern structures almost side by
side with Mohammedan mosques, whose domes shine like great balls of gold
and whose minarets guard the sacred edifice like sentries thrown out in
the nature of defenses.

Who could gaze upon such a vision and not feel his heart stirred, must
indeed be dead to everything that appeals to the better senses.

John Craig, M.D., might ordinarily be set down as an enthusiastic lover
of nature, and such a scene when he first gazed upon it aroused the
deepest emotions in his artist heart; but strange to say he pays little
heed to what is before him now. It is what occupies the rustic seat in
common with John Craig that takes his whole attention.

How shall he say it. What words can he frame into an animated expression
of his feelings? It was all mapped out before, but the words have
utterly slipped his memory, as is always the case in such events.

He turns to Lady Ruth. Her hand is in her lap. He boldly reaches out and
takes it. There is only a feeble resistance. Their eyes meet, "Lady
Ruth, will you give me this hand?"

"You--I--what could you do with it?" she asks, turning rosy