thoughts. In Narcisse's pocket was a
note he had received from her a few days ago, which hinted that, if he
desired, he might call sometimes--alone. He was so afraid that Charlie
some day might find this note, that he had no peace until he had torn
it into numberless fragments, and when Charlie was not looking, he
covertly raised the car window and saw the mad wind carry the pieces
in a hundred different directions.

* * * * *

Another spring had come. Charlie and Narcisse were sitting in a
smoking-room in a small hotel in Winnipeg. Placidly Narcisse was
leaning back reading a paper that he had just got from St. John's.
They were better dressed and looked more prosperous than in the old
days. Occasionally they talked about her now. To Narcisse she seemed
but a dream, and he had no regrets. To Charlie it was different; to
him she was still very real.

Suddenly Narcisse uttered an exclamation of surprise, and let the
paper fall. Charlie, who had his eyes fixed thoughtfully on the floor,
looked up in surprise and asked what was the matter.

"Oh, dare is noting de matter," answered Narcisse, trying to look
unconcerned. "I tink I must have been asleep."

He gathered up the paper, and said he would go and stand at the door
for a few minutes.

As soon as the door closed behind him, he opened the paper again and
read the following in the marriage notices: "Married May 13th, 18--,
at St. John's, Miss Jessie Cunningham, to John White, farmer, of St.
John's."

Narcisse ran up to his room, tore out the notice and burned it.
"Dare," he said to himself, with a satisfied look on his face,
"Charlie won't know anything about dat now. No use for open de old
wound again. Well, she wait about a year. Dat pretty good," he said,
with a good-natured smile.

"Well, do you feel any better?" asked Charlie, as Narcisse entered the
room again.

"Oh, yes," replied Narcisse, puffing out his chest. "Dat fresh air do
me all de good in de world." And Charlie never guessed!

* * * * *

A Strange Presentiment.

While this strange story is fresh in my memory, I am writing it, just
as it was told me by my friend George B----, who a few years ago was
general manager of a well-known Canadian railroad. I had known George
for years, and had been superintendent of the same road. He told me
the history of his life one beautiful night in June as we were seated
in a sleeping car