place. A series of wooden pipes standing on uprights
led from this up to the cliff. The pipes were in fact mere sections of
the sago-tree with the soft pith driven out. As this was manifestly a
tube of communication, General Rolleston followed it until he came to a
sort of veranda with a cave opening on it; he entered the cave, and was
dazzled by its most unexpected beauty. He seemed to be in a gigantic
nautilus. Roof and sides, and the very chimney, were one blaze of
mother-of-pearl. But, after the first start, brighter to him was an old
shawl he saw on a nail; for that showed it was a woman's abode. He tore
down the old shawl and carried it to the light. He recognized it as
Helen's. Her rugs were in a corner; he rushed in, and felt them all over
with trembling hands. They were still warm, though she had left her bed
some time. He came out wild with joy, and shouted to Moreland, "She is
alive! She is alive! She is alive!" Then fell on his knees and thanked
God.

A cry came down to him from above. He looked up as he knelt, and there
was a female figure dressed in white, stretching out its hands as if it
would fly down to him. Its eyes gleamed; he knew them all that way off.
He stretched out his hands as eloquently, and then he got up to meet her;
but the stout soldier's limbs were stiffer than of old; and he got up so
slowly, that, ere he could take a step, there came flying to him, with
little screams and inarticulate cries, no living skeleton, nor
consumptive young lady, but a grand creature, tanned here and there, rosy
as the morn, and full of lusty vigor; a body all health, strength, and
beauty, a soul all love. She flung herself all over him, in a moment,
with cries of love unspeakable; and then it was, "Oh, my darling, my
darling! Oh, my own, own! Ha, ha, ha, ha! Oh, oh, oh, oh! Is it you? is
it? can it? Papa! Papa!" then little convulsive hands patting him, and
feeling his beard and shoulders; then a sudden hail of violent kisses on
his head, his eyes, his arms, his hands, his knees. Then a stout soldier,
broken down by this, and sobbing for joy. "Oh, my child! My flesh and
blood! Oh, oh, oh!" Then all manhood melted away except paternity; and a
father turned mother, and clinging, kissing and rocking to and fro with
his child, and both crying for joy as if their hearts would burst.

A sight for angels to look down at and rejoice.

But what mortal pen could paint it?

CHAPTER L.

THEY gave a long time to