be able to continue.

"Don't give up hope," I said. "We despaired for so many long days, and
now you are getting well again, and the dear sun is rising from the
mists, and the world is very beautiful, and I long to make it more
beautiful for you."

I saw two big tears gathering in the corners of the poor sunken eyes, and
the long white hand pressed mine, weakly, and that mark of the pangs of
the crucified passed away.

"You must lie very still," I continued, "and let us make you well and
strong again, for you've made dear Sweetapple Cove now, after being
nearly 'ketched' by those dreadful seas, and I know that our little ship
is coming safely to port."

For a moment he could only close his eyes, as if the poor, little,
dawning light that was beginning to come through the windows had been too
bright for him, but his hand pressed mine again. Then he looked at me
once more, eagerly, as if he longed for other words of mine.

"No," I said. "One mustn't talk too much to people who have been so
dreadfully ill, and really I can say nothing more now. Indeed I have said
all I could, because a woman can't let her happiness fly away on account
of--of people who are too proud to speak, but--but you can whisper a word
or two."

There were three of them that came from his lips, those three thrilling
words I had despaired of ever hearing from him.

"And I also love you, John, with all my heart and soul," I answered.

Then we were very still for some time, and presently some one coughed
rather hard outside, and fumbled with the door, and the nice doctor boy
came in.

"I mustn't allow you people to talk too long," he said. "It is time he
had a good drink of milk, and after that he must have some more sleep,
and we'll have him topside up in no time."

Then Mr. Barnett came in too, but he never said a word. There was just a
glance, a pressure of hands, and that was all, but it seemed to mean ever
so much to them.

So after a short time I went away, and the bright sun was streaming down
upon our poor, little, smelly Sweetapple Cove, that was really like a
corner of Paradise.

And now, Aunt Jennie, several more days have gone by, and John is getting
stronger and stronger every hour.

Yesterday, for the first time, he sat up in a long deck chair that had
been brought up from the _Snowbird_, and I sat beside him, with my
knitting, which was only a pretence, for it lay on my lap, idly. It
seemed to me that I had a million thing