s that
she is hurrying, because she cannot bear to be alone. An awful feeling
of restlessness, of reproach, will not let her be still, and yet she was
so calm a little while ago.

On--on--regardless of curious looks, for her cheeks are tear-stained,
and now and then there is a little catch in her breath, that she cannot
repress.

On--past the quaint old red brick palace, whose history they read
together, past the pond with its toy navy and anxious captains, past
nursemaids, children, and mooning philosophers she hurries, feverishly
longing to reach the chosen nook where a joyous welcome awaits her.

[Illustration: "THE POND AND ITS TOY NAVY."]

Now she is near--but the seat is empty, and the nurse is gossiping in
the distance. She runs on angrily--and stops! For, under a sheltering
tree, He stands bidding their little child good-bye. She can hear his
gentle words, and the soft, cooing answers, and she dumbly stretches out
her arms, as a great wave of love surges in her heart and drowns the
bitter thoughts for ever. In a little while he will go, and then this
tide of love and repentance will have come too late.

She calls him faintly--and he turns. Her hat is awry, her hair coming
down, and she has torn her pretty dress on some projecting branch, yet
He thinks she never looked more beautiful, as he answers the mute appeal
of those tearful eyes, and takes her in his arms. Deep silence reigns.
Then, from the depths of a penitent heart, she sobs out loving,
passionate words: "Forgive me--my husband!"

[Illustration: "'FORGIVE ME--MY HUSBAND!'"]

RUM PUNCH AT PODBURY'S.

BY EDEN PHILLPOTTS.

ILLUSTRATIONS BY RONALD GRAY.

[Illustration]

Some West Indian insects have an almost human strength of purpose. For
three consecutive nights I suffered from a sort of vampire cockroach,
who crept under my pyjamas whilst I slept, and nibbled my chest. When I
awoke, I could feel him hurrying off by way of my arm or leg. The moment
worn-out nature reasserted itself in me, and I dozed again, that ghoul
of a cockroach came back and proceeded with its fell banquet. At length,
weakened no doubt by loss of blood and frantic with the thought that a
mere piece of determined vermin should thus habitually sup off me, I
rose in the dead of a moonless night, turned on the electric light,
selected a handy shoe, and then started to have it out, once for all,
with that man-eating cockroach. He broke cover from under some
curiosit