a weary hour,--and
he sympathized with the unhappy man.

"I have," replied the doctor, solemnly, so solemnly that it chilled the
ardent blood of the listener. "I have loved, and can understand your
present state of feeling."

"Then you know, if I do not regain her whom I have lost, I had better
die now than endure the misery before me."

The doctor was not quite so sure of this, but he did not express the
thought.

"You will regain her," said he.

"Alas! I fear not. The boat was almost a total wreck. I saw scores of
dead and dying as I clung to my frail support."

"Fear not. Believe me, captain, I am a prophet; she shall be restored to
your arms again."

"I thank you for the assurance; but I fear you are not an infallible
prophet."

"In this instance, I am."

Henry looked at the doctor, and saw the smile of satisfaction that
played upon his usually stern features. It augured hope--more than hope;
and, as the wrecked mariner clings to the disjointed spar, his mind
fastened upon that smile as the forerunner of a blissful reunion with
her his soul cherished.

"Be calm, sir, be calm; she is safe," continued Dr. Vaudelier.

"Do you know it?" almost shouted Henry, attempting to rise.

"Be quiet, sir," said the doctor, in a voice approaching to sternness;
"be quiet, or I shall regret that I gave you reason to hope."

"Where is she?" asked Henry, sinking back at the doctor's reproof, and
heeding not the darting pain his attempt to rise had produced.

"She is safe; let this suffice. I see you cannot bear more now."

"I can bear anything, sir, anything. I will be as gentle as a lamb, if
you will tell me all you know of her."

"If you keep entirely quiet, we will, in a few days, let her speak for
herself."

"Then she is safe; she has escaped every danger?"

"She has."

"And was not injured?"

"No; she was taken, it seems, from the wreck by a villain. Thank God,
she has escaped his wiles!"

Henry's indignation could scarcely be controlled, even by the reflection
that Maxwell's wicked intentions had been turned, by an overruling
Providence, into the means of her safety.

Dr. Vaudelier related to his patient the incident of the wood-yard; not,
however, without the necessity of frequently reproving his auditor,
whose exasperation threatened serious consequences. When, at the
conclusion of the narration, he told Henry that the loved one was at
that moment beneath his roof, he could scarcely restrain his im