your weakness. Then as time went on I persuaded myself
that I had succeeded in putting you out of my heart,--that I had
forgotten you,--and then--you came back to me, and the past leapt
living from the years that had no power to bury it, and I knew that
you were more to me than honour or fame or anything the world held.
Hence-forth I will be so gentle with you, so tender--so loving."

"Will you--kiss me--Jack?"

She had gradually pulled herself upright on the pillows.

"Will you kiss me--and say--once more, as you used to--'God bless
you--wifie'?"

Their lips met and clung together.

"God bless you--wifie."

And there was silence, a long silence, broken by a gasp, a sigh, and
a gentle unloosening of the clasping arms.

"Bella--Bella--speak to me, my beloved."

But the passionate cry fell on ears that heard not.

The tempest-tossed soul was at rest; above were the pitying Angels'
wings, and over all the solemn hush of Death.

* * * * *

ONE CAN'T ALWAYS TELL.

_From Miss Rose Dacre, Southampton, to Miss Amy Conway, 30, Alford
Street, Park Lane_.

YACHT "MARIE,"
SOUTHAMPTON.
_July 15th, 1901._

Dearest Amy,

Here am I on Jack's yacht, anchored in Southampton waters. The weather
is perfect, and I am having a very good time. Jack's mother is on
board, and is really devoted to me. I am a lucky girl to have such a
sweet mother-in-law in prospective. She is the dearest old lady in the
world. The wedding has been decided upon for the last week in
September, so I suppose that I shall have to come back to town before
very long to see about my trousseau.

There is really nothing so bewildering to anyone who sees it for the
first time as the exquisite order and dainty perfection of a yacht in
which its owner takes a pride, and can afford to gratify his whim. And
this is the case with Jack. The deck shines like polished parquet. The
sails and ropes are faultlessly clean, and Jack says that the masts
have just been scraped and the funnel repainted. The brass nails and
the binnacle are as perfectly in order as if they were costly
instruments in an optician's window. There is a small deck cargo of
coal in white canvas sacks, with leather straps and handles. And there
is the deck-house with its plate-glass windows and velvet fittings and
spring-blinds.

Soon after I arrived I went down into the engine-room, where I saw
machinery as scrupulously clean as if it were part of s