on an early day of June, and the San
speedily set itself to the task of praying off the rain and arranging the
delightful details of attendants, refreshments, music, and all the other
non-essentials of a successful wedding. Miss Maxwell, the superintendent
of nurses, took the trousseau in hand and portioned out piles of napery
and underwear to the eager hands of the nurses to embroider. The whole
sanitarium was suddenly metamorphosed into a Dorcas Society; patients
forgot to be querulous, and refused extra rubbings and all unnecessary
tending, that more stitches might be taken in the twenty-four hours of the
hospital day. A great rivalry sprang up between the day and night nurses
as to which group would finish the most, and old Mr. Crotchets, the
cynical bachelor with liver complaint and a supposedly atrophied heart,
offered to the winning shift the biggest box of candy New York could put
up.

Through the first days of her happiness Sheila walked like a lambent being
of another world, whose radiance was almost blinding. Those who had known
her best, who had felt her warmth and beauty in spite of that bitterness
which had been her shield against the hurt she had battled with so long,
looked upon her now with unfathomable wonder. And Peter, who had worshiped
her from the moment she had taken his hand and led him back to the ways of
health, watched her as the men of olden times must have watched the
goddesses that occasionally graced their earth.

"Beloved, you're almost too wonderful for an every-day, Sunday-edition
newspaper-man like me," Peter whispered to her in the hush of one
twilight, as they sat together in the rest-house, watching Hennessy feed
the swans.

"Every woman is, when the miracle of her life has been wrought for her.
Man of mine," and Sheila reached out to Peter's ever waiting arms,
"wouldn't God be niggardly not to let me seem beautiful to you now?"

Peter laughed softly. "If you're beautiful now, what will you be when--"

Sheila hushed him. "Listen, Peter, our happiness frightens me, it's so
tremendous for just two people--almost more than our share of life. I know
I seem foolish, but long ago I made up my mind I should have to do
without love and all that goes with it, and now that it has come--sorrow,
death, never frightened me, but this does."

"Glad I have the courage for two, then. Look here, Leerie, the more
happiness we have the more we can spill over into other lives and the
brighter you