"Then presently me too, me too! And let the shroud be shotted heavily
to bury me out of your sight!" And he was crying it out again, but while
he spoke a mouth was laid on his--a warm, sweet mouth that seemed to
breathe fresh spirit through his frame--his head was lifted and pillowed
on a breast where he could hear the heart beneath flutter like a happy
bird, and he was wrapped once more in slumber, but this time slumber sweet
as it was deep.

Morning was dawning over the vessel's side, a dream of rosy lustre sifting
through the purple and pearly mist, behind which the stars grew large and
lost while it moved away to the west in one great cloud, and out of which
the river gleamed as if just newly rolled from its everlasting
fountains,--morning was dawning with the sweet freshness of its fragrant
airs stealing from warm low fields, when Andrew once more lifted his eyes
only to find that tranquil face above him still, that happy heart still
beating beneath his pillowed head. "Oh, Louie," he sighed, "speak to
me--say--have I died?--am I forgiven?--is this heaven?"

"To me, dear--oh to me!" answered she with the old radiant smile that used
to make his pulse quicken, and that, ill as he yet was, reassured him as
to his earthly latitude and longitude.

"And it was all a dream, then?" he murmured. "And I have not lost you?" He
raised his wasted hand and drew from his breast the little hair chain that
he had hidden there so long ago. "It was a fetter I could not break," he
whispered. "I wrote her all about it long ago. I wrote her father that he
should have his vessel back again--and I would take my freedom--and not a
dollar's wages for the voyage would I ever draw of him. But I should never
have dared see you--for--oh, Louie--how can you ever--"

"Hush, hush, dear!" she breathed. "What odds is all that now? We have our
life before us."

"Only just help me live it, Louie."

"God will help us," she answered. And as she spoke a sudden rainbow leaped
into the western heaven as if to seal her promise, and as it slowly faded
there came a wild salt smell, an air that tingled like a tonic through the
veins: the east wind was singing in from sea, bringing the music of
breaker and shore, and the fever was blasted by its breath throughout the
little Sabrina.

HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD.

Old Sadler's Resurrection:

A Yarn of the Mexican Gulf.

"Talking about ghosts," said the captain, "listen while I spin you a bit