hes,
they rippled over their rocky bed, murmuring to each other in tones so
low that only an attentive ear could catch them, sparkling in the
sunlight as though for very joy. Suddenly, near the edge of the narrow
plateau over which they ran, they turned, and, with a tinkling plash of
farewell, plunged in opposite directions,--the one eastward, hastening
on its way to the Great Father of Waters, the other westward bound,
towards the land of the setting sun.

Silently Kate and Darrell watched them; as their eyes met, his face had
grown white, but Kate smiled, though the tears trembled on the golden
lashes.

"A fit emblem of our loves, Kathie!" Darrell said, sadly.

"Yes," she replied, but her clear voice had a ring of triumph; "a fit
emblem, dear, for though parted now, they will meet in the commingling
of the oceans, just as by and by our loves will mingle in the great
ocean of love. I can imagine how those two little streams will go on
their way, as we must go, each joining in the labor and song of the
rivers as they meet them, but each preserving its own individuality
until they find one another in the ocean currents, as we shall find one
another some day!"

"Kathie," said Darrell, earnestly, drawing nearer to her, "have you such
a hope as that?"

"It is more than hope," she answered, "it is assurance; an assurance
that came to me, I know not whence or how, out of the darkness of
despair."

They had reached the trail, and here Kate paused for a moment. It was a
picture for an artist, the pair standing on that solitary height! The
young girl, fair and slender as the wild flowers clinging to the rocks
at their feet, yet with a poise of conscious strength; the man at her
side, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, strong-limbed; his face dark with
despair, hers lighted with hope.

Suddenly a small white hand swept the horizon with a swift, undulatory
motion that reminded Darrell of the flight of some white-winged bird,
and Kate cried,--

"Did we think of the roughness and steepness of the path below when we
stood here two hours ago and looked on the glory of this scene? Did we
stop to think of the bruises and scratches of the ascent, of how many
times we had stumbled, or of the weariness of the way? No, it was all
forgotten. And so, when we come to stand together, by and by, upon the
heights of love,--such love as we have not even dreamed of yet,--will we
then look back upon the tears, the pain, the heartache of to-d