and the frightened multitude were fleeing from the
scourge. There was one who came and proffered the hospitality of his
home--where Hygeia smiled and fever never came. Thither he went, but
the poison was in his blood, and as he slept it seized upon his vitals.
His suffering was terrible, and for days life's uncertain tenure seemed
ready to release her hold on time. In his fever-dream there was
flitting about him a fairy form; it would come and go, as the moonlight
on the restless wave--a moment seen and in a moment gone. He saw and
knew nothing for many days distinctly; he would call for his mother and
weep, when only winds would answer. Delirium was in his brain, and wild
fancies chased each other; he heard the crowing of cocks and saw his
sister; his father would come to him, and he would stretch out his hand
and grasp the shadowy nothing. There was a halo of beauty all about
him; prismatic hues trembled in the light, and the tones of sweet music
floated upon the breeze. He saw angels swimming in the golden light;
the blue ether opened, and they came through to greet him and to
welcome him to heaven. Then all was darkness, the crisis had come. He
slept in oblivious ease--it was long; and awaking, the fever was gone.
There was a gentle, sweet, sorrowful face before him--their eyes met;
for a moment only he looked--it was she whom he had met and parted from
without a hope of ever meeting again when robed as the Indian he stood
upon the steamer's deck and waved farewell forever. He reached forth
his hand. She took it and approached, saying, "You are better, and will
soon be well." He could only press her hand as the tears flooded over
his eyes. With a kerchief white as innocence it was wiped away and the
hand that held it laid gently on his brow--that touch thrilled his
every nerve.

Days went by, and the convalescent was amid the shrubs and flowers of
the beautifully ornamented grounds. When he came to the maiden reading
in the shade of a great pecan-tree, she bid him to a seat.

"Do you remember our first meeting?" he asked.

"Here, on your sick-bed, yes; you were, oh! so sick, and I little
thought you would ever leave it alive. You called in your delirium your
mother and your father, and in the frenzy of your mind you saw them by
you; how my heart was pained, and how I prayed for you, in my chamber,
here, and everywhere--and now you are well, only weak."

"It was not when sick I met you first," he replied; "as a w