s evident that, if she
thought of her listener at all, this was the way in which the remark was
meant for him. And yet--Then he heard Elizabeth saying that she must go
back.

"Poor Melvin is dying," she said. "He probably will not live through the
night. I promised to take down some messages for him. He began to give
them to me, but was so exhausted that I had to leave him to rest. But I
must not leave him too long, and then there are the others." Stephen
helped her down from the rock as she spoke, and they went together along
the beach and up the path from the shore, talking as they went. She told
him some of the things that the men needed most, and asked his advice
and his help toward getting for them what was possible. "I cannot go to
the General for these; I cannot put any more burdens upon him," she
said. Archdale told her all that he could, and then for a few minutes
they walked on in silence. At the hospital she stopped and turned to
him.

"Thank you," she said. Then, as he was about to answer, she added
hastily, "I think that experience like this is good for us, for every
one I mean; it opens up the world a little and shows so much suffering
besides one's own. It's a help to get at the proportions of things.
Don't you think so?" The appeal in her voice was an exquisite note of
sympathy.

Stephen knew that all his life long it had been his way, as it had been
that of the other Archdales, to consider his own joys and sorrows not
only of more relative but of more actual importance than those of the
people about him. He looked at Elizabeth, royal as she stood, full of
compassion for him, but with her hand already stretched out to draw back
the canvas which separated her from that presence of death in which live
and grow, watered by tears, all human sympathies. It seemed as if she
always touched some chord in him untouched by others. Was it the truth
that she spoke that thrilled him so? He perceived nothing clearly except
the one thing that he uttered.

"Yes," he said, "I am glad I came,--glad for my own sake, I mean. Be it
for joy or sorrow, for life or death, I am glad that I came."

She drew back the curtain of the tent. He bowed and turned away.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

FOOTNOTES:

[D] Copyright, 1884, by Frances C. Sparhawk.

EDITOR'S TABLE.

It is not an easy task either to establish a magazine, or, having
secured for it a place in public favor, to retain the good will
essential to its continu