CHAPTER XIV.
THE TREASURE SHIP.
"O gentle wind ('tis thus she sings) That blowest to the west, Oh, couldst thou waft me on thy wings To the land that I love best, How swiftly o'er the-ocean's foam, Like a sea-bird I would sail." -- PRINGLE.
When the heart is full, there seems some relief in pouring out the story of woe into a sympathetic ear; but when one is alone, with no human being to listen or sympathize, grief is a hundredfold greater.
Day dawned and found John Stevens still kneeling by the side of the cold form of the only being who had shared his unhappy lot.

How seldom we realize the worth of companions or friends until they are forever gone, and then, as if to mock our grief, each kind act, each little delicate attention seems to start out as if emblazoned on stone before us.

At last the broken-hearted castaway rose and with folded arms gazed on the dead face, still beautiful and holy even in death.
"Blanche, Blanche, must I give you up, you who have so long cheered my lonely life?
Must I never listen to the sweet music of your voice again ?" John roused himself at last from the feeling of despair and, taking the best boards left from the wreck, constructed a neat coffin.

He dug the grave at the white stone as she had directed and laid her to rest.

No one but God listened to him as he read the solemn and impressive burial service, according to the established church.