The veins on his temples were clearly discernible; the muscles of his throat seemed like great cords; his cheeks were hollow, his sunken eyes were glassy bright and surrounded with a dark rim, and his breathing was short and evidently painful.

Charlie held his thin fleshless hand in his own, and gazed in his face with an anguished expression.
"I look badly,--don't I Charlie ?" said he, with assumed indifference; "worse than you expected, eh ?" Charlie hesitated a little, and then answered,--"Rather bad; but it is owing to your sea-sickness, I suppose; that has probably reduced you considerably; then this close cabin must be most unfavourable to your health.

Ah, wait until we get you home, we shall soon have you better." "Home!" repeated Clarence,--"home! How delightful that word sounds! I feel it is going _home_ to go to you and Em." And he leant back and repeated the word "home," and paused afterward, as one touches some favourite note upon an instrument, and then silently listens to its vibrations.

"How is Em ?" he asked at length.
"Oh, well--very well," replied Charlie.

"She has been busy as a bee ever since she received your last letter; such a charming room as she has prepared for you!" "Ah, Charlie," rejoined Clarence, mournfully, "I shall not live long to enjoy it, I fear." "Nonsense!" interrupted Charlie, hopefully; "don't be so desponding, Clary: here is spring again,--everything is thriving and bursting into new life.
You, too, will catch the spirit of the season, and grow in health and strength again.