One morning, as she turned from the bed of a young soldier for whom she had just written a letter to his mother, there was such a look of pity and sorrow on her face that Dr.Gresham's whole heart went out in sympathy for her, and he resolved to break the silence he had imposed upon himself.
"Iola," he said, and there was a depth of passionate tenderness in his voice, a volume of unexpressed affection in his face, "you are wronging yourself.

You are sinking beneath burdens too heavy for you to bear.

It seems to me that besides the constant drain upon your sympathies there is some great sorrow preying upon your life; some burden that ought to be shared." He gazed upon her so ardently that each cord of her heart seemed to vibrate, and unbidden tears sprang to her lustrous eyes, as she said, sadly:-- "Doctor, you are right." "Iola, my heart is longing to lift those burdens from your life.

Love, like faith, laughs at impossibilities.

I can conceive of no barrier too high for my love to surmount.