Every morning I waken with your half-uttered name on my lips, as though, when I slipped hack through the portals of consciousness into the world of reality, I came only to find you, as a timid child awakes and calls feebly for its mother.

Once, not long ago, in a street accident, such as you know of in our busy city, I seemed very close to death, and in an instant my spirit seemed to have overleaped the peril and the terrible scene, and was with you.

Afterward, one who sat near me said that, while some screamed or prayed, I said only 'Grant,' and he asked, lightly, now that danger was over: 'Is the great general your patron saint ?' And I--I did not know that I had said it, since the name can never be as near to my lips as it is to my heart." Harlson did not reply.

He could not then.

His head was bent.
"And when you were ill--ah! then it was the hardest of all! I dreamed of the little things I could do for you--how your dear head could rest on my shoulders, and it might help to ease the pain; how I could save you from annoyances; how I could--love you!" "Then come, love of me; I need you--we need each other." "No, I think a woman who loves a man could scarcely bear that he had ever been bound to another still living, or even dead." "But----" "No.