Reuben had grown really feeble.  There were many days now when he could not work, but sat listlessly on a ledge of rocks near the house, and watched the restless waves with a sense of misery as restless as they.  When Draxy reached home this night and found that her father was not in the house, she ran over to the “Black Ledge.”  There she found him.  She sat down by his side, not knowing how to begin.  Presently he said:  “I wish I loved this water, daughter,—­it is very beautiful to look at; but I’m thinkin’ it’s somethin’ like human beings; they may be ever so handsome to look on, but if you don’t love ’em you don’t, and that’s the end on’t, an’ it don’t do ye no sort o’ good to be where they are.”

“The woods and fields used to do you good, father,” said Draxy.

Reuben was astonished.  Draxy was not wont to allude to the lost and irrecoverable joys.  But he only sighed.

“Read this letter, father dear,” said Draxy, hurriedly pushing it into his hand; “I wrote up to a good old minister to find out, and here’s his answer.”

Reuben looked bewildered.  Draxy’s words did not make themselves clear.  But the first words of Elder Kinney’s letter did.  The paper fell from his hands.

“Oh, daughter! daughter! it can’t be true!  It can’t!” and Reuben Miller covered his eyes and cried.  Draxy did not cry.  One of the finest traits in her nature was her instantaneous calmness of exterior under sudden and intense excitement.

“Yes; father, it is true.  It must be.  I have believed it from the first!  Oh do, do read the letter,” said Draxy, and she forced the letter into his hands again.

“No, no, daughter.  Read it to me.  I can’t see the words,” replied Reuben, still weeping.  He was utterly unmanned.  Then Draxy read the letter aloud slowly, distinctly, calmly.  Her voice did not tremble.  She accepted it all, absolutely, unconditionally, as she had accepted everything which had ever happened to her.  In Draxy’s soul the past never confused the present; her life went on from moment to moment, from step to step as naturally, as clearly, as irrevocably as plants grow and flower, without hinderance, without delay.  This it was which had kept her serene, strong:  this is true health of nature.

After a time Reuben grew calmer; Draxy’s presence always helped him.  They sat on the rocks until twilight fell, and the great red lamp in the light-house was lighted.

“Father, dear,” said Draxy, “I think there are light-houses all along our lives, and God knows when it is time to light the lamps.”

Reuben clasped Draxy’s hand tighter, and turned his eyes upon her with a look whose love was almost reverent.

Lights shone until morning from the windows of Captain Melville’s house.  The little family had sat together until long after midnight, discussing this new and wonderful turn in their affairs.  Jane and Reuben were bewildered and hardly happy yet; Draxy was alert, enthusiastic, ready as usual; poor Captain Melville and his wife were in sore straits between their joy in the Millers’ good fortune, and their pain at the prospect of the breaking up of the family.  Their life together had been so beautiful, so harmonious.