“Then she is safe; she has escaped every danger?”

“She has.”

“And was not injured?”

“No; she was taken, it seems, from the wreck by a villain.  Thank God, she has escaped his wiles!”

Henry’s indignation could scarcely be controlled, even by the reflection that Maxwell’s wicked intentions had been turned, by an overruling Providence, into the means of her safety.

Dr. Vaudelier related to his patient the incident of the wood-yard; not, however, without the necessity of frequently reproving his auditor, whose exasperation threatened serious consequences.  When, at the conclusion of the narration, he told Henry that the loved one was at that moment beneath his roof, he could scarcely restrain his immoderate joy within the bounds of that quiet which his physician demanded.

“May I not see her?” said he.

“That must depend entirely upon your own behavior.  You have not shown yourself a very tractable patient thus far.”

“I will be perfectly docile,” pleaded Henry.

“I fear I cannot trust you.  You are so excitable, that you explode like a magazine of gunpowder.”

“No, no; I solemnly promise to keep perfectly quiet.  She will, I know, be glad to see me, wounded and stricken though I am.”

“She has already seen you.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes; and not content with seeing you merely, your lips are not yet cold from the kiss she imprinted upon them;” and a smile, not altogether stoical, lit up the doctor’s cold expression.  “You shall see her, but the instant I perceive that the interview is prejudicial to your nerves, I shall remove her.”

“Thank you, doctor!” said Henry, fervently.

“O, it is part of my treatment.  It may do you more good than all my physic.  I have known such cases.”

“I am sure it will,” returned the patient.

Dr. Vaudelier retired, and after a serious charge to Emily, he reentered, leading the Hygeia who was to restore the sick man.

“Be careful,” was the doctor’s monition, as he elevated his fore-finger, in the attitude of caution; “be careful.”

“O, Emily!” exclaimed Henry, more gently than the nature of the interview would seem to allow, as he extended his hand to her.

Emily silently took the hand, and while a tell-tale tear started from her eye, she pressed it gently; but the pressure startled the sick man’s blood, and sent it thrilling with joy through its lazy channels.  The invalid, as much as the pressure of the hand warmed his heart, seemed not to be satisfied with the hand alone; for he continued to draw her towards himself, until her form bent over him, and their lips met.  It was the first time when both were conscious of the act.  We will not go into ecstasies over the unutterable bliss of that moment.  We will not deck our page with any unseemly extravagances.  If the experience of the reader has led him through