Dr. Armstrong came every day to the Sinclair home, but the sick girl grew no better. Soon after this talk with Mr. Thomas the doctor said to Edith, “I have had a visit from your friend, and, just as I expected, he loves you, but has never asked your hand in marriage because he has so many cares at home and a small salary.” The white face grew eager and flushed with color. “I told him,” Dr. Armstrong continued, “that he had made a mistake in not having an understanding with you, and then both could wait for marriage if circumstances made such waiting wise. Do you want to see him, Edith?” “Yes, as soon as I am a little stronger. I feel too weak to-day.” Several days passed, and strength did not return rapidly, but a new peace had come into Edith’s life, for she loved and was beloved, and then there was a happy meeting of the two lovers, but a quiet one of few words and promises. Weeks and months went by, during which time hope and love worked the same miracle that has been wrought thousands of times since the world began. Edith walked in the sunshine of a new day and a new life of restored health and vigor. The autumn leaves took on their color, and red showed itself again in the young girl’s cheeks. When Christmas day came, that precious day of giving and receiving, George Thomas and Edith Sinclair gave themselves to each other for life. AN UNFORTUNATE SAIL. “THE SUNSET is so lovely we might take a row on the ocean,” said Mr. Farneaux to the young lady who was walking beside him. “I don’t quite like to go on Sunday evening,” said the girl. “But we wouldn’t stay long, would we?” “Oh, no, only till the sun went down! And we have just come from church, so where’s the harm?” So a little rowboat was engaged for an hour, and two happy persons pushed off the Jersey Island coast. They chatted merrily as the red and yellow of the clouds played on the waters, and let the boat half drift toward the sunset. Suddenly the young man dropped one of the oars. A shade of fear passed over Louise Arnot’s face. “Can you reach it?” she asked anxiously. “Oh, yes, don’t fear!” and he took the other oar and guided the boat toward the missing paddle. The breeze was blowing off the land, and increasing. The boat was not easily managed with one oar, and the cheery face of young Farneaux grew a little troubled as the oar drifted faster than the boat. Anxiety does not give a steady hand, and before he knew it the other oar had slipped from his grasp. Miss Arnot’s face grew white. “What shall we do? We are drifting out to sea. Would they see us if we were to signal to the shore? Ours is the only boat out. Oh! why did we start at all?” “Accidents will happen. I must jump for the oars. I am a good swimmer. Don’t get frightened and let the boat tip and fill with water. I’ll soon be back.” “But you may be drowned,” said the frightened girl. “I wish I could swim, and so help you.”