Oh, come where the wood-dove Bids thy compassion move While youth to thee belongs; For there shall my true love All my confession prove In sighs and tender songs! E. M. W. THE HOUSE WITH THE VERANDAH. BY ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO, Author of “Other People’s Stairs,” “Her Object in Life,” etc. CHAPTER IV. THE STRONG PULL. Then Lucy Challoner found herself shut into one of those “secret pavilions,” which God erects so often in the heart of life’s storms—quiet resting-places into which neither the tempest which is overpast, nor the after-swells which are to come, can find entrance. The tossed heart is hushed like that of a little child, and looking neither before nor after, is content with the peace and the benediction of the passing hour. It was cheering to see how the sea-breeze brought healthy tints to Charlie’s pale face, while every hour found him stronger and more fit to throw aside the little physical frailties which hang about one after a great illness. For the first day of their visit they were content with one little stroll on the pier, and then they sat at their window discovering endless interest in the fact that “Lloyd’s” station was in the house next but one to theirs, so that every ship which hove in sight became voluble in nautical signs. Then their walks grew longer, extending ever further down the shingly shore. “Now, Lucy,” said Mr. Challoner, “was not I right to come here instead of to any mere invalid resort? Why, it lifts up one’s soul—and one’s body with it—just to look at these Deal boatmen. They’re so ready to give their lives for you if need be, that a kind of exhalation of health comes from them.” Before they left Deal, Lucy Challoner not only fully approved of her husband’s choice as for himself, but felt convinced that he had made his choice for her too, and with equal wisdom and foresight. As the days passed on, and Charlie and his little boy made friends with many of the old salts who lounge along the shingle as if life was nothing but the sea view (which seems reflected in their very eyes), Lucy sometimes stayed indoors and occupied herself with details of her husband’s outfit. Her landlady came in and out of the room, generally silent, but cheerful and ready to respond to advances. “We can see the Goodwin Sands very plainly to-day,” Lucy said once. “What a terrible trap they are.”