"Love, dear friend, is a sacred thing! Love is not tinsel, silver or gold! Love is a fragment of Heaven's own gate, Broken in halves by God's hand, Fate, And given two kindred spirits to hold Who would colonize in our earth unknown, 'Tis whispered them: 'You may be thrown Far apart--'" Harry Hawthorne remained in the Bellevue Hospital ten days only, it having been discovered that his injuries were not internal, as at first feared. His temporary unconsciousness had resulted from the severe cut on his head, and as this healed nicely, he grew better, and asked for his discharge from the hospital. Indeed, he would have recovered sooner but for a painful suspense and anxiety that augmented fever and restlessness. The young fireman had been so deeply smitten by the charms of pretty Geraldine, that during his enforced confinement, the thought of her had never been absent from his mind. Love had sprung to life full grown within his breast. When he was discharged from the hospital, he could not wait until evening to call on her. The ready excuse of the need of a pair of gloves took him to O'Neill's. He did not wear his fireman's dress, but attired himself in an elegant suit of clothes, such as gentlemen wear to business. Thus arrayed, and looking as much the aristocrat as any Fifth avenue millionaire, he entered the store and went at once to the glove counter, his heart throbbing wildly at thought of seeing Geraldine again, and making an appointment to call on her that evening. A whole row of smiling, pretty girls confronted him, but among them all he could not see his heart's darling, the lode-star of his dreams--sweet Geraldine. He accosted the nearest girl--a plump, gray-eyed beauty--who fortunately proved to be Miss Carroll. "I wish to have Miss Harding show me some gloves. Is she here?" Cissy Carroll shook her dark head, and answered: "Geraldine does not attend here any more. Can I show you the gloves?" "If you please," he replied, and as she placed them before him, he took a pair, mechanically, in his shapely hand, but continued: "I beg your pardon, but has Miss Harding gone to another store? She is a friend of mine. I wish to see her very much." "Your name?" asked Cissy, with a quick suspicion of the truth, for he realized in his person Geraldine's description. "I am Harry Hawthorne." "I thought so. And I am Miss Carroll. Perhaps you have heard Geraldine speak of me?" He smiled, and answered: "Yes, as her 'chum Cissy.' She told me, also, that you roomed together." "We did--but Geraldine has left me now." She read the palpable disappointment on his face, and added, quickly: "She had a talent for acting, and has gone upon the stage." She saw him start as if she had struck him a blow in the face, and he grew lividly pale, as he asked: "At what theatre?"