Dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of this. " "Then I owe my life to her?" "Positively. The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. " "What's he know about copra and native talk?" "Nothing, probably; but I'll wager he'll pick it all up fast enough. ‘But I have been perfectly honest about that. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. Then instinct took over. Folks don’t like ’em. McClintock will be tuning up the piano to-day. “He seems like such a nice boy. ’ ‘I presume you were not with her in France?’ Kimble stared.
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