"George, what is the matter with you?" asked his wife, smiling as

she handed him the lemonade he had desired.

"This prating young woman is, as usual, trying to discourse of--

Alice, this is just right. Thank you, my dear." He drained the glass

and handed it back. Beulah stood so that the light shone full on her

face. He looked at her a moment, and exclaimed: "Come here, child. What ails you? Why, bless my soul, Beulah, what

is the matter? I never saw the blood in your face before; and your

great, solemn eyes seem to be dancing a jig. What ails you, child?"

He grasped her hands eagerly.

"Nothing ails me; I am well--"

"I know better! Has Charon gone mad and bit you? Oho! by all the

dead gods of Greece, Guy has come home. Where is he? Where is he?"

He sprang up, nearly knocking his wife down, and looked around the

room. Dr. Hartwell emerged from the music room and advanced to meet

him.

"Oh, Guy! You heathen! you Philistine! you prodigal!"

He bounded over a chair and locked his arms round the tall form,

while his gray head dropped on his friend's shoulder. Beulah stole

out quickly, and, in the solitude of her own room, fell on her knees

and returned thanks to the God who hears and answers prayer.




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