424: WILD SPOETS IN THE SOUTH. 



calling to him: "Mike! Mike! where are you go- 

 ing?" 



" Back home," answered the hunter, dropping the 

 boat's painter in his surprise, and speaking in a half 

 whisper. 



" Take me with you, Mike — take me with you ?" 



" Child, would you go in the night and alone ?" said 

 Mike, drawing her robe together where it was falling 

 from her shoulder ? 



" Oh ! Mike, are you blind, or am I mad ? Take me 

 — take me — don't leave me !" and as the hunter put his 

 great arm about her, she whispered, " Take me and love 

 me," and her head fell on his breast. 



He gathered her up in his arms, and carried her back 

 from the wet shore, like an infant whispering in a bro- 

 ken voice, while his tears fell down on her hair : " God 

 is good, God is good to sinful creeturs !" 



The roseate fingers of the morning unclasped from 

 beneath the ocean horizon, and a hundred tongues from 

 copse and grass anthemed the dawn of a new day and a 

 new life. 



THE END. 



