YOURS WITH ALL MY HEART 



She thought, too, with sad foreboding, 

 how, in the beginning of my illness, four 

 blood-red, molten spikes, from the drift- 

 wood fire, had fallen, welded in a perfect 

 cross, on the hearth-stone of Island Haven, 

 - could it presage the loss of my faithful, 

 loving presence? 



No, no, dear hearts! Love is immortal, 

 if invisible. Although, in that beautiful 

 Sabbath morning, when the rosy dawn was 

 suffusing sea and sky, and rested like a bene- 

 diction on the two homes, I folded my meek 

 little fore paws over my snow-white breast, 

 and looked with long, tender farewell into 



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