the clear eyes of the Bell-ringer of Angel's--passed over them, and he
murmured tremulously: "All right--I'm stoppin'!"

So, too, was his heart, for the wonderful eyes were now slowly glazing.
Yet he rallied once more--coming up again the third time as it seemed
to Wayne--and his lips moved slowly. The preacher threw himself
despairingly on the ground beside him.

"Speak, brother! For God's sake, speak!"

It was his last whisper--so faint it might have been the first of his
freed soul. But he only said:--

"You're--followin'--me? You--understand--what--I--mean?"




JOHNNYBOY.


The vast dining-room of the Crustacean Hotel at Greyport, U. S., was
empty and desolate. It was so early in the morning that there was a
bedroom deshabille in the tucked-up skirts and bare legs of the
little oval breakfast-tables as they had just been left by the dusting
servants. The most stirring of travelers was yet abed, the most
enterprising of first-train catchers had not yet come down; there was
a breath of midsummer sleep still in the air; through the half-opened
windows that seemed to be yawning, the pinkish blue Atlantic beyond
heaved gently and slumberously, and drowsy early bathers crept into it