"Good Lord, no," gasped that youth, springing out of his armchair
and opening the door. As he did so a note fell from off the handle.
Charlie's face blanched to his very hair while Joe read aloud, his
voice weakening at every word:--

"DEAR OLD JOE,--I went into your room at daylight to get that
picture of the Post on your bookshelves. I hope you do not mind, but
I kissed your hair while your slept; it was so curly, and yellow,
and soft, just like his. Good-bye, Joe.

"CHRISTIE."

And when Joe looked into his brother's face and saw the anguish
settle in those laughing blue eyes, the despair that drove the
dimples away from that almost girlish mouth; when he realized that
this boy was but four-and-twenty years old, and that all his future
was perhaps darkened and shadowed for ever, a great, deep sorrow
arose in his heart, and he forgot all things, all but the agony that
rang up through the voice of the fair, handsome lad as he staggered
forward, crying, "Oh! Joe--what shall I do--what shall I do!"

* * * * *

It was months and months before he found her, but during all that
time he had never known a hopeless moment; discouraged he often
was, but despondent, never. The sunniness of his ever-boyish heart
radiated with warmth that would have flooded a much deeper gloom
than that which settled within his eager young life. Suffer? ah! yes,
he suffered, not with locked teeth and stony stoicism, not with the