I can think of David without sadness, and life looks so beautiful.

Dear," with the vivid, bright smile he loved so well, "I am so glad you are an author and a famous man--I shall be so proud of you; and though I cannot share your work as some women could, I can help you in other ways.

I must be your right hand, Malcolm." "Shall I tell you what you will be to me," he returned, in a voice of deep, vibrating tenderness that thrilled her through and through.

"I once read an old Scandinavian ballad where a warrior calls his love 'My dearest Rest.' 'Three grateful words,' the annotator goes on to say, 'and the most perfect crown of praise that ever woman won.' Shall I call you that, Elizabeth?
--'my dearest Rest.'" "It is far too beautiful for me," she whispered; "I do not deserve it." But even as Elizabeth said this, her woman's heart registered its first wifely vow.
Yes, she would be that to him--his haven and comfort when he was weary with the storm and stress of life--God helping her, now and for ever "his dearest Rest." THE END.