more lovely in character than in person. An unworthy jealousy could not coexist with the perfect love and trust that existed between these two,—a love and trust the growth of years of intimate mental fellowship.
At last the hour came. On one of those electric boats I had first seen in use on the Hudson, Olav and I sped up the river towards Grand Isle. He seemed to know the exact spot to which to steer. There, on that smooth lawn extending to the water's edge, is a group, from among whom I can already distinguish one, to my eyes, specially graceful form. We land. Ialma and Reva alone came down to meet us. Reva seemed, what I had deemed impossible, to have grown even more beautiful than before. The scarcely more than two weeks of my absence had added a more womanly grace to her girlish beauty. Besides some other slight tokens that to the experienced eye proclaimed the zerua, she now wore her beautiful locks permanently braided in the style that once proved so distracting to my attention. She approached with shy confidence, to receive the salute I was now privileged to give, and said, as pleased she read the admiration in my eyes,—
"Do you think me improved? Ialma tells me so every day." Then, in response to my earnest affirmation that I had not thought it possible, but it was even so,—
"Ah! you do not know how it pleases me to be able to please you!"
All this passed as we followed the other pair toward the group awaiting us on the lawn. In thus affording me an opportunity of expressing the admiration I evidently felt, Reva was but conforming to an established
