pounded the sides of the old ship fearfully. Every one knew she must drift rapidly northward out of the regular track of the steamers. Still with the coming of morning the courage of most of the passengers rose. All day long the Scotland's booming guns called across the waves for succor. But there was no sister ship to hear; and as the light waned and the pitiless tempest drove them farther and farther from the highway of the seas, despair fell with the darkness upon passengers and crew. The officers had only vague words of encouragement, and it began to be whispered about that some of them had said there was no hope.

Nor was the rumor without foundation. Friday forenoon there came orders for the passengers to assemble in the saloon. There they found Captain Graham, worn out with anxiety and care, but as brave and resolute as was ever a brother Highlander on the field of battle.

"It is a sore duty that is laid upon me," he began in broad Scotch, “but it is right that you should know all as it is. We are in the greatest danger. The beating of the waves has increased the leaks until now the pumps can no longer keep even with the water. The break in the shaft defies all our efforts; and even though in time we might repair it, it now seems improbable that we shall have the time. With no new trouble, the ship ought to float almost four days yet. But we are a hundred and fifty miles from the most northerly track. Aye man o' us 'ull do his best; but gin we come oot 'ye'll hae God Almichty tae thank and na' oorsels."

Though no one of them had phrased the awful truth, few of the ill-starred passengers had not already felt that deliverance was impossible. Not many gave way to their emotions now. Caroline felt her strength leaving her; but she looked at Griswold and something she saw in him

reassured her. His face was not pale like the others about her; an evervarying flush played upon it, and his eyes flashed with a strange brilliancy. There was no sign of fear. And yet,

as he reached her side, for a second it seemed to Caroline that the shadow of some new, nameless peril, worse than the known one, flitted swiftly by them. But it was for only the fraction of a second, and real troubles left no room for those of fancy. She leaned heavily on his arm, and seemed to gain strength and courage from him as he helped her toward her stateroom. There was a confidence in his features that reassured and satisfied her even though she could not -perhaps because she could notunderstand it.

"Some way rescue is coming: I know it," he said.

At her door he stooped quickly and kissed her. Then he turned and hurried away. Caroline entered her room, almost happy-and then the gray, evil phantom flitted close again.

All this time, while the North Atlantic had been slowly fastening upon its prey, far to the southward the stout Saxony was plowing smoother seas. Our voyage had been uneventful until the fourth day out. That morning after walking the deck for a long time, I started for my cabin to prepare for lunch. I had stateroom 28 on the upper deck, and glancing in through. the drawn curtains when I passed the window, I saw that a stranger was in the room. My first thought was that he had mistaken his cabin, and I kept on toward my door, thinking of the mortified excuses he would make me. Then I remembered that hs could not get in without the key: he must have been put there by the steward. I started in search of that functionary to ask him why this man had been billetted on me without my consent.

The steward said that he had assigned no one to 28, and went back to the window with me for an inspection. The man was still sitting at my little table. His profile was toward us, and he seemed to be absorbed in in thought, for he did not look at us as we stood before the glass. Then the steward turned to me agape.

"That man never sailed with us," he said, at last.

He saw the first officer walking the deck, and ran to him. The officer came and glanced swiftly in the window.

"Well! I'm going in," I said, and pulling out my key I made for the cabin door. "I shant

"No! No!" exclaimed the officer as he followed me, "Wait! Let's talk a minute. Let's see."

But I would not be delayed. I insisted on seeing who the stranger was, and how he came there. I reached my door and threw it open. The room was vacant!

Sharing now somewhat the awe of the sailors, I joined them in a hasty, but sure search of the room. We looked carefully and we missed nothing. The man was not there!

But on the table was a pad of paper, and on the paper there was writing. I bent over it and read:

"SHIP IN DISTRESS. SAIL THREE DAYS DUE NORTH." It was written in a hand unknown to any of us.

"The Captain must know this,' the officer said, and we hurried excitedly all of us, now-to the commander's cabin.

He did not scoff as I supposed he would. He questioned us closely, and then sat apparently deep in thought. I saw a piece of loose paper on his desk and an inspiration struck me. I siezed my pencil and quickly drew the face of the man we had seen.

"There!" I said eagerly, "There he is! Isn't that the face?" turning toward the officer and the steward.

The Saxony's

The captain did it. prow swung toward the North. The story spread over the ship as flame runs over a cotton nap. On the morning of the third day every passenger, the credulous and the scoffing alike, was on deck, with eyes strained full ahead. For in the horizon there was a shadow which might be smoke. It grew larger and darker, and then all at once there came rolling over the waves the reverberations of a cannon shot. There was no doubt now!

Rapidly the cloud grew larger, and soon the more powerful glasses could distinguish the outlines of the steamer's hull beneath it. Never shall I forget the feeling of weakness which siezed me when the captain, after a long look, lowered his glass and shouted in German:

"She's the Scotland, of the ScotchAmerican Line."

"God in Heaven!" I murmured, "Caroline!"

There is no need to tell you all. When we came near enough, they began to transfer the passengers in boats. Trembling, I stood at the rail; my eyes probing the first crowded life-boat for a sight of my sister. At last I saw her, pale and wan enough. Strong hands helped her up the swinging gangway, and as she stepped on deck I silently folded her in my embrace. She rested her head on my shoulder without a word, and I picked her up and carried her to my room. As we went in, her eyes wandered vacantly about the little apartment. Suddenly, with a wild cry she pointed to the pencil sketch on the wall, and sank back into my arms in a dead faint.

The face I had drawn was that of Stephens Griswold! He had jumped overboard to his death, FRIDAY NOON!

I must tell you first what "Sleepy Hollow" is. It is my big, easy chair. I give it that name because in it I can lose myself, hide from all cares, and fall asleep without any effort or difficulty. It is made of soft places and dreams.

I have several acquaintances among the people of those dreams, and one of them is the queerest fellow I ever knew. He is, first of all, a bachelor, and no man of story, written or spoken, censures himself as does the bachelor. He calls himself a fool, "but," he adds, "I'm wise enough to know that I am a fool." That is one good thing about him; it is not all of us who are as wise as the bachelor.

He is always playing variations on the same theme being a fool. He had one which he used in justifying himself for making remarks more truthful than politic. It is: "A fool says what he thinks, and a prudent man says what he thinks other people would like to hear." Another variation goes: "A fool talks without thinking; but a wise man thinks without talking." He gives me this advice: "Keep your mouth shut and the world will never know how big a fool you really are." I wish I could follow that precent, but I am not so gifted, and as the bachelor says, "It's a fortunate fool that can keep his mouth shut." Pardon this diversion, but I can't be systematic in "Sleepy Hollow."

It is certainly true that the bachelor has a bad influence on me. He starts a story and then wanders afield, giving his views on subjects in general and upbraiding himself. I can always tell when he is com

ing, for I hear his "Oh, what a crusty, cross old bachelor I am!" long before he gets to me. As I lie in "Sleepy Hollow," he comes up and begins, very characteristically, with self-censure.

"I never feel so much a fool as when I feel natural," said he. “A foolish thought or act when I'm not myself can be attributed to my mood, but otherwise I have no excuse. Why I just did the most foolish thing. Oh! Let it go. A fool should be foolish. It is very good indeed that I never married. I was thinking the whole matter over the other day." Then he slid down in his chair, stretched his legs out at full length and silently mused.

While waiting for him to continue, I thought about some of his former tales-how he never loved any woman; never liked the girls; how solitary he had always been.

One incident stood out boldly. It happened in his childhood. He had never taken a girl home from the parties. One night a girl was visiting his sister and he had to go home with her. Katie was scared and so she held his hand all the way to her house. "I'll never forget how it felt," he said, "though where Katie is now, I don't know. Married, I suppose."

Early in youth he had debated with himself the question, "Shall I ever marry?" He ransacked brain and soul for arguments. Without passion or prejudice, he decided, after after due deliberation, that he would not. It was then he first said, "Oh, what a crusty, cross old bachelor I'll be!"-which is fine rhythm, I think. That matter set

tled, he was safe; for he was a man of his word. He could let his imagination run unbridled. He could dream of women and love; spring could come and go; and he was in no danger of falling in love. He

"From the day I saw that plain girl," he broke in, "my dreams took a new turn. She looked so womanly, so gracious and sweet, that I wondered why she wasn't married. Why doesn't some good man see that she would make an excellent wife, and marry her, I asked myself. Of course no one reasons out that he should marry a certain woman and then marries her. Love must come in, and love is a very ideal quality. Like the highwayman, it comes upon you suddenly and robs you of your senses. A man may be with a woman a long time and then fall in love with her, but it comes suddenly. Even the women say that. But, why not marry a good woman just because she is a good woman and would make a good wife? That's highly sensible. But people in love don't do sensible things. Perhaps, after all, love is only for novels and poems. Look about you at the plain, quiet girls that are married, and the pretty, 'popular' girls that are admired. It seems that some reason was used.

"Yet love or no love, this plain. girl set me to thinking of marriage in the abstract. Here I was, a bachelor, prosperous, moral and decent, as far as the general public could see; every man is moral and highly respectable until the world really knows him. Here I was, alone in a big house; no one to welcome me home from office. Silent and solitary, I spent the evenings. The passer-by might look into a well-lighted room and see the glowing fireplace and the finely deco

rated and furnished room, but he would only see the lone man. Perhaps I had made a mistake. I wasn't such a bad fellow. I might make a fairly good husband that some woman could put up with; at least she would have a good house and lots of money. Bah! What

would that be to a woman? To such a woman as I should want? That remark about house and money was not well-spoken. Oh! Well, let it go. It's natural for an ass to bray.

"But I was looking at the matter from my side; take the other. Would any woman have me? I'll think of the women I know and try to find out which one might take me. But I'd have to ask her. Whew, that's enough to make the boldest man hesitate! Whom would I ask if I did? Well, there's J." -the bachelor would mention no names—“and K. and L., somewhat alphabetically and the next one precedes this list, so down goes I. What, those four and no more! Well, let the sifting process begin. Take I. Independent to a fault, learned, masculine, but-. Now L. is a charming girl, quiet, but I'll wager full of fun. Didn't know her very well though. K. is a jolly, good Christian girl; somewhat above me, I guess. And J., a sweet, quiet, loving, dear little woman is J. Not too talkative; a woman in all that the word should imply. A man would love her more and more the longer he lived with her. She would be a blessing; this true, forbearing, domestic wife. She would make a home out of any house. I remember how she nursed and cared for her old grandfather in the tenderest way. Count on it, a girl that cares so naturally for those who need care, and is genuinely loved by the helped, she is a woman, not of man's rib, but of the great, good heart of Infinite Love.

Talk about woman a little lower than the angels! I say woman is higher! No angel could go through with what some women do. Why do men fancy a heaven and angels? Can't they see the women around them? Why, it's the womanhood that is redeeming the world, generation after generation. I'm an optimist. I believe the world is getting better. Isn't the number of women increasing? Oh! there's some bad in the world, and a mighty power for evil, but it's not your trinity of beast-man god called Satan. It's the wicked-no, I'll not sully that name.

"But J. belongs to the first class. Strange how everything comes back to J. Ever since I saw that 'plain girl,' I can't dream, nor hear a sweet tone, or anything that reminds me of the better, but I think of J. I reckon up my defects and faults. I contemplate marriage— in the abstract, and all centers around J. But love never enters into the contemplation, just cool, base, matter-of-fact calculations. There is J., gentle, patient, longsuffering; she would be lovingly attentive; take care of my home; she would be ruled, so long as she was ruled softly and reasonably; would not expect too much of me, nor be complaining. Her whole self and soul would be mine, mine alone and mine entirely. She is educated; she would be an elevating companion. She is loving; she would be a good wife. 'Ach! what are you thinking of, fool? Offer yourself to her?" I asked myself. No sir! Not if I keep my senses and a due regard for woman. No wife for me. I shan't make any woman unhappy. Then what's the use of contemplating marriage, even in the abstract-especially when no love is present?"

He was silent for a time and

must have been going over the past, for he began at this point:

"I got to know J. quite well. She and I were classmates. I remember when, after we had been graduated and sister and I were to leave the place for a long time, perhaps forever, and went to bid J. 'goodbye.' Sister kissed her and then J. put her hand out to me, but could say nothing. Tears came into her eyes and then she slowly withdrew her hand and turned from me; deeply moved. 'All for sister,' I forced myself to say, but down in my heart I felt that some of the tears and emotion was for me, and I was sorry that she cared for me. I didn't care for her-not in particular. But the memory of that parting scene lingered with me. I took great satisfection in my secret feeling, but also great regret. As time went on I censured myself. I was a conceited fool to think she cared for me.

No

"I've met many women since then. One attracted me very much. She had a movement of the hand, a peculiar motion, so much like J.'s that I was fascinated for a time. But she was shallow, empty, and soon passed out of my life. woman could compare with J. She was developing into a finer, sweeter, more womanly character. This I could observe, for I had several opportunities to see her, and I made the most of them. I wanted to correspond with her, but didn't. Every time I saw her the memory of that last parting came back to me, and I thought I could see that she still cared for me. She refused several men, and I looked in her eyes and read-and wondered. The plain face, with the beauty of character was making me forget myself; and the thought of the wasting figure disturbed me. But I had resolved. Should a passing