The queen of the isle

by May Agnes Fleming

Willard Drummond's heart smote him; and some of the old love revived in his heart that moment for poor Christie.

"Christie, thee will perish with fatigue."

"Oh, no; I'll not. This inward strength will sustain me. I will live, I must live, I shall live, to save Sibyl Campbell. I feel it; an inward voice tells me so."

"Then thee is determined to go?" said Uncle Reuben, sorrowfully.

"I must. Duty calls me. Dear Uncle Reuben, good-by."

"Will thee ever come back, little Christie?" he said, holding the little hand she extended in both his.

"As Heaven wills! I fear not. But—Uncle Reuben—dear, good, Uncle Reuben—if I do not, you will come to see me die?"

"Oh, dearest Christie!" his honest voice choked, and he stopped.

"Good-by, Bertha. Kiss Christie once more."

She put her arms round the neck of the maniac, whose eyes were fixed wistfully on her face. "Going away?" she said, in a tone of vague surprise.