KIT GRALE. Continued from Fourth Page

KIT GRALE. Continued from Fourth Page. into sigbt; the sail flaps over. Kit sees a hnman foitn. A man lies forward on the little deck, leaning over the side, gazing intently down throiigh the Bhimmeriug deep. She shudders, but hopes. That is not the action of a sane irum, but it is a posture of lito, not of deatn. Quick, Robcrt, qnickl Paster, taster I The ledge draws on. The end is' near. The horsO writhea forward to a wilder pace. Every nerve charged, every cord, every über strung, takes the lust quarter mile with a maddened rush, goes home witb the swoop of a hawk. Straight for the ledge tbey strida "Warel Varel They wil] dash on the rocks - but, na Sho sc-os it all. She guides him with a touch - just m tima He swerves to the left, straight into the wave, deep, deep, comes to a halt with a staggering plunga She is flung headlong into the water by the shock, but rises instantly, dashes the brine from her eyes, leaps up on the nearest rock. Over the ledge she goes, leaping from rock to rock, climbing, wading, slipping, falling, rising agoin, cut and bruised, heeding not, struggling, scrambling on. Quick, Kit, quick, for the love of heaven! The palé horse has won the race. Th gnastly phautom is at Grale's side. It whispers in his ear, "George calis, George calis. Go to him. Go to your friend, where is rest and peace 1" A mocking de vil looks up at him out of the shimmering wave; it wear George Gladwin's faca It beckons him; it is Georgo's familiar gestura He hears his voice, it is soft and low, it entreats. "Come, John ; come, come I" Quiek, Kit; for love's sake, quick! He leups up on bis feet. 'Tm coraiug, George," he cries; "comingl coming 1" He lays o2f hiB coat -the instinct of orderly habit with him still in his madness. He leans over again, looks down. "I'm coming, George," he cries again; "coming, comingl" He straightens up for the plunga One moment morel Two light feet leap into the boat. Two arms go round his neck. "Father, father," ghe cries, "come homo, come hom!" He turns h 9 face upon hor - a strange faeehaggard and wild. He Btrugglee, makes os though ho woukl strike her. She shudders, but dons nut shribfc. She lo'ks her handt together, eiiüas to biiu flercely. He loóles iiito the loved (ace keenly. The wildness dies out of bis ows. The power of madness goes from tiiin He sinks dywn, she fllngihg to him. "IVo faiii the rjortage, latlier!" She shows hún the glitteriBgooins. "See, futhor - golxi I gold !" He looks at her steadfastly- !of)I;s and listcns. Is it the clink of the gold bo hearsf Its yellow gleam that he soes? Na Not the red gold. He benrs a loved voice, uiispoakably sweet in hiseara He sees a thin, white face that is dearer to him than lifa The voice arid the (uuce of ü'ue luvel lie kuows her now A peacefnl look comes Into his evos, a smile plays feebly upon his lipa His Imriil siüks Imck in her arms, rests onthetiue. tired hcart - the heart tliat has been more 10 him than brocher, moie than sweethea it., more than wife! "God bless ye. Kit," he murinurs. "I'm glad ve' ve come home." Ba ved I Savedl Mormur it. winds of summer night, waft ft to the B9Q and shorel Tide ripjiles, tinkle it to rock and wet sea sandsl üreen leaves, rustle and teil the talel Green grass, bend and whisper it to sweet wüd flowersl "hime it, sweet sliecp bells, in the pasture fieldsl Whippoorwiil, hush your mouruful cry; warble a glaUersongl BaveJ: Savedl