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Rh was made. The arms flew out, shaking a little, but waiting to fold him to her heart. Had he looked as uncouth as a South Sea cannibal, he could have rested his head there. That voice was enough, and beyond the tangled beard, and swarthy skin, and savage dress, the eyes leapt to hers, as blue and brave and winning as of old. It was her Ben, her boy!

In this ever-shifting old world, with its countless partings and reunions, there are many sorts of journeys' ends—and lovers meetings. In the reverberating train-shed, on the subway stairs, on the rose-covered porch, or the commonplace corners of the ugly city, Heaven revisits earth and angels hover lightly in the air when severed hearts beat together again. But the thrill and joy of all are weak compared to that of a castaway sailor and his lass, on the shining sands of an unknown isle in an uncharted sea.

The old boy and girl shyness had taken wing. Young as they were, in trouble and sorrow they had attained the heart s full stature. The unsatisfied yearnings of the past quickened to fulfilment in a long embrace, and at last the meeting of the lips.

Then the head sunk a little lower, the slender, blue serge arms around the bare, brown shoulders, the waving black strands against the auburn of his unkempt beard. He stroked the curls tenderly, while she quivered to him, half-sobbing.

"Thank God! You've come." He spoke with difficulty,