He saw them start for the far West, and then he returned northward to his island home. Miss Lois, disheartened by all that had happened, busied herself in taking care of the boys dumbly, and often shook her head at the fire when sitting alone with her knitting. She never opened the old piano now, and she was less stringent with her Indian servants; she would even have given up quietly her perennial alphabet teaching if Père Michaux had not discovered the intention, and quizzically approved it, whereat, of course, she was obliged to go on. In truth, the old man did this purposely, having noticed the change in his old antagonist. He fell into the habit of coming to the church-house more frequently--to teach the boys, he said. He did teach the little rascals, and taught them well, but he also talked to Miss Lois. The original founders of the church-house would have been well astonished could they have risen from their graves and beheld the old priest and the New England woman sitting on opposite sides of the fire in the neat shining room, which still retained its Puritan air in spite of years, the boys, and Episcopal apostasy. Regarding Rast's conduct, Miss Lois maintained a grim silence. The foundations of her faith in life had been shaken; but how could she, supposed to be a sternly practical person, confess it to the world--confess that she had dreamed like a girl over this broken betrothal? "Do you not see how much happier, freer, she is?" the priest would say, after reading one of Anne's letters. "The very tone betrays it." Miss Lois sighed deeply, and poked the fire. "Pooh! pooh! Do you want her to be _un_happy?" said the old man. "Suppose that it had been the other way? Why not rejoice as I do over her cheerfulness?" "Why not indeed?" thought Miss Lois. But that stubborn old heart of hers would not let her. The priest had sent to her also one of the pictures of Tita. One day, after his return, he asked for it. She answered that it was gone. "Where?" "Into the fire." "She cannot forgive," he thought, glancing cautiously at the set face opposite. But it was not Tita whom she could not forgive; it was the young mother, dead long years before. The winter moved on. Anne had taken off her engagement ring, and now wore in its place a ring given by her school-girl adorers, who had requested permission in a formal note to present one to their goddess. As she had refused gems, they had selected the most costly plain gold circlet they could find in Weston, spending a long and happy Saturday in the quest. "But it is a wedding ring," said the jeweller. But why should brides have all the heavy gold? the school-girls wished to know. Other persons could wear plain gold rings also if they pleased.