We must have walls around us, both lanterns and men, rightly to fill the sphere of our designed usefulness; walls to restrain our wastrel forces; walls to bind our lustful desires, our foolish ambitions, our outwinging flights. Yet, in its way, the lantern served nobly, as many a man serves in the circle which binds his small adventures, and beyond which his fame can never pass. From the door of her tent Agnes looked out upon the lantern, comparing herself with it, put down there as she was in that blank land, which was still in the night of its development. Over that place, which she had chosen to make a home and a refuge, her own weak flame would fall dimly, perhaps never able to light it all. Would it be worth the struggle, the heart-hunger for other places and things, the years of waiting, the toil and loneliness? She went back to her supper, the cup which she had gone to fetch in her hand. The strength of night made her heart timid; the touch of food was dry and tasteless upon her lips. For the first time since coming to that country she felt the pain of discouragement. What could she do against such a great, rough thing? Would it ever be worth the labor it would cost? Feeble as her light was against the night, it was enough to discover tears upon her cheeks as she sat there upon the ground. Her fair hair lay dark in the shadows, and light with that contrast which painters love, where it lifted in airy rise above her brow. And there were the pensive softness of her chin, the sweep of her round throat, the profile as sharp as a shadow against the mellow glow. Perhaps the lantern was content in its circumscribed endeavor against the night, when it could light to such good advantage so much loveliness. * * * * * "If I'd have put my hands over your eyes, who would you have named?" asked a voice near her ear, a voice familiar, and fitted in that moment with old associations. "I'd have had no trouble in guessing, Jerry, for I was expecting you," she answered, scarcely turning her head, although his silent manner of approach had startled her. "Agnes, I don't believe you've got any more nerves than an Indian," he said, dropping down beside her. "If one wanted to make a facetious rejoinder, the opening is excellent," she said, fighting back her nervousness with a smile. "Will you have some supper?" "I'd like it, if you don't mind." She busied herself with the stove, but he peremptorily took away from her the office of feeding the fire, and watched her as she put bacon on to fry. "Agnes, you ought to have been frying bacon for me these four years past--figuratively, I mean," he remarked, musingly. "If you don't mind, we'll not go back to that," she said.