It was after eight when, the work indoors and out finished, Jo and Donelle talked of Tom Gavot. By that time Donelle was quiet and strangely at peace. "All night, Mamsey, while Nick and I were in his cabin," she said, "he was out in the rain! I crept to the window many times and always he was there walking about or sitting by a little fire that he made in a dry spot to warm his poor, wet body. Mamsey, he told me to put the bar across the door, and I wanted to, but I did not." Donelle’s eyes shone. "Somehow I felt safer with the bar off. And then, when it was morning, Tom was gone." "He will come again!" breathed Jo, her breast heaving. "And what then will you do with him, child?" "I do not know, Mamsey." "He has done the greatest thing for you that it is possible for man to do." "Yes, I know, I know. But, Mamsey," the agony of deadly hurt shook Donelle’s voice, "Mamsey, for a little time I want, I must stay with you. And we must never speak of the other! You kept still when, when my father——" "Yes, yes, Donelle, I understand," Jo clutched the girl to her. "You shall stay with me for a little time, but I think the day will come when you will go to Tom Gavot on bended knees." "Perhaps, Mamsey, perhaps. I love Tom for his great goodness. I see him always, so safe, so kind, so splendid, but just now—— Oh! Mamsey," the girl shuddered, "the love has me! I know I am wrong and wicked to let it hold me. I know I was selfish and bad to let Tom save me. You see I had to do something quick; I was so alone. But by and by, Mamsey, the way will be easier and then I will think only of Tom Gavot. I promised." In the upper chamber were a few articles belonging to Norval. Jo put them under lock and key the following day, and set the room in its sweet, waiting orderliness once more. The cabin in the wood too, was securely closed against prying eyes and hands. A few sketches and pictures were still there—"The Road" among them. The others had been hastily gathered together. Books rested on a shelf and table, the oil-stained coat hung on a peg. Jo longed, with human revolt, to set fire to the place where she and Langley’s child had known Gethsemane, but her hand was held. And still Tom Gavot did not return. No word came from him for a week, and a great fear rose in Jo’s heart. Then came a brief note to Donelle. You know you can trust me. Father Mantelle has written to me about you and Mam’selle; it’s a big thing. And, Donelle, I’m never going to take anything you don’t want to give! I didn’t marry you to hurt you. I did it to help you. It seemed the only way, in the hurry.