"You and I," Law continued, "have learned some of life’s lessons in a hard school, Mam’selle. Many of our teachers have been the same; they’ve made us _hew_ where others have molded, but I’m thinking we have come to know the true values of things, you and I. The value of labour, companionship on the long road, a hearth fire somewhere at the close of the day." And now Law held out his hand as a good friend does to another. "I wish, Mam’selle," his voice grew wonderfully kind, "I wish you could bring yourself to—travel the rest of the way with me." The door was wide open, the fair moonlight lay across the porch, but Jo was thinking of another night when the howling wind had pressed a warning against the door and Pierre Gavot defiled the shelter she had wrung from her life battle—Pierre the Redeemed! "Are you asking me to marry you, Mr. Law?" Jo’s deep eyes were seeking an answer in the look which was holding her. She was dazed, frightened. "Will you honour me by bearing my name, Mam’selle? Will you let me help you keep the fire upon the hearth for them?" Nearer and nearer came Donelle and Norval, Donelle still singing with the moonlight on her face. "I have fought my way up from lonely boyhood, Mam’selle. I’ve lived a lonely man! And you, Mam’selle, I know your story. When all is said and done, loneliness is the hardest thing to bear." Tears stood in Jo’s eyes—tears! "You are a strange man," she repeated. "And you a strange woman, Mam’selle." But they were smiling now, smiling as people smile who, at the turn of the road, see that it does not end, but goes on and on and on. THE END THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS GARDEN CITY, N. Y.