Jo thought hard and quickly. In her heart she had always felt this day would come, lately she had been haunted by it. It was inevitable. Only God knew how she dreaded the separation, but she would not withhold her hand. "I suppose, Mam’selle, this is what Motherhood means?" Alice Lindsay spoke the fact boldly, splendidly. "It’s all right," said Jo, "it’s all it should mean. I’m glad I do feel as I do about her." "And, Mam’selle, this girl loves you very tenderly. Sometimes I think we ought to tell her——’ "No, no, Mrs. Lindsay." Jo started and flushed. "When she’s found her place and made it sure: when she has so much that this won’t matter, then she shall know everything. I haven’t overlooked this, but I couldn’t stand it now. I want her to be able to understand." "All right, Mam’selle. And now it is your part to make her feel that it is your desire that she should make the most of her gifts. Send her forth happy, Mam’selle, that will mean much to her." So Jo began the new role and actually made Donelle unhappy in the effort to achieve the reverse. Alone, in the white house at Point of Pines, Jo found her father’s old clothes and contemplated them gravely. She was slipping back, poor soul, to her empty life. Donelle had not accepted the proposed plans without a struggle. She was wonderfully sensitive and compassionate and her quick imagination made it possible for her to understand what the future would mean to poor Jo. Then, too, she shrank from the uprooting. Her dreams of what lay before were exciting and thrilling, but with sincere kinship she loved the quiet hills, the marvellous river, and the peace, freedom, and simplicity which were her birthright. "Sometimes I fear," she said to Mrs. Lindsay, "that it will deafen me, hush me, kill me!" "It will not, dear; and I will always be near." "Unless you were, I would not dare. You are the only hope, Mrs. Lindsay." "That’s not so, Donelle. The real hope is your gift. You are taking it there to make it perfect." "I hope so. And when I have learned, I must get Mamsey into my new life, quick." "Indeed, yes!" Mrs. Lindsay nodded cheerfully. "Isn’t it queer how some people are part of you? Mamsey is part of me, Mrs. Lindsay." Then softly, "I suppose you know how Mamsey got me and from where?" Alice Lindsay started. "Yes, Mam’selle told me," she said. "I never speak of it. Mamsey thought best that I should not; but I do not forget! Often, when we are driving past St. Michael’s—I remember." "Donelle, why do you tell me this now?" "Just because I want you to understand how I feel about Mamsey. She didn’t have to do things for me, she chose to, and I know all about her spinning and weaving and—the rest. I have cost her a good deal, and I mean to make it all up."