Jo finished out the summer efficiently and silently. In September Cecile simply stopped babbling and playing with rags and became wholly dead. After the burial Jo, with her dog at her heels, went away. No one but Longville noticed. Her work at his house was over; the last boarder had departed. Often Jo’s home was unvisited for weeks at a time, so her absence, now, caused no surprise. Two weeks elapsed, then she reappeared, draggled and worn, the dog closely following. That was all, and the endless work of weaving and spinning was resumed. Jo invented three marvellously beautiful designs that winter. But now, this glorious autumn day, she stood victoriously reviewing the past. Suddenly she turned. As if playing an appointed part in the grim drama, Longville again stood by the gate looking a bit keener and grayer, but little older. In his hands, signed and properly executed, were all the papers that set Jo free from him forever unless he could, by some other method, draw her within his power. That money of hers in the bank lay heavy on his sense of propriety. "Unless she’s paying and paying me," he pondered, "what need has she of money? Too much money is bad for a woman—I’ll give her interest." And just then Jo hailed him in the tone and manner of a free creature. "Ah, Captain, it’s a good day, to be sure. A good day!" "Here are the papers!" Longville came near and held them toward her. "Thanks, there was no hurry." "And now," Longville leered broadly. "’Tis I as comes a-begging. How about those hundreds in the bank, Mam’selle? I will pay the same interest as others and one good turn deserves another." But Jo shook her head. "No. I’m done with borrowing and lending, Captain. In the future, when I part with my money, I will give it. I’ve never had that pleasure in my life before." "That’s a course that will end in your begging again at my door." Longville’s smile had vanished. "If so be," and Jo tossed her head, "I’ll come humbly, having learned my lesson from the best of teachers." Jo plunged her hands deeper in the pockets of her father’s old coat. "A woman and her money are soon parted," growled Longville. "You quote wrong, Captain. It is a fool and money; a woman is not always a fool." Longville reserved his opinion as to this but assumed his grinning, playful manner which reminded one of the antics of a wild cat. "Ah, Mam’selle, you must buy a husband. He will manage you and your good money." A deep flush rose to Jo’s dark face; her scowling brows hid her suffering eyes. "You think I must buy what I could not win, Captain?" she asked quietly. "God help me from falling to such folly." The two talked a little longer, but the real meaning and purpose that had held them together during the past years was gone. They both realized this fully, for the first time, as they tried now to make talk. They spoke of the future only to find that they had no common future. Jo retreated as Longville advanced.