"But you must go away, child. You must learn, and then perhaps they’ll take you at the St. Michael’s Hotel. Someone always plays there summers, you know. Could folks dance to your tunes, Donelle?" The girl stared. "Anyway you could learn," Jo sought to comfort. "Perhaps I could, Mamsey, but I’d rather take boarders." "We could do both, Donelle," Jo was all energy. "Old age is within eye shot, but I’m long sighted. There’s a good bit of power in me yet, child, and I’m eager for you to go with Mrs. Lindsay when she comes." Poor Jo, having had the glory of Donelle’s choice, was almost desperate now in her desire to send the girl forth. She had not been blind; she was wise, too, and she realized that if the future were to be secure and her own place in it worthy of love and respect, she must refuse further sacrifice. And sacrifice it would be, a dull, detached life in Point of Pines. It was May when a letter came to Jo from Anderson Law. It was a brief letter, one written when the man’s heart was torn with grief and shock. It told of Mrs. Lindsay’s sudden death just when she was preparing for her return to the Walled House. It dwelt upon Law’s knowledge of the affection and ambition of Mrs. Lindsay for her protégée, and while her will did not provide for the carrying out of her wishes, Law, himself, would see to it that everything should be done that was possible. He would come to Canada later and consult with "Mam’selle Morey." Jo looked at Donelle blankly. What the two had thought, dreamed, and hoped they, themselves, had not fully realized until now. In the passing of Alice Lindsay they felt a door closing upon them. Donelle was crying bitterly. At the moment she felt only the personal loss, the sense of hurt; later the conviction grew upon her that what had unconsciously been upholding her was taken away. She had been hoping, hoping. The blow given her by Pierre Gavot, the paralyzing effect of it, had worn away during the secluded winter months; she was young, the world was hers, nothing could really take it away. Nothing had really happened in Point of Pines and they all knew! The larger world would not care, either. She had adjusted herself and in silence the fear and shame had departed, she had even grown to look at Jo as if—it were not true! But now, all was different. "This man, this Mr. Law," Jo comforted, "will have some plan. And there are always my linens, Donelle, and if there is a boarder——" But Donelle shook her head; a little tightening of her lips made them almost hard. "This Mr. Law does not come, Mamsey," she said, "and besides, what could I do in that big, dreadful city with just him?" "There would be that Professor Revelle," Jo’s words were mere words, and she, herself, knew it. Donelle again shook her head.