* * * * * As soon as dinner was over at the homestead, Sunday saw Fellows eagerly wending his way to the place at which he had appointed to meet Jessie a week ago. It was late in September,—harvesting was over generally through the entire length of the great North-West,—but the glory of the summer had not yet departed. The air was dry and invigorating, and not without its effect upon Fellows, which, coupled with the object he had in view, imparted a buoyancy to his spirits he had for days past been a stranger to, and gave an elasticity to his step which enabled him to accomplish his short journey in a much briefer space of time than he had reckoned upon. He was first at the trysting-place, but he had not been long in waiting when he saw Jessie coming down the trail, a picture of sunny beauty, which the eye of the beholder could rest upon without any feeling of weariness. Advancing at once to meet her, and noting with satisfaction the good-tempered and winsome smile pervading her rosy cheeks, he augured a favourable response to his suit. Unable to restrain his impatience, he seized both her hands, exclaiming, "Dearest Jessie! am I right in concluding from your manner towards me, that you do not bring an unfavourable reply?" "You are presuming, I think, sir," she answered, half averting her head, and shaking her shoulders as she did so. "Don’t say that, dear," he replied. "What would you have me say then?" she retorted, with an arch twinkle in her eye. "Say?" he exclaimed eagerly; "why, say that you will be mine, and make me the happiest man existing!" "Heigh-ho! well, if wilful man must have his own way, I suppose I had better repeat my lesson according to your dictation." "Oh, you dear, delightful treasure of a woman!" he murmured, as he folded her unresisting form in his strong arms, and kissed her passionately. After a few moments spent in silent contemplation—moments too sacred for words—Fellows said, "And you do this, Jessie, knowing full well all I am and have been?" "Yes, Ralph," she replied, looking him fully in the face, with an expression of calm trustfulness and confidence beaming in her large grey eyes. "Did you tell your father—all?" he asked. "That you may rest assured I did," was her reply. "What did he say when he heard of my disgraceful conduct?" "Naturally he was very sorry to hear it; at the same time he said he thought that a man’s past ought not to be regarded as a perpetual barrier to his future upward progress." "Your father is a kind-hearted man, and I esteem him for his charitable views." "That’s what poor dear mother used to say," she replied. "Then he had no objection to urge against me?" "None!" she added; "he gave me his full consent to do whatever my own heart dictated as right." "God bless you, Jessie! The aim of my life shall be that you may never have a moment’s pang of regret for the choice you have this day made."