Two days ago had come a letter for Helen Everard, with an Australian stamp on it. It was from Jessie, her only sister, urging her to come out to her there, reminding her of an old promise to make a home in that distant land with her and her children. And Helen knew she must go. She wanted to go, had always meant to go, for Jessie’s boys were very dear to her. Yet to leave Joan alone in this great house, so utterly alone! Last night Helen had driven over quietly to Buddesby, and she and Constance had had a long talk. “I can’t leave Joan alone. I have written to Jessie, telling her that I shall start in three months. I have said nothing to Joan yet; but, Connie, I can’t leave her alone!” “Helen, do you think she could care for Johnny enough to become his wife?” “I believe she is fond of him. I will not say that I think she is desperately in love, but she likes him and trusts him, as she must; and so, Connie, I hope it may come about. Joan will make an ideal wife. He is all a woman could wish and hope for, the truest, dearest, straightest man living, and so—Connie—I hope—” “I will talk to him to-night, and I will suggest that he comes over to-morrow and puts his fate to the test. I know he loves her.” And to-day Johnny Everard should be here, if he had listened to his sister’s advice, and that was a thing that Johnny ever did, save in the matter of hops. There was a look of subdued eagerness, of visible nervousness and uncertainty, about Mr. John Everard that day. And Helen saw it. “Joan’s in the garden, John,” she said. “Yes, I—” He fumbled nervously with his hands. “Helen, I have been talking to Con, at least Con’s been talking to me!” “Yes, dear?” “And she—she says—Con tells me that there is a chance for me—just a chance, Helen. And, Helen, I don’t want to spoil my chance, if I have one, by rushing in. You understand?” “I think,” Helen said, “that Joan would like you the better and admire you the more for being brave enough to speak out.” “That’s it! I’ve got to speak out. You know I love her!” “I do, dear.” “But she doesn’t love me. It is not likely; how could she? Look at me, a great ugly chap—how could such a girl care for me?” “I think any girl might very easily care for you, Johnny!” “An ugly brute like me? A farmer. I am nothing more, Helen, and—and—” “Johnny, she is in the garden. Go to her; take your courage in both your hands. Remember— ‘He either fears his fate too much. Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all.’” “I’ll go!” Johnny Everard said. “I can but lose, eh? That’s the worst that can happen to me—lose. But, by Heaven! if I do lose, it is going to—to hurt, and hurt badly. Helen dear, wish me luck!” She put both her hands on his broad shoulders and kissed him on the forehead. She felt to him as a mother might. “From my heart, Johnny, I wish you luck and fortune and happiness,” she said.