When the wagon dashed up to the post-office that night it was fifteen minutes late. He was walking up and down the street on the opposite pavement along the square, keeping under the shadows of the trees. He turned, quickly crossed the street, and stood inside the office, listening with a feeling of strange abstraction to the tramp of the postmaster’s feet back and forth as he distributed the mail. He never knew before what a tragedy might be concealed in the thrust of a bit of folded paper into a tiny glass-eyed box. As he waited, fearing to face his fate, he remembered the pathetic figure of a grey-haired old man who stood there one day hanging on that desk softly talking to himself. He was a stranger at the Springs, and they were alone in the office together. Now and then he brushed a tear from his eyes, glanced timidly at the window of the general delivery, starting at every quick movement inside as though afraid the window had opened. Gaston had gone up close to the old man, drawn by the look of anguish in his dignified face. The stranger intuitively recognised the sympathy of the movement, and explained tremblingly: “My son, I am waiting for a message of life or death”--he faltered, seized his hand, adding, “and I’m afraid to see it!” Just then the window opened and he clutched his arm and gasped, with dilated staring eyes, “There, there it’s come! You go for me, my son, and ask while I pray!--I’m afraid.” How well Gaston remembered now with what trembling eagerness the old man had broken the seal, and then stood with head bowed low, crying, “I thank and bless thee, oh, Mother of Jesus, for this hour!” And looking up into his face with tear-streaming eyes he cried in a rich low voice like tender music, “How beautiful are the feet of them that bring glad tidings!” He could feel now the warm pressure of his hand as he walked out of the office with him. How vividly the whole scene came rushing over him! He thought he sympathised with his old friend that night, but now he entered into the fellowship of his sorrow. Now he knew. At last he drew himself up, walked to his box and opened it. His heart leaped. A big square-cut envelope lay in it, addressed to him in her own beautiful hand. He snatched it out and hurried to his office. The moment he touched it, his heart sank. It was light and thin. Evidently there was but a single sheet of paper within. He tore it open and stared at it with parted lips and half-seeing eyes. The first word struck his soul with a deadly chill. This was what he read: _“My Dear Mr. Gaston:_ _“I write in obedience to the wishes of my parents to say our engagement must end and our correspondence cease. I can not explain to you the reasons for this. I have acquiesced in their judgment, that it is best._ _“I return your letters by to-morrow’s mail, and Mama requests that you return mine to her at Oakwood immediately._