th of them, but their handclasp was warm and genuine,
and Jack said in a low voice: "I'll try to be worthy of her, old man,
and of you."

Arthur spoke not a word.

The train pulled out of the station and made its way slowly over the
long Souris bridge. They watched it wind up the steep grade until it
was hidden by a turn of the hill, and even then they stood listening
to the hoarse boom of the whistle that came down the misty valley.
The wind, that seemed to be threatening all day, came whistling down
the street, driving before it little drifts of snow as they turned
away from the station platform.

Dr. Clay took Pearl over to Mrs. Francis, where she was to stay for
the night. Arthur and Martha drove home in silence. When they reached
the door Martha said: "Come in, Arthur, and stay; don't try to get
your own supper to-night."

Arthur roused himself with an effort. "I think I'll go home, Martha,
thank you."

Mr. Perkins came out and helped Arthur to put away the team. Martha
stood watching him as he walked across the field to his own little
lonely house. The snow was drifting in clouds across the fields, and
sometimes hid him from sight, but Martha stood straining her eyes for
the last glimpse of him. Her heart was full of tenderness for him, a
great, almost motherly tenderness, for he was suffering, and he was
lonely, and her heart's greatest desire was to help him.

Arthur went bravely back to his own desolate house--the house that he
had built with such loving thoughts. The fire was dead, like his own
false hopes, and the very ticking of the clock seemed to taunt him
with his loss. The last time he had been here she was with him. It
was there beside the window that she had told him about this man; it
was there she had kissed him, and he had held her close to his heart
for one sweet moment; it was there he had fought so hard to give
her up. But he loved her still, and would always love her, the
violet-eyed Thursa, the sweetheart of his boyish dreams.

He made an attempt to light the fire, but it would not burn--it was
like everything else, he told himself, it was against him. He went
out and fed his horses and made them comfortable for the night, and
then came back to his deserted house, dark now, and chilly and
comfortless.

With the light of his lantern he saw something white on the floor.
He picked it up listlessly, and then the odour of violets came to
him--it was Thursa's hand-kerchief, that she had d