ping town. I know now how Paul Revere felt when he rode to
Lexington.

But now my cold knuckles fell like lead against Mrs. Whately's door, and
mechanically I gave the low signal whistle I had been wont to give to
Marjie. Like a mockery came the clear trill from within. But there was
no mockery in the quick opening of the casement above me, where a dim
light now gleamed, nor in the flinging up of the curtain, and it was not
a spirit but a real face with a crown of curly hair that was outlined in
the gloom. And a voice, Marjie's sweet voice, called anxiously:

"Is that you, Phil? I'll be right down." Then the light disappeared, and
I heard the patter of feet on the stairs; then the front door opened and
I walked straight into heaven. For there stood Marjie, safe and strong,
before me--my Marjie, escaped from the grave, or from that living hell
that is worse than death, captivity in the hands of an Indian devil.

"What's the matter, Phil?"

"Marjie, can it be you? How did you ever get back?"

She looked at me wonderingly.

"Why, I was only down there at Judson's. The baby's sick and Mrs. Judson
sent for me after ten o'clock. I didn't come away till midnight. She may
send for me again at any minute,--that's why I'm not in bed. I wanted to
stay with her, but she made me come home on mother's account. I ran home
by myself. I wasn't afraid. I heard a horse galloping away just before
I got up to the gate. But what is the matter, Phil?"

I stood there wholly sure now that I was in Paradise. Jean had not tried
to get her after all. She was here, and no harm had touched her. Tell
had not understood. Jean had been in the middle of this night's business
somewhere, I felt sure, but he had done no one any harm. After all he
had been true to his promise to be a good Indian, and Le Claire had
misjudged him.

"You didn't see who was on the horse, did you?"

"No. Just as I started from Mrs. Judson's, O'mie came flying by me. He
looked so funny. He had on the waterproof cloak I loaned him last night,
hood and all, and his face was just as white as milk. I thought he was a
girl at first. He called to me almost in a whisper. 'Don't hurry a bit,
Marjie,' he said; 'I'm taking your cloak home.' But I couldn't find it
anywhere about the door. O'mie is always doing the oddest things!"

Just then the church bell began to ring, and together we put on the
lights and joined in the song. Its inspiration drove everything before
it. I did no