moment of supreme need, leave him to
destiny? The darkness favored him. The dense woods were near. Would he
be able to reach them in safety?

McMahon and Leroyer, by simply going up to the door, and grasping the
outlaw firmly the moment he came out, might have made the capture in a
perfectly certain though commonplace manner. Both might be forgiven,
however, for a little nervousness and excitement. The prize was within
their grasp. For this moment they had lain out in the snow, wet and
hungry. Brought suddenly face to face with the moment, the moment was a
little too big for them. Neither of the pursuers aimed very steadily.
They grasped their revolvers, and made red punctures in the night.

What was that? A cry of pain.

The pursuers came up, and saw a figure totter and fall at their feet.

"You have caught me at last," Donald said; "but had the truce been kept,
you never could have taken me."

The outlaw was wrapped in blankets and conveyed to Sherbrooke prison,
and the following morning the papers announced all over the Dominion
that "Donald Morrison, the famous outlaw, who had defied every effort of
the Government for twelve months, had been captured, after having been
severely wounded in the hip by a revolver shot."

In the jail Donald said--"I was taken by treachery."

But the outlaw had been secured!

CONCLUSION.

It was dreadfully unromantic, but Minnie did not fall into a decline.
She is alive and well at this moment. Life may be over, and yet we may
live functionally through long stagnant years. Life is not a calendar
of dates, but of feelings. Minnie will live a calm, chastened life. She
cannot love again; but she is not soured by her experience. She will be
one of those rare old maids who are so sweet and wholesome that even
youth, hot and impatient, tenders cordial homage to them.

Minnie braves her sorrow bravely. To look at her one would not suspect
that she had ever passed through deep suffering. Disappointment and
loss either curl the lips in bitter cynicism, or give them so soft, so
gracious, so touching an expression, as make their caress, falling upon
the wretched and forsaken, a benediction. When suffering steels the
heart, and poises the nature in an attitude of silent scorn for the
worst affront of fortune, it is fatal. It takes the life simply. That is
all. When it melts the heart, pity finds a soft place, and the ministry
of sorrow becomes, not a phrase, but an experience. Very