ten felt drawn to Donald, as timid women generally
feel drawn toward masterful men, ignoring the steadier love of gentler
natures. Donald had from the start constituted himself her protector
in a lordly way. He had once resented a belittling remark which a
schoolmate had used towards her, by soundly thrashing the urchin who
uttered it. Minnie pitied the lad, but she secretly adored Donald. He
was her hero. Donald was good enough to patronize her. Minnie was too
humble to resent this attitude. Was he not handsome and strong, with
fearless blue eyes; were not all her little girl companions jealous of
her? Did he not go to and come from school with her and carry her books?
Above all, had he not done battle in her behalf?

Minnie Duncan was the only daughter of John and Mary Duncan, who lived
close to the Morrisons', upon a comfortable farm. She was dearly loved,
and she returned the affection bestowed upon her with the beautiful
_abandon_ of that epoch when the tide of innocent trust and love is
at the full. They had never expressed their hopes in relation to her
future; but the wish of their hearts was that she might grow into a
modest, God-fearing woman, find a good farmer husband, and live and die
in the village.

CHAPTER IV. "MINNIE, MINNIE," SHE SAID, "I MUST GUARD MY SECRET."

Donald Morrison was now twenty-three. The promise of his boyhood had
been realized. He was well made, with sinews like steel. He had a blonde
moustache, clustering hair, a well shaped mouth, firm chin. His blue
eyes had a proud, fearless look. The schoolmarm had taught Donald the
three "R's"; he had read a little when he could spare the money for
books; and at the period we are now dealing with he was looked up to
by all in the village as a person of superior knowledge. His youth and
young manhood had been spent working upon his father's farm. Latterly he
had been working upon land which his father had given him, in the hope
that he would marry and settle down. He had become restless. The village
was beginning to look small, and he asked himself with wonderment how
he had been content in it so long. The work was hard and thankless. Was
this life? Was there nothing beyond this? Was there not not a great
world outside the forest? What was this? Was it not stagnation? The
woods--yes, the woods were beautiful, but why was it they made him sad?
Why was it that when the sun set against the background of the purple
line of trees, he felt a l