. He turned and went. It was dark now, but
there was still some light in the sky at the end of the blue-gum
avenue, and against it, as he rode away, he discovered Bessie's tall and
graceful form softly outlined upon the darkening night. John had left
her to see about some pressing matter connected with the farm, and there
she stood, filled with the great joy of a woman who has found her love,
and loth as yet to break its spell by entering again into the daily
round of common life.

There she stood, a type and symbol of all that is beautiful and gracious
in this rough world, the lovelights shining in her blue eyes and
thoughts of happy gratitude to the Giver of all good rising from her
heart to Heaven, drawn up thither, as it were, by the warmth of her pure
passion, as the dew mists of the morning are drawn upward by the sun.
There she was, so good, so happy, and so sweet; an answer to the world's
evil, a symbol of the world's joy, and an incarnation of the world's
beauty! Who but a merciful and almighty Father can create children such
as she, so lovely, so lovable, and set them on the world as He sets the
stars upon the sky to light it and make beholders think of holy things,
and who but man could have the heart to turn such as she to the base
uses whereto they are daily turned?

Presently she heard the horse's hoofs, and looked up, so that the
faint light fell full upon her face, idealising it, and making its
passion-breathing beauty seem more of Heaven than of earth. There was
some look upon it, some indefinable light that day--such is the power
that Love has to infuse all human things with the tint of his own
splendour--that it went even to the heart of the wild and evil man who
adored her with the deep and savage force of his dark nature. Was it
well to meddle with her, and to build up plans for her overthrow and
that of all to whom she clung? Would it not be better to let her be,
to go his way and leave her to go hers in peace? She did not look
quite like a woman standing there, but more like something belonging
to another world, some subject of a higher rule. Men of powerful but
undisciplined intellect like Frank Muller are never entirely free
from superstition, however free they may be from religion, and he grew
superstitious as he was apt to do. Might there not be an unknown penalty
for treading such a flower as that into the mire--into mire mixed
perchance with the blood of those she loved?

For a few second