(Ah, hark the hunter's horn!),
And what is thine may not be sold,
(My love comes through the corn!);
And none shall buy
And none shall sell
What Love works well?"

In the walk back from Vadrome Mountain, a change--a fleeting change--had
passed over Charley's mind and mood. The quiet of the woodland, the
song of the birds, the tumbling brook, the smell of the rich earth,
replenishing its strength from the gorgeous falling leaves, had soothed
him. Thoughts of Rosalie took a new form. Her image possessed him,
excluding the future, the perils that surrounded them. He had gone
through so much within the past twenty-four hours that the capacity for
suffering had almost exhausted itself, and in the reaction endearing
thoughts of Rosalie had dominion over him. It was the reassertion of
primitive man, the demands of the first element. The great problem was
still in the background. The picture of Kathleen and the other man was
pushed into the distance; thoughts of Billy and his infamy were thrust
under foot--how futile to think of them! There was Rosalie to be thought
of, the to-day and to-morrow of the new life.

Rosalie was of to-day. How strong and womanly she had been this
morning, the girl whose life had been bounded by this Chaudiere, with
a metropolitan convent and hospital as her only glimpses of the busy
world. She would fit in anywhere--in the highest places, with her grace,
and her nobleness of mind, arcadian, passionate and beautiful. There
came upon him again the feeling of the evening before, when he saw
her standing in his doorway, the night about them, jealous affection,
undying love, in her eyes. It quickened his steps imperceptibly. He
passed a stream, and glanced down into a dark pool involuntarily.
It reflected himself clearly. He stopped short. "Is this you, Beauty
Steele?" he said, and he caught his brown beard in his hand. "Beauty
Steele had brains and no heart. You have heart, and your wits have gone
wool-gathering. No matter!

What is not mine I may not hold,
(Ah, hark the hunter's horn!)'"

he sang, and came quickly along the stream where the flax-beaters worked
in harvest-time, then up the hill, then--Rosalie.

She started to her feet. "I knew you would come--I knew you would!" she
said.

"You have been waiting here for me?" he asked breathless, taking her
hand.

"I felt you would come. I made you,"