golden harvest, and the activities of men were lost
among the corn. Horses and cattle in the distance were as insects, and
in the great concave sky stars still wan from the intolerant light of
their master, the Sun, looked timidly out to see him burn his way down
to the under-world.

"Great--but it might have been greater!" added Orlando, gazing intently
at the sunset.

Yet, as he spoke, his eyes gazed at something infinitely farther away
than the sunset-even to the goal of his desire. He was thinking that,
great as the day had been, with all he had done and seen, it lacked a
glimpse of the face he had not seen for a whole month. The voice, he
had not heard it since it softly cried, "Oh, Orlando!" when the Chinaman
crashed down the staircase with the tray of cherished porcelain, and had
been maltreated by the owner of Tralee.

How many times since then had those words rung in his ears! Louise had
never called him by name save that once, and then it was the cry of a
soul surprised, the wail of one who felt a heart-break coming on, the
approach of merciless Fate. It was the companionship of trouble; it was
the bird, pursued by a hawk, calling across the lonely valley to its
mate. "Oh, Orlando!" He had waked in the morning with the words in his
ears to make him face the day with hope and cheerfulness. It had sounded
in his ears at night as he sat on the wide stoop watching the moon
and listening to the night-birds, or vaguely heard his mother babbling
things he did not hear.

It is a memorable moment for a man when he hears for the first time his
"little name," as the French call it, spoken by the woman he loves. It
is as the sound of a bell in the distance, a familiar note with a new
meaning, revealing new things of life in the panorama of the mind. By
those two words Orlando knew what was in the mind of Louise. They were a
prayer for protection and a cry for comradeship.

When Louise first clasped hands with the Young Doctor on her arrival at
Askatoon, the soft appeal of her fingers had made him understand that
loneliness where she lived, and to bear which she sought help. But the
"Oh, Orlando!" which was wrung from her, almost unknowingly, was the cry
of one who, to loneliness, had added fear and tragedy. Yet behind the
fear, tragedy and loneliness there was the revelation of a heart.

A courtship is a long or a short ceremonial or convention, a
make-believe, by which people pretend that they slowly come to know a