and Jane.

Donald had moved, and Joanne was watching him tensely, when he took the
glass from his eyes. Mutely the old mountaineer held out a hand, and Aldous
gave him the telescope. Crouching behind a rock he slowly swept the valley.
For half an hour he looked through the glass, and in that time scarce a
word was spoken. During the last five minutes of that half-hour both Joanne
and Aldous knew that MacDonald was looking at the little cabin nearest the
stream, and with hands clasped tightly they waited in silence.

At last old Donald rose, and his face and voice were filled with a
wonderful calm.

"There ain't been no change," he said softly. "I can see the log in front
o' the door that I used to cut kindling on. It was too tough for them to
split an' burn after we left. An' I can see the tub I made out o' spruce
for Jane. It's leaning next the door, where I put it the day before we went
away. Forty years ain't very long, Johnny! It ain't very long!"

Joanne had turned from them, and Aldous knew that she was crying.

"An' we've beat 'em to it, Johnny--we've beat 'em to it!" exulted
MacDonald. "There ain't a sign of life in the valley, and we sure could
make it out from here if there was!"

He climbed into his saddle, and started down the slope of the mountain.
Aldous went to Joanne. She was sobbing. Her eyes were blinded by tears.

"It's terrible, terrible," she whispered brokenly. "And it--it's beautiful,
John. I feel as though I'd like to give my life--to bring Jane back!"

"You must not betray tears or grief to Donald," said Aldous, drawing her
close in his arms for a moment. "Joanne--sweetheart--it is a wonderful
thing that is happening with him! I dreaded this day--I have dreaded it for
a long time. I thought that it would be terrible to witness the grief of a
man with a heart like Donald's. But he is not filled with grief, Joanne. It
is joy, a great happiness that perhaps neither you nor I can
understand--that has come to him now. Don't you understand? He has found
her. He has found their old home. To-day is the culmination of forty years
of hope, and faith, and prayer. And it does not bring him sorrow, but
gladness. We must rejoice with him. We must be happy with him. I love you,
Joanne. I love you above all else on earth or in heaven. Without you I
would not want to live. And yet, Joanne, I believe that I am no happier
to-day than is Donald MacDonald!"

With a sudden cry Joanne flung her arms about his