nt my little girl again. The Great, Black North will fade away, will
dissolve into the land of sunshine and flowers and song. You will forget
it."

"The Great Black North.--I will never forget it, and I will always bless
it. It has given me my love, the best love in all the world."

"O my darling, my Life, I'll take you away from it all soon, soon. We'll
go to my home, to Garry, to Mother. They will love you as I love you."

"I'm sure I will love them. What you have told me of them makes them
seem very real to me. Will you not be ashamed of me?"

"I will be proud, proud of you, my girl."

Ah, would I not! I looked at that flower-like face the sunshine
glorified so, the pretty, bright hair falling away from her low brow in
little waves, the lily throat, the delicately patrician features, the
proud poise of her head. Who would not have been proud of her? She awoke
all that was divine in me. I looked as one might look on a vision,
scarce able to believe it real.

Suddenly she pointed excitedly.

"Look, dear, look at the rainbow. Isn't it wonderful? Isn't it
beautiful?"

I gazed in rapt admiration. Across the river a shower had fallen, and
the clouds, clearing away abruptly, had left there a twin rainbow of
matchless perfection. Its double arch was poised as accurately over the
town as if it had been painted there. Each hoop was flawless in form,
lovely in hue, tenderly luminous, exquisite in purity. Never had I seen
the double iris so immaculate in colouring, and, with its bases resting
on the river, it curved over the gold-born city like a frame of ethereal
beauty.

"Does it not seem, dear, like an answer to our prayer, an omen of good
hope, a promise for the future?"

"Yes, beloved, our future, yours and mine. The clouds are rolling away.
All is bright with sunshine once again, and God sends His rainbow to
cheer and comfort us. It will not be long now. On the first day of June,
beloved, I will come to you, and we will be made man and wife. You will
be waiting for me, will you not?"

"Yes, yes, waiting ever so eagerly, my lover, counting every hour, every
minute."

I kissed her passionately, and we held each other tightly for a moment.
I saw come into her eyes that look which comes but once into the eyes of
a maid, that look of ineffable self-surrender, of passionate
abandonment. Life is niggard of such moments, yet can our lives be
summed up in them.

She rested her head on my shoulder; her lips lay on m