ss, old Jared
Birkdale's daughter, and Jude Lauzoon's wife. That, he would have to
bear and suffer for me--and his world would never forgive him--nor me!

"No; I do love him too well for that. I give him back to his place, and
you."

"To me?" And Ruth Dale, haggard and trembling, came slowly around the
table, clinging to it for support. When she reached Joyce, she put out
cold, groping hands and clutched her by the shoulders.

"You--give him back to me--why? Who is he?"

"John Gaston is--John Dale. It has all come to me so suddenly, I cannot
explain, but there is no mistake. I am going to Jude Lauzoon, so that
neither you nor he can keep me--from what alone is mine; but be--good to
him--or God will never forgive you! Please go now. I must hurry.
Good-bye."

"Joyce!" Ruth Dale was crouching at her feet.

"I am--so tired." A long sigh broke from Joyce's lips. "Please do not
make it harder. It _must_ be; and I have much to do."

"But--there may be some mistake." A horrible fear shook Ruth Dale. Joyce
rose and confronted the woman who knelt on the floor.

"Do you believe there is?" she flung the question madly. "Do you?" There
was no faltering, only a stern command.

"No," shuddered Ruth Dale.

"Then please, go. My part is all--over! But--be--oh! be heavenly good to
him."

Blinded and staggering under the blow, Ruth Dale got to her feet and
went from the house. The outer cold steadied her somewhat, but when, a
half-hour later, she entered Ralph Drew's study, the man by the fire
gazed upon her as if she were a stranger.

"What has happened?" he asked affrightedly, springing to her side.

She let him take her icy hands in his. "I've found--John!" she gasped
hoarsely.

"John--who? Sit down, Ruth. You have had a terrible fright." He put her
firmly, but gently in his own arm-chair. "Tell me all about it," he
urged quietly.

"John Dale. Philip's brother."

"In heaven's name, where!"

"Up at Gaston's shack. Gaston--is--John Dale."

Ralph drew back and repeated dully:

"Gaston--is John Dale? Gaston--is John Dale?" Presently the wonder
became affirmation. "Yes," he almost groaned, "Gaston is--John Dale."

A lurking familiarity of feature gained power in Drew's memory of
Gaston. It linked itself into other details. He had always known Gaston
had a hidden cause for being in St. Ange. Yes; he _was_ John Dale.

For Drew to become convinced was for him to act upon the impulse of his
warm heart.

"Ruth, dear,