" he whispered, "make yourself comfortable. I will go to
him."

Then Ruth raised her hands to hold him back. Her voice was deep and
awed.

"No!" she commanded "neither you nor I, Ralph, is fit to enter--there. A
miracle has been performed up among the pines. A man and woman have been
created--that we are not worthy to--touch!"

"Ruth what madness is this? What has occurred? You must explain to me
clearly."

Then the story rushed out in a flood. Tears checked it at times; a
hysterical laugh now and again threatened; but Drew controlled the
excitement by word and touch.

"And now," Ruth was panting and exhausted; "she, that--wonderful woman,
has given him back--to me. Can't you see? She loves the soul of him--the
great, strong man of him--but I--why even _now_, I cannot forget the
evil thing--that befell--the _body_ of him while he was--in--"

"Ruth! You shall not so degrade yourself."

"Yes! Yes! it is quite true. That is what I meant. I am not fit to
touch--her nor him, and yet I shall shudder all my life--when I
remember."

Drew saw that reason was tottering in Ruth.

"He may--not--wish--to claim you, dear," he comforted.

"But he must; he must! Now that she is going to her own; there is
nothing left for me to do--but to go to mine."

"This can go no further, Ruth." Drew rose hastily. "I am going to send
Aunt Sally to you, and I must think things out. Calm yourself, dear. In
all such times as these, a greater power than is in us, controls and
gives strength. Let go--Ruth! Let the Power that is, take you in its
keeping."

He touched her cold face with reassuring sympathy, and then went to find
Miss Sally.

His next impulse was to rush to Gaston's shack; his second thought
restrained him. If Gaston had returned, he would rightfully resent any
outside interference with this crucial time of his life. If Joyce were
decided in the course she had laid out for herself--how dared he, how
could he, divert her from it without involving them all in a deeper
perplexity?

So Drew resigned _himself_ to the Power that is.

CHAPTER XVIII

It was Billy Falstar who broke upon Joyce's solitude after Ruth Dale had
left her.

Worn beyond the point where conscious suffering held strong part, Joyce
was completing her final arrangements mechanically and laboriously when
Billy presented himself.

"Say, Joyce," the boy faltered, standing in the doorway and kicking his
heels together, "I'm blamed sorry I done tha