e, I think, dear--and I'll
be there to help you--and to have you help me. Billy, will you come?"

Then Billy dropped the red tie and the be-flowered vest. Everything
seemed to fall from him, but a radiance that grew and grew. He tried to
speak, but failed. He put his hands out, but they trembled shamefully.
Then all in a heap Billy sank at Constance Drew's feet and hid his
throbbing head in the folds of her white silk gown.

The pale moon peeped through the wide window, and cast a strange gleam
over the tousled red head snuggled under the little, caressing hand. It
transformed a girlish face that was looking far, far beyond St. Ange's
calm and peace. The vision the girl saw was battle. Life's battle. Not
little Billy's alone, though God knew that was to be no light matter.
Not even Filmer's lonely struggle, but her own. Her fight against
Convention and Preconceived Ideas. Against all that Always Had Been with
What Was Now To Be.

But as the far-seeing eyes gazed into the future, they softened until
the tears mingled with Billy's on the already much-stained silken gown.

"Billy-boy, we're crying. I wonder--what for?"

"Because," Billy's mouth was full of that silken gown; "because you and
me is so plum chuck-full of happiness we're nigh to busting."

"Oh! Billy, is that really it, really?"

Billy looked up from his shrine.

"Ain't we?" he said solemnly.

"Billy--I--believe--we--are."

Late that night, standing alone by his study window, Drew's tired eyes
travelled over his parish. His people had gone. They were his people at
last. God-given, as he had been God-sent. He would work with them and
for them. He would live day by day, and not look to the eventide. He
would--then he looked down the moonlighted road to the stretch on beyond
the house, where the snow lay unbroken on the way up to Gaston's shack.
A tall, strong figure was striding into the emptiness. A man's form,
swinging and full of purpose. It was--John Dale himself going up to meet
his fate.

There was no light of welcome in the shack among the pines. All was dark
and lifeless. Drew started back. Humanity seemed to urge him to follow
that lonely figure and be within call should his help be needed. Second
thought killed the desire.

The man plunging ahead in the night was a strong man. A man who through
sorrow, sin and shame, had hewed his way to his own place. No one could
help him in this hour that awaited him. He must go up to the Mount
bearin