deep.

For very relief she took off her close hood, and flung her arms wide as
if in welcome to what awaited her.

The unbroken snow spread on every side. Like the first-comer in this
new, pure world she set forth with a high courage and a strange faith.

So she came upon John Dale's vision, and he started back, fearing that
his weariness and heavy heart were playing havoc with his senses. Having
seen smoke rising from the chimney of the hut, he had left his horse and
sled a short distance away, and had come to investigate.

So absorbed was Joyce that she neither saw nor heard the approach of the
man she had put from her life.

Her pale beauty, as she came quickly toward him, struck Dale as almost
unearthly. She was within a few yards of him when she saw him. A rich
colour flushed her face as she recognized him and her eyes widened.

"Jude--is dead!" she said simply. She thought he was still upon his
quest; still ignorant of the happenings that had driven her away from
the shack.

The words had the effect of paralyzing Dale. Had this woman taken a life
in self-preservation? Then the sweet, innocent calm of her face
reassured him. Jude was dead! Every barrier was removed--every obstacle
overcome.

Dale rushed toward her with outstretched arms. The look on his face awed
Joyce--but before she was swept into a bliss that might not be
rightfully hers, she shrank from him. She put her hands out pleadingly
as if imploring him to withhold what her soul was hungering for. Dale
understood.

"Joyce--I have been home. They have told me--all!"

"All?" Joyce panted the one word. "All?"

"Yes. Everything. Now--will you come?"

To his dying day Dale was never to forget the look she cast upon him as
he and she stood alone in the white trackless forest.

Love, such love as worn-out civilization knows not, took possession of
Joyce Lauzoon. A love that controlled and uplifted.

Dale waited--then she came to him, glorious and strong in her power of
joy-giving. She clasped her hands around his neck, and lifted her face
to his; their lips met and their eyes grew wondrously tender.

"And now,"--it was Joyce who recalled him to duty--"where shall we go?"

His promise to Drew followed close on the question; and Ruth Dale's
farewell to him as she slipped from his life came with a new meaning.

"Sweet," he whispered, "they are waiting for us--Drew, and my sister,
Ruth Dale."

THE END

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