equences of what their double sacrifice
might entail, nor had she realized the long years of work which might
ensue, or the self-denial and constant anxiety attending its repayment.
Practical questions on so large a scale had been outside the range of
her experience. Hers was the spirit of Joan of old, who reckoned nothing
of value but her ideal.

Nor can we blame her. When your cheeks are twin roses; your hair black
as a crow's wing and fine as silk; and your teeth--not one missing--so
many seed pearls peeping from pomegranate lips; when your blood goes
skipping and bubbling through your veins; when at night you sleep like
a baby, and at morn you spring from your bed in the joy of another day;
when there are two strong brown hands and two strong arms, and a great,
loving, honest heart every bit your own; and when, too, there are crisp
autumn afternoons to come, with gold and brown for a carpet, and long
winter evenings, the fire-light dancing on the overhead rafters; and
'way--'way--beyond this--somewhere in the far future there rises a
slender spire holding a chime of bells, and beneath it a deep-toned
organ--when this, I say, is, or will be, your own--the gold of the
Indies is but so much tinkling brass, and Cleopatra's diadem a mere
bauble with which to quiet a child.

It was not until he was nearing Corklesville that the sense of the money
really came to him. He knew what it would mean to Ruth and what her eyes
would hold of gladness and relief. Suddenly there sprang to his lips an
unbidden laugh, a spontaneous overflow from the joy of his heart; the
first he had uttered for days. Ruth should know first. He would take her
in his arms and tell her to hunt in all his pockets, and then he would
kiss her and place the package in her hands. And then the two would go
to Corinne. It would be late, and she would be in bed, perhaps, but that
made no difference. Ruth would steal noiselessly upstairs; past where
Garry lay, the flowers heaped upon his coffin, and Corinne would learn
the glad tidings before to-morrow's sun. At last the ghost which had
haunted them all these days was banished; her child would be safe, and
Corinne would no longer have to hide her head.

Once more the precious package became the dominant thought. Ten bonds!
More than enough! What would McGowan say now? What would his Uncle
Arthur say? He slipped his hand under his coat fondling the wrapper,
caressing it as a lover does a long-delayed letter, as