thing in the world was still living her sweet life in that little
cabin at the end of the clearing.

"You hear the music in the skies--now, my Melisse?" whispered the man,
kneeling beside her again. "It is very pretty to-night!"

"It was not that," repeated the woman.

She attempted to stroke his face, but Cummins saw nothing of the
effort, for the hand lay all but motionless. He saw nothing of the
fading softness that glowed in the big, loving eyes, for his own eyes
were blinded by a hot film. And the woman saw nothing of the hot film,
so torture was saved them both. But suddenly the woman quivered, and
Cummins heard a thrilling sound.

"It is the music!" she panted. "John, John, it is--the music--of--my--
people!"

The man straightened himself, his face turned to the open door. He
heard it now! Was it the blessed angels coming for his Melisse? He
rose, a sobbing note in his throat, and went, his arms stretched out,
to meet them. He had never heard a sound like that--never in all his
life in this endless wilderness.

He went from the door out into the night, and, step by step, through
the snow toward the black edge of the spruce forest. The sobs fell
chokingly from his lips, and his arms were still reaching out to greet
this messenger of the God of his beloved; for Cummins was a man of the
wild and mannerless ways of a savage world, and he knew not what to
make of this sweetness that came to them from out of the depths of the