I did once, you know; and I took it for granted then that you would not come- perhaps I have taken it for granted now that you will." And he stopped again, and looked at her with eyes from which an eager question shone. Jessica thought to tease him. with a doubtful smile, but it melted before the rising of something overwhelming within her, and her heart looked out at him through her passionate eyes.

"My darling!"—and his unhurt arm was about her, and both of her's about his neck-and it was well that they stood where a chestnut and the old wall cut off the view on one side, and a great empty field promised privacy on

the other.

66

"We will be together," she whispered, "whether for art or-or—.” 'Together!" he said. "And may God keep me from trying to clamp you down to my limitations!"

She raised her head and looked at him, her eyes a-swim with tenderness. "Your limitations," she cried reproachfully; and then-"We are not alike, dear, in everything "-repeating an old thought" but you have no limitations-you have only some unexplorBut I"-and her face ed-jungle. grew serious-"have nothing of your depth."

'Nonsense!"

"No, I haven't, dear. But you will teach me-character-that on which things rest-like the basis of the mountains at Lucerne, you know. And I— I will gather flowers for you on the mountain side, as I did in the Grosser Garten." And there was a soft laugh in which they both joined—a laugh of recollection.

There are so many ways in which the rest of the story might be told that the pen hesitates. What Herr Vogt said as he trotted up and down the parlor of "The Jolly Hostler" when he learned that "the wonderful Miss Murney" would not even try for a career after all he had sacrificed for it and her-might be put down in the wreckage of two languages; what the lady

from Maine said when he met her on Fleet street and blocked the traffic with his gesticulating woe; what the little village at the lower end of the avenue of chestnuts said when it was known that "Teddy" Hughes was to marry an American singer, and what it said when, a year later, she appeared at the Rectory garden party and sang three times with an unforced willingness and a voice that might have been coined into gold in London. But what Herr Werner himself wrote to Jessica at New York, sending it to her with a wonderful brooch as a wedding present, might be recorded:

"MY DEAR MISS MURNEY,

That you have given up your art, as Herr Vogt says, I do not believe. Having known for so long what it is to live for the best, for the most uplifting, the most beautiful, you could not forget it. I cannot think that you have chosen best in selecting England as your home; but I do not imagine for a moment that you have selected it-you have loved an Englishman and you have accepted the consequence of that handicap on your development. It is not for me to advise a defiance of love. The world is cumbered with the wreck of lives which, but for love, would have been great.

"But this is not a letter for a bridal. Love can also uplift. You may through it work a miracle and unseal the eyes of your Englishman. I was in England but lately myself, and I know him-the Englishman as a typefar better than I did. He is not a brute-he is not even a savage. But he tries to teach himself brutality lest he grow effeminate, and he has made over the stoicism of the savage into a stiff mental outer garment which he wears constantly for fear some one will find out that there are streaks in him which love art like a Parisian and enjoy sentiment like a German. You-with love and a song—may get your barbarian to lay aside this garment; and, if you can do so, you may have done as much for the ultimate civilization of the race as if you sang for years to the German people who already dwell in the kingdom.

"Still, at all events, you will receive my congratulations on having discovered lovefor nothing short of love would link you to that task. And love is the sweetest folly in life. Preach as I will, I would sell my soul to-morrow for love-and I have a soul to sell. But the cup of that intoxication has been denied me. And I learned this in England—to suffer and be silent. There is this flower I will give your husband-he belongs to a race which has kept better than any of us the tradition of how to do great deeds."

AST Christmas Eve a jolly party of British Columbia mining men and politicians were returning from Rossland to the Pacific Coast. They wanted to be in Vancouver in time to eat their Christmas dinner with their families. Barring accidentswhich are infrequent on the Canadian Pacific Railway-they would be in ample time, for the train was due at the Terminal City shortly after noon the next day.

It was a quarter to twelve, fifteen minutes to Christmas day, when the divisional point of Kamloops was reached. There was a stop of half an hour or so, but the party were too comfortable in the Pullman smoker to be bothered going to see what Kamloops looked like in its seasonable garment of snow. A cold wind made them shiver slightly as the door opened and a traveller entered. As the newcomer took off his overcoat there was a chorus of:

"Why, how jer do, Dick; what the deuce are you doing at Kamloops on Christmas Eve?"

"Hullo, boys, glad to see you," returned Dick, "thought I might have a beastly lonely time of it to-night. Just been to a funeral too. Feel blue. Anybody got any comforter. Awfully cold waiting for this train."

The comforter was quickly produced and the questioning resumed.

"Who's gone, Dick?" asked Dave Hutchins.

"You ought to know him, Dave," replied Dick, "he was in the rush to Cariboo with you. Jolly Jack. The poor old fellow died at the Old Men's Home - that blessed refuge which is the best a grateful country can give its pioneers to die in. Jack wanted to get back to his old shack in the Boundary and cross the divide from there, but the Great Prospector called him too early. I bet there'll be sorrow

in the hills when the boys learn that Jolly Jack has staked his last claim."

"Yes, I remember him well," said Hutchins, "he was as good-hearted a fellow as ever carried a pan. He was made Chief of Police in Cariboo for services rendered' to Governor Douglas. But he soon gave up the job to go mining and prospecting on his own. And prospector he remained till they took him to that old home."

Then those mining men fell to swapping yarns about Jolly Jack and others of the great company of prospectors to whom British Columbia owes so much. Grand, rugged men they were. From the tales told that Christmas dawning I have pieced together the following:

"A parson did yer say, Jolly Jack; and what in the devil's name would a sky pilot be doing in Barkerville?" asked Horsefly Bill of the new Superintendent of Police for Cariboo.

"Seems to me," quietly answered Jack, "he could teach you that there's Someone besides that devil you're always referring to so pleasantly. The true religion don't pan high in this camp.

"Well, I'm willing to chip in a thousand dollars, if parson's the right sort, to help build a church," put in Dutch Bill with a challenging glance at Horsefly Bill.

There was nothing that delighted the two Bills, the gold kings of Cariboo, than to "cover" each other, true comrades though they always were.

"I'll raise yer five hundred," replied Horsefly Bill, "though I'd sooner spend the dough on the new girl from 'Frisco."

The parson, to the church's financial loss, joined the group at this moment. If he had stayed out of the game a round or two longer he might have raked in a jackpot of $25,000, for Bills I and II would have gone on "raising" till further orders.

"Can't gamble with parson looking on," muttered Dutch to Horsefly, "so I'll have to call you." Then addressing the Rev. Frederick Kingdom, he said:

"We've just had a little collection for your church, parson, and any time you like to call I'll hand you over the $3,000 subscribed."

A little sum like that was nothing in those days to Dutch Bill, the discoverer of Williams Creek, the richest diggings ever found in the world.

Dutch Bill was not what you would call a religious man, but he believed that parsons-of the right sort-exercised a good influence on mining camps and he was disposed to give the Rev. Frederick every chance to "make good," as he put it. It might as well be stated at once that the sky pilot did not have to "lick" the toughest gambler in the town in a bare fist fight in order to establish his footing. That sort of romance is confined to the United States side. Kingdom was an Oxford man and, no doubt, could have used his fists to advantage, but he was not called upon to show the church militant in that direction. He quickly proved, however, the right man for Barkerville, and he was instrumental in settling the only serious affair that ever took place between the two Bills. It was Lorelia Hardy who caused the two miners three months' estrangement. She was "the new girl from 'Frisco."

"The Williams Creek miners are taking out $1,000 a week," Lorelia had read in the San Francisco Herald. "Money is abundant," the newspaper went on, "gambling and dissipation of all kinds go on day and night."

That decided Lorelia. She packed up her goods and chattels and made for Cariboo as hastily as possible, enduring considerable hardship by the way, which she determined to offset by a golden harvest.

Jolly Jack decided that Lorelia was a danger to the gold camp. "She's a regular corker for looks," he used to say, "but she does cause a lot of disturbance of the Queen's peace, which

makes my job no lighter." He was proud of being a servant of the Queen and was unable to resist dragging in Her Majesty's name.

"She's set all the boys jealous," he added, "and now she's got the better of Jim Loring up at Diller's claim." That claim has the record for a 24-hours' return in Cariboo, $300,000 having been taken out of it in that time.

"You're wrong there, Jack," said Dutch Bill, "it was Jim who got the better of her."

"But she just showed me the thousand dollars she got from him," explained Jack.

"She hasn't heard yet how it might have been $1,700, but Jim was too smart for her," chuckled Dutch Bill. "You see it was this way. to be taken down the know what that means.

She asked shaft. You She was on

to the game all right. She knew that when a female goes down the shaft the miner always give her what comes in the first pan. Jim Loring shoved his way through, and, being the foreman, no one could object when he offers his arm, quite polite, to the girl, and says, 'Allow me.' And she allowed. Few women take the trouble to resist Jim. He has the way with them that I had when I was younger. But Jim is used to her sort. He purposely did not go to what he thought was the richest ground, though he found out a few minutes after that he had made a little mistake. He tried a new piece, and was mightily astonished when he undertook to wash the dirt. At the first shake of the pan the gold shows on the surface. Jim tumbles at once, and glances swiftly at Lorelia. And even while she was smiling at him he contrived to scoop out some of the yellow into the waterhole. Oh! yes, he's a slick lad. He is quick and clever is Jim, and not too much of a ladies' man during business hours. The next shake of the pan uncovered more of the stuff, and a whole lot of gold went into the waterhole again. At the third shake Jim sees that there was very little gravel mixed with that pan of gold, so he concludes to scoop out some

more. This was not too easy right under my lady's eye, but Jim found a way. The water was muddy, and he gave the pan a vicious whirl and let it fall into the water. It was easy then for him to get rid of a lot more gold. When he brought the pan to the surface all eyes were intently gazing at the contents, so Jim couldn't hide its richness any longer. So, as polite as if he were in Hyde Park, he turns to Lorelia and says:

"Miss Hardy, will you do me honour to accept this pan as a memento of your visit to the Diller claim?'

"She replies, pretty-like, 'Thank you so much, Mr. Loring, it will indeed prove a pleasant remembrance.' And Jim smiles, rather sickly-like, for there was a thousand dollars in the pan if there was four bits. Miss Hardy takes the stuff to the hotel, where the gold was found to weigh 60 ounces, meaning she got $1,080 for that afternoon visit to the Diller shaft. While Lorelia was admiring her haul Jim was scooping out the waterhole, and the air was sulphurous. He panned the gold in the waterhole, and, boys, he got $700. That's the record for 'poor dirt,' I'm willing to bet."

The laughter which arose at this sally was cut short by Horsefly Bill exclaiming in angry tones:

"And do you mean to say that you stood by while that poor girl was robbed of $700. That's the first mean trick I've known yer to do all the days I have been pals with you."

Dutch Bill's temper blazed at that. "The man who calls me mean is a liar," he exclaimed hotly.

The crowd stood back to give the men room. Dutch Bill landed a vicious left on Horsefly's nose, tapping the claret, while Jolly Jack discreetly looked the other way. The mix-up was likely to become hot when the parson stepped between the two men.

"Keep away, parson, or not another cent do you get for your church," cries Dutch Bill.

"Don't come meddling here, parson," called Horsefly Bill, "or you are liable to regret it. I might forget myself."

But the Rev. Mr. Kingdom was not to be put off thus easily. He continued to dodge in between the two as they tried to get around him, and his very persistence won, much to the disgust of several of the bad class of miners, who liked nothing better than this falling off between the two Bills.

"Well, I'm going over to settle with Jim Loring," exclaimed Horsefly Bill.

"You havn't far to go, Bill," said Jim, as he stepped out of a group of miners. "Anything I can do for you?" he asked, with a suggestive buttoning up of his coat.

"Yes, I'd like you to hand over to Miss Hardy that $700 you have belonging to her."

Jim smiled. "Can you give me any real reason why I should pay your debts of gallantry ?" he enquired.

It had not struck the unsophisticated gold king that any outrageous construction would be placed on his championship of the fair one, but Loring's words brought him to his senses.

"You're right, Jim, I'm a damned fool." "I ask your pardon, but as for the man who called me a liar, I'll be even with him yet." With which final outburst Horsefly sought the alluring society of the girl from 'Frisco, and himself made up the $700.

Meanwhile the camp watched and waited for the next move in the feud of the Bills.

And the camp did not have long to wait. That night the men met in the bar of the Cleveland Hotel. The only excuse for Horsefly Bill's action on that celebrated occasion was that he was very drunk, not too far gone in his cups as to be unable to fight, but too intoxicated to remember that there are rules of honour and decency that have to be remembered in a mining camp scrap. He threw Dutch Bill to the floor and, seizing him by both ears, pounded his head against the floor till he was senseless. It was two months before Dutch Bill could be pronounced out of danger, and all that time Horsefly was in the charge of Jolly Jack, dreading every day that he would have to answer to the charge of murder.

When Dutch Bill got around again Horsefly was taken before Chief Justice Begbie. According to British Columbia law the prisoner was given the option of speedy trial before the judge alone or of having his case sent up to the next assizes, when a jury would. render the verdict. The Chief Justice took elaborate pains to explain the two methods to Horsefly Bill and concluded thus:

"If you are innocent I would advise you to take a speedy trial before a judge, because he knows the tricks of the rascally lawyers and will see that you get a fair trial; but if you are guilty by all means go before a jury, the body is usually composed of fools. Now, which course do you decide upon?" To his Lordship's great amusement Horsefly Bill instantly replied:

"I'll take a jury trial."

In due course the case was called at the assizes and a big crowd of miners sweltered in the log hut, called by courtesy a law court. For a veracious account of the trial it is only necessary to reproduce the racy, if ungrammatical, report of the Barkerville Gazette, as follows:

"We are willing to bet that last cord of wood received in lieu of cash subscription to this great family journal, that Chief Justice Begbie feels as mad as a hatter this morning. The jury turned him down in fine shape in the Bill assault case yesterday. It was a great day for the unwigged, though his Lordship distributed wiggings enough to cover the whole court room with a lovely sulphur colour. The first witness called was Dutch Bill and the jury could see with half an eye that he did not want his old pal convicted. He said he had been hurt in fair fight and there was no suggestion that he had been assaulted while he lay on the ground, at least not from him.

It was

like pulling sound teeth to make him say that some of the boys who had witnessed the fight had said that his head had been pounded on the ground. He begged the court to remember that such evidence was valueless as he himself had not seen the assault, not being

"Then they got Jolly Jack in the box and he furnished one of the sensations of the day. He said he happened to be standing in the shadow, close to Lorelia Hardy and Horsefly Bill, on the night of the fight and had heard the woman say he ought to sock it to Dutch Bill for calling him a liar and for backing up Jim Loring in keeping back the $700 from Diller's claim that she claimed was hers by rights. She was a common nuisance, that woman, says Jack, and ought to have been in the box in the place of the prisoner, for she was the cause of the disturbance.

"One of them cocksure lawyers from the coast gets up at this moment and tells Jack he had no business to make such assertions in court; he should know better as Chief of Police. The little lawyer man had been noticed to be sweet on the Lorelia girl. But Jack repeats his observation, and, as he concludes, ducks his head rapidly. A revolver shot rang out and Jack was over the witness box like a flash of greased lightning and had collared a young feller who was making a bee-line for the door. That was the first time any one had dared shoot in a British Columbia law court, and we're willing to bet all our paid-up subscriptions it'll be the last, for almost before the smoke had cleared away Chief Justice Begbie had sentenced that young feller to fifteen years. And serve him right. The majesty of the law must be upheld. But it was a close shave for Jolly Jack.

"The preacher was the next man to tell his little tale. The Reverend Richard is a tall man and the sweat box is low; it wasn't built for men of his height. He sprawls over the side of the box in an awkward way. The Chief Justice don't like the sky pilot. 'Stand up, sir,' he roars at him; 'you act like a sausage skin filled with water.' Being in court his reverence could not resent that sort of language, but he's a pretty good slinger of hot talk himself, and there's those that say the preacher will make the Chief Justice feel the keen edge of his tongue when