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ARTH to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Reverently the doctor read the words to the committal of the Burial Service, while Hugo stood near and sprinkled the earth upon the rough box which contained the mortal remains of Charles Norris. The Indians had nearly all arrived and were crowded about the open grave. They had lost their best earthly friend, and their sad faces showed how fully they realised the fact. Marion, with Zell, stood near the grave with her father on one side and the sergeant on the other, with the constable just behind. Close by was another grave, marked with a simple wooden cross, bearing only the name of Martha Norris, and the date of her death. As Marion looked at the emblem of salvation she thought of the life which the woman had led as revealed by the Journal she had left. Soon there would be another cross, and in years to come strangers would read the inscriptions, and wonder, perhaps. But the Indians would remember, she felt sure, and would pass on from generation to generation the story of those two pioneers of the Gospel at The Gap.

John North, too, was thinking deeply. He had not spoken again of the deep things of his heart since that day out in the mountains. Marion knew nothing of all this, although she was surprised at his fervent “Amen” when the doctor had finished reading the