"Where is your country, I wonder?"--the voice of the lady rang in
Rosalie's ears. As she sat at the window again, long after the visitors
had disappeared, the words, "I wonder--I wonder--I wonder!" kept beating
in her brain. It was absurd that this woman should remind her of the
tailor of Chaudiere.

Suddenly she was roused by her father's voice. "This is beautiful--ah,
but beautiful, Rosalie!"

She turned towards him. He was reading the book in his hand--'Beyond the
Hills'. "Listen," he said, and he read, in English: "'Compensation is
the other name for God. How often is it that those whom disease or
accident has robbed of active life find greater inner rejoicing and a
larger spiritual itinerary! It would seem that withdrawal from the ruder
activities gives a clearer seeing. Also for these, so often, is granted
a greater love, which comes of the consecration of other lives to theirs.
And these too have their reward, for they are less encompassed by the
vanities of the world, having the joy of self-sacrifice.'" He looked at
Rosalie with an unnatural brightness in his eyes, and she smiled at him
now and stroked his hand.

"It has been all compensation to me," he said, after a moment. "You have
been a good daughter to me, Rosalie."

She shook her head and smiled. "Good fathers think they have good
daughters," she answered, choking back a sob.

He closed the book and let it lie upon the coverlet. "I will sleep now,"
he said, and turned on his side. She arranged his pillow, and adjusted