st lay this before them. If his punishment
will satisfy them, will save the rear-guard, why then, my son, it is
our duty."

They paced back and forth in silence. Menard's heavy breathing and his
quick glances toward the hut told the priest something of the struggle
that was going on in his mind. Suddenly he said:--

"I will go to her, Father. I will tell her. I cannot pledge myself to
this act if--if she--"

"No, M'sieu, you must not; I have told her. She understands. And she
has begged me to ask you not to speak with her. She has a brave heart,
but she cannot see you now."

"She asked you,--" said the Captain, slowly. "She asked you--I cannot
think. I do not know what to say."

The priest quietly walked back to the stone by the door, and left the
soldier to fight out the battle alone. It was half an hour before he
came back and stood before Father Claude.

"Well, M'sieu?"

Menard spoke shortly, "Yes, Father, you are right."

That was all, but it told the priest that the matter had been finally
settled. He had seen the look in the Captain's eyes when the truth had
come to him; and he knew now what he had not dreamed before, that the
soldier's heart had gone out to this maid, and now he must set his
hand against one of her own blood. The Father knew that he would do
it, would fight La Grange to the end. A word was trembling on his
tongue, but as he looked at the seamed face before him, he could not
bring himself to add a deeper sorrow to that already stamped there.

"You must help me with the speech, Father. My wits are not at their
best, I fear."

"Willingly, M'sieu. And the presents,--we must think of that."

"True. We have not the wampum collars. It must be something of great
value that will take their place. You know how much tradition means to
these people. Of course I have nothing. But you--you have your bale.
And Mademoiselle--together you should find something."

"I fear that I have little. My blankets and my altar they would not
value. One moment--" He stepped to the door, and spoke softly,
"Mademoiselle."

"Yes, Father." She stood in the doorway, wearily. It was plain that
she had been weeping, but she was not ashamed.

"We shall need your help, Mademoiselle. Anything in your bale that
would please the chiefs must be used."

She was puzzled.

"It is the custom," continued the priest, "at every council. To the
Indians a promise is not given, a statement is not true, a treaty is
not binding,