udence, and how he had been saved from the consequences of it by
the quickness and wisdom of the young girl. Father Ponfret translated
freely and with a fine flourish. Then the Bishop told of the coming of
Rafe Gadbeau and how the man had died with the Sacrament. They nodded
their heads in silence. There was nothing to be said. They knew who
the man was. He had done wickedly. But the good God had stretched out
the wing of His great Church over him at the last. Why say more? God
was good. No?

Ruth Lansing went among her own hill people, grouped on the outskirts
of the crowd that pressed around the Bishop, answering their eager
questions and asking questions of her own. There was just one
question that she wanted to ask, but something kept it back from her
lips. There was no reason at all why she should not ask them about
Jeffrey Whiting. Some of them must at least have heard news of him,
must know in what direction he had gone to fight the fire. But some
unnamed dread seemed to take possession of her so that she dared not
put her crying question into words.

Some one at her elbow, who had heard what the French people were
saying, asked:

"You're sure that was Gadbeau that crawled out of the fire and died,
Miss Lansing?"

"Yes. I knew him well, of course. It was Gadbeau, certainly," Ruth
answered without looking up.

Then a tall young fellow in front of her said:

"Then that's two of 'em done for. That was Gadbeau. And Jeff Whiting
shot Rogers."

"He did not!" Ruth blazed up in the young man's face. "Jeffrey Whiting
did _not_ shoot Rogers! Rafe--!"

The horror of the thing she had been about to do rushed upon her and
blinded her. The blood came rushing up into her throat and brain,
choking her, stunning her, so that she gasped and staggered. The young
man, Perry Waite, caught her by the arm as she seemed about to fall.
She struggled a moment for control of herself, then managed to gasp:

"It's nothing-- Let me go."

Perry Waite looked sharply into her face. Then he took his hand from
her arm.

Trembling and horror-stricken, Ruth slipped away and crowded herself
in among the people who stood around the Bishop. Here no one would be
likely to speak to her. And here, too, she felt a certain relief, a
sense of security, in being surrounded by people who would understand.
Even though they knew nothing of her secret, yet the mere feeling that
she stood among those who could have understood gave her strength and