er? Let me see it." He held out his hand.

"No, not mine."

Father Beret seemed not to notice Farnsworth's desire to handle the
weapon, and the young man, instead of repeating his words, reached
farther, nearly grasping the scabbard.

"I cannot let you take it, my son," said Father Beret "You have its
mate, that should satisfy you."

"No, Colonel Hamilton took it," Farnsworth quickly replied. "If I could
I would gladly return it to its owner. I am not a thief, Father, and I
am ashamed of--of--what I did when I was drunk."

The priest looked sharply into Farnsworth's eyes and read there
something that reassured him. His long experience had rendered him
adept at taking a man's value at a glance. He slightly lifted his face
and said: "Ah, but the poor little girl! why do you persecute her? She
really does not deserve it. She is a noble child. Give her back to her
home and her people. Do not soil and spoil her sweet life."

It was the sing-song voice used by Father Beret in his sermons and
prayers; but something went with it indescribably touching. Farnsworth
felt a lump rise in his throat and his eyes were ready to show tears.
"Father," he said, with difficulty making his words distinct, "I would
not harm Miss Roussillon to save my own life, and I would do
anything--" he paused slightly, then added with passionate force; "I
would do anything, no matter what, to save her from the terrible thing
that now threatens her."

Father Beret's countenance changed curiously as he gazed at the young
man and said:

"If you really mean what you say, you can easily save her, my son."

"Father, by all that is holy, I mean just what I say."

"Swear not at all, my son, but give me your hand."

The two men stood with a tight grip between them and exchanged a long,
steady, searching gaze.

A drizzling rain had begun to fall again, with a raw wind creeping from
the west.

"Come with me to my house, my son," Father Beret presently added; and
together they went, the priest covering Alice's sword from the rain
with the folds of his cassock.

CHAPTER XV

VIRTUE IN A LOCKET

Long-Hair stood not upon ceremony in conveying to Beverley the
information that he was to run the gauntlet, which, otherwise stated,
meant that the Indians would form themselves in two parallel lines
facing each other about six feet apart, and that the prisoner would be
expected to run down the length of the space between, thus affording
the warrio