his mouth and waved his hand in token of enforced
submission.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" he demanded after a short pause.
"You seem to have me at your mercy. What are your terms?"

Father Beret hesitated. It was a question difficult to answer.

"Give me your word as a British officer that you will never again try
to harm any person, not an open, armed enemy, in this town."

Hamilton's gorge rose perversely. He erected himself with lofty reserve
and folded his arms. The dignity of a Lieutenant Governor leaped into
him and took control. Father Beret correctly interpreted what he saw.

"My people have borne much," he said, "and the killing of that poor
child there will be awfully avenged if I but say the word. Besides, I
can turn every Indian in this wilderness against you in a single day.
You are indeed at my mercy, and I will be merciful if you will satisfy
my demand."

He was trembling with emotion while he spoke and the desire to kill the
man before him was making a frightful struggle with his priestly
conscience; but conscience had the upper hand. Hamilton stood gazing
fixedly, pale as a ghost, his thoughts becoming more and more clear and
logical. He was in a bad situation. Every word that Father Beret had
spoken was true and went home with force. There was no time for parley
or subterfuge; the sword looked as if, eager to find his heart, it
could not be held back another moment. But the wan, cold face of the
girl had more power than the rapier's hungry point. It made an abject
coward of him.

"I am willing to give you my word," he presently said. "And let me tell
you," he went on more rapidly, "I did not shoot at her. She was behind
you."

"Your word as a British officer?"

Hamilton again stiffened and hesitated, but only for the briefest
space, then said:

"Yes, my word as a British officer."

Father Beret waved his hand with impatience.

"Go, then, back to your place in the fort and disturb, my people no
more. The soul of this poor little girl will haunt you forever. Go!"

Hamilton stood a little while gazing at the face of Alice with the
horrible wistfulness of remorse. What would he not have given to rub
his eyes and find it all a dream?

He turned away; a cloud scudded across the moon; here and yonder in the
dim town cocks crowed with a lonesome, desultory effect.

Father Beret plucked up the rapier that he had wrenched from Hamilton's
hand. It suggested something.

"Hold!" he cal