said, "it is a wonderful night."

"A night of gladness and omen," replied Father John. "See the stars!
They seem to be alive and rejoicing, and it is not sacrilege to believe
they are, giving you their benediction."

"And yet--I am afraid."

"Afraid?"

Father John looked into his eyes, and saw him staring off over the
forest-tops.

"Yes--afraid for her."

Briefly he told him of what had happened on the Barren months ago, and
how he had narrowly escaped Breault in coming away from the burned
country.

"He is on my trail," he said, "and tonight he is not very far away."

The Missioner's hand rested in a comforting way on his arm.

"You did not kill Jed Hawkins, my son, and for that we have thanked God
each day and night of our lives--Nada and I. And each evening she has
prayed for you, kneeling at my side, and through every hour of the day
I know she was praying for you in her heart--and I believe in the
answer to prayer such as that, Roger. Her faith, now, is as deep as the
sea. And you, too, must have faith."

"She is more precious to me than life--a thousand lives, if I had
them," whispered Jolly Roger. "If anything should happen--now--"

"Yes, if the thing you fear should happen, what then?" cried Father
John, faith ringing like a note of inspiration in his low voice. "What,
then, Roger? You did not kill Jed Hawkins. If the law compels you to
pay a price for the errors it believes you have committed, will that
price be so terribly severe?"

"Prison, Father. Probably five years."

Father John laughed softly, the star-glow revealing a radiance in his
face.

"Five years!" he repeated. "Oh, my boy, my dear boy, what are five
years to pay for such a treasure as that which has come into your
possession tonight? Five short years--only five. And she waiting for
you, proud of you for those very achievements which sent you to prison,
planning for all the future that lies beyond those five short years,
growing sweeter and more beautiful for you as she waits--Roger, is that
a very great sacrifice? Is it too great a price to pay? Five years, and
after that--peace, love, happiness for all time? Is it, Roger?"

McKay felt his voice tremble as he tried to answer.

"But she, father--"

"Yes, yes, I know what you would say," interrupted Father John gently.
"I argued with her, just as you would have argued, Roger. I appealed to
her reason. I told her that if you returned it would mean prison for
you, and strangel