f sunrise coming to him
over the forest-tops.

Five years, and he was an old man now. A long and dreary wait it would
be for him. But for youth, the glorious youth of Roger and Nada, it
would seem very short when in later years they looked back upon it. And
for a time as he contemplated the long span of life that lay behind
him, and the briefness of that which lay ahead, a yearning selfishness
possessed the soul of Father John, an almost savage desire to hold
those five years away from the violation of the law--not alone for
Nada's sake and Roger McKay's--but for his own. In this twilight of a
tragic life a great happiness had come to him in the love of these two,
and thought of its menace, its desecration by a pitiless and mistaken
justice, roused in him something that was more like the soul of a
fighting man than the spirit of a missioner of God.

Vainly he tried to stamp out the evil of this resentment, for evil he
believed it to be. And shame possessed him when he saw the sweet glory
in Nada's face later that morning, and the happiness that was in Roger
McKay's. Yet was that aching place in his heart, and the hidden fear
which he could not vanquish.

And that day, it seemed to him, his lips gave voice to lies. For, being
Sunday, the wilderness folk gathered from miles about, and he preached
to them in the little mission house which they had helped him to build
of logs in the clearing. Partly he spoke in Cree, and partly in
English, and his message was one of hope and inspiration, pointing out
the silver linings that always lay beyond the darkness of clouds. To
McKay, holding Nada's hand in his own as they listened, Father John's
words brought a great and comforting faith. And in Nada's eyes and
voice as she led in Cree the song, "Nearer, My God, to Thee," he heard
and saw the living fire of that faith, and had Breault come in through
the open doorway then he would have accepted him calmly as the
beginning of that sacrifice which he had made up his mind to make.

In the afternoon, when the wilderness people had gone, Father John
heard again the story of Yellow Bird, for Nada was ever full of
questions about her, and for the first time the Missioner learned of
the inspiration which the Indian woman's sorcery had been to Jolly
Roger.

"It was foolish," McKay apologized, in spite of the certainty and faith
which he saw shining in Nada's eyes. "But--it helped me."

"It wasn't foolish," replied Nada quickly. "Yello