uld--wire."

"Sternford will have it sent for you."

In a moment the light of hope died out of the girl's eyes. The excited
flush on her cheeks paled. And the man saw, and read the sign he beheld.

He waited. But Nancy remained silent, crushed under the feeling of utter
desolation to which the mention of Bull Sternford's name had reduced
her.

Father Adam set his cup down.

"Don't let the sending of that message worry, child," he said quickly.
"These people deserve no better treatment after the thing they've done
to you. All you need say is, 'You will accept my resignation forthwith.'
Write that out on a piece of paper, and sign it. Then take it along to
Mr. Sternford. Tell him of your decision, and ask him to have it sent by
the wireless. He'll do it, my dear. And after that--why, after that, if
you still feel the same about things, and want to turn missionary in the
lumber camps, come right back to me here, and I'll do for you as you
ask. It's a great thought, Nancy, and I honour you for it. It's a hard,
desperate sort of life, without comfort or earthly reward. Once the
twilight of the forest claims you, and its people know you, there's
nothing to do but to go on and on to the end. Will you go--and send just
that message?"

Nancy inclined her head.

"Yes. I'll go right away, just as soon as I've taken this tray back."

She rose abruptly. She gathered the remains of the meal on to the tray
and picked it up. And the manner of her movements betrayed her. She
stood for a moment, and the man saw the struggle for composure that was
going on behind her pretty eyes.

"Father," she said at last, and the man abruptly rose from his chair and
moved away, "I just can't thank you--for this. It's given me fresh hope.
A hope I never thought would be mine. Some day--"

Her voice broke and the man turned at once. He was smiling again.

"Don't say a word, my dear. Not a word. Go and write that message, and
take it to Sternford. And then--why--"

He moved over to the door and held it open for her. As she passed out he
nodded kindly, and looked after her till she vanished into the kitchen
at the end of the passage.

* * * * *

Father Adam was alone again in the room that had been his for so many
weeks. The door was closed and he stood at the window gazing out at the
dreary world beyond. But he saw nothing of it. He was thinking with the
speed of a mind chafing at delay. He was wondering and