s of feeling just the same. It seemed to her as if she was looking
at life now through an atmosphere charged with some rare, refining
essence, and that in it she stood exultingly. Perhaps she did not define
it so; but that which we define she felt. And happy are they who feel
it, and, feeling it, do not lose it in this world, and have the hope of
carrying it into the next.

After a time she rose, went over to him and touched his shoulder. It
seemed strange to her to do this thing. She drew back timidly from the
pleasant shock of a new experience. Then she remembered that he ought
to be on his way, and she shook him gently, then, with all her strength,
and called to him quietly all the time, as if her low tones ought
to wake him, if nothing else could. But he lay in a deep and stolid
slumber. It was no use. She went to her seat and sat down to think. As
she did so, her father entered the room.

"Did you call, Jen"? he said; and turned to the sofa. "I was calling to
Sergeant Tom. He's asleep there; dead-gone, father. I can't wake him."

"Why should you wake him? He is tired."

The sinister lines in Galbraith's face had deepened greatly in the
last hour. He went over and looked closely at the Sergeant, followed
languidly by Pierre, who casually touched the pulse of the sleeping man,
and said as casually:

"Eh, he sleep well; his pulse is like a baby; he was tired, much. He has
had no sleep for one, two, three nights, perhaps; and a good meal, it
makes him comfortable, and so you see!"

Then he touched lightly the triple chevron on Sergeant Tom's arm, and
said:

"Eh, a man does much work for that. And then, to be moral and the friend
of the law all the time!" Pierre here shrugged his shoulders. "It is
easier to be wicked and free, and spend when one is rich, and starve
when one is poor, than to be a sergeant and wear the triple chevron. But
the sleep will do him good just the same, Jen Galbraith."

"He said that he must go to Archangel's Rise tonight, and be back at
Fort Desire to-morrow night."

"Well, that's nothing to us, Jen," replied Galbraith, roughly. "He's got
his own business to look after. He and his tribe are none too good to
us and our tribe. He'd have your old father up to-morrow for selling
a tired traveller a glass of brandy; and worse than that, ay, a great
sight worse than that, mind you, Jen."

Jen did not notice, or, at least, did not heed, the excited emphasis on
the last words. She thought t