selves up in this," said Freddy.

But Harry Delong replied quickly: "I am going to see the thing through."
And the others endorsed his words. When the clergyman came, and looked
at the face of this Magdalene, he was struck by its comeliness and
quiet. All else seemed to have been washed away. On her breast lay a
knot of white roses--white roses in this winter desert.

One man present, seeing the look of wonder in the clergyman's eyes, said
quietly: "My--my wife sent them. She brought the plant from Quebec. It
has just bloomed. She knows all about her."

That man was Harry Delong. The keeper of his home understood the other
homeless woman. When she knew of Blanche's death she said: "Poor girl,
poor girl!" and then she had gently added, "Poor Jacques!"

And Jacques, as he sat in a chair by the fire four days after the
tragedy, did not know that the clergyman was reading over a grave on
the hillside, words which are for the hearts of the quick as for the
untenanted dead.

To Jacques's inquiries after Blanche, Soldier Joe had made changing and
vague replies. At last he said that she was ill; then, that she was very
ill, and again, that she was better, almighty better--now. The third day
following the funeral, Jacques insisted that he would go and see her.
The doctor at length decided he should be taken to Weir's Tavern, where,
they declared, they would tell him all. And they took him, and placed
him by the fire in the card-room, a wasted figure, but fastidious in
manner and scrupulously neat in person as of old. Then he asked for
Blanche; but even now they had not the courage for it. The doctor
nervously went out, as if to seek her; and Freddy Tarlton said,
"Jacques, let us have a little game, just for quarters, you know. Eh?"

The other replied without eagerness: "Voila, one game, then!"

They drew him to the table, but he played listlessly. His eyes shifted
ever to the door. Luck was against him. Finally he pushed over a silver
piece, and said: "The last. My money is all gone. 'Bien!'" He lost that
too.

Just then the door opened, and a ranchman from Purple Hill entered. He
looked carelessly round, and then said loudly:

"Say, Joe, so you've buried Blanche, have you? Poor old girl!"

There was a heavy silence. No one replied. Jacques started to his feet,
gazed around searchingly, painfully, and presently gave a great gasp.
His hands made a chafing motion in the air, and then blood showed on his
lips and chin. H