p pain brought
a moan to her lips; and this drew the priest's attention. He rose, and
brought her some food and drink. "My daughter," he said, "you must take
these." Something in her face touched his sensitive mind, and he said,
solemnly: "You are alone with me and God, this hour. Be at peace. Eat."

Her eyes swam with instant tears. "I know--I am alone--with God," she
said. Again he gently urged the food upon her, and she took a little;
but now and then she put her hand to her side as if in pain. And once,
as she did so, she said: "I've far to go and the pain is bad. Did they
take him away?"

Father Corraine shook his head. "I do not know of whom you speak," he
replied. "When I went to my door this morning I found you lying there.
I brought you in, and, finding no sign of life in you, sent Featherfoot,
my Indian, to Fort Cypress for a trooper to come; for I feared that
there had been ill done to you, somehow. This border-side is but a rough
country. It is not always safe for a woman to travel alone."

The girl shuddered. "Father," she said "Father Corraine, I believe you
are?" (Here the priest bowed his head.) "I wish to tell you all, so that
if ever any evil did come to me, if I should die without doin' what's in
my heart to do, you would know, and would tell him if you ever saw him,
how I remembered, and kept rememberin' him always, till my heart got
sick with waitin', and I came to find him far across the seas."

"Tell me your tale, my child," he patiently said. Her eyes were on the
candle in the window questioningly. "It is for the trooper--to guide
him," the other remarked. "'Tis past time that he should be here. When
you are able you can go with him to the Fort. You will be better cared
for there, and will be among women."

"The man--the man who was kind to me--I wish I knew of him," she said.

"I am waiting for your story, my child. Speak of your trouble, whether
it be of the mind and body, or of the soul."

"You shall judge if it be of the soul," she answered.

"I come from far away. I lived in old Donegal since the day that I was
born there, and I had a lover, as brave and true a lad as ever trod the
world. But sorrow came. One night at Farcalladen Rise there was a crack
of arms and a clatter of fleeing hoofs, and he that I loved came to me
and said a quick word of partin', and with a kiss--it's burnin' on my
lips yet--askin' pardon, father, for speech of this to you--and he was
gone, an outlaw, to Aus