danger. Varley had come, and had now been with the patient for some time.

At last the door opened and Varley came in quickly. He beckoned to Mrs.
Meydon and to Father Bourassa. "He wishes to speak with you," he said to
her. "There is little time."

Her eyes scarcely saw him, as she left the room and passed to where Meydon
lay nerveless, but with wide-open eyes, waiting for her. The eyes closed,
however, before she reached the bed. Presently they opened again, but the
lids remained fixed. He did not hear what she said.

* * * * *

In the little waiting-room, Finden said to Varley, "What happened?"

"Food was absolutely forbidden, but he got it from another patient early
this morning while the nurse was out for a moment. It has killed him."

"'Twas the least he could do, but no credit's due him. It was to be. I'm
not envying Father Bourassa nor her there with him."

Varley made no reply. He was watching the receding storm with eyes which
told nothing.

Finden spoke once more, but Varley did not hear him. Presently the door
opened and Father Bourassa entered. He made a gesture of the hand to
signify that all was over.

Outside, the sun was breaking through the clouds upon the Western prairie,
and there floated through the evening air the sound of a child's voice
singing beneath the trees that fringed the river:

"Will you come back, darlin'? Never heed the pain and blightin',
Never trouble that you're wounded, that you bear the scars of fightin';
Here's the luck o' Heaven to you,
Here's the hand of love will brew you
The cup of peace--ah, darlin', will you come back home?"

WATCHING THE RISE OF ORION

"In all the wide border his steed was the best," and the name and fame of
Terence O'Ryan were known from Strathcona to Qu'appelle. He had ambition
of several kinds, and he had the virtue of not caring who knew of it. He
had no guile, and little money; but never a day's work was too hard for
him, and he took bad luck, when it came, with a jerk of the shoulder and a
good-natured surprise on his clean-shaven face that suited well his wide
gray eyes and large, luxurious mouth. He had an estate, half ranch, half
farm, with a French-Canadian manager named Vigon, an old prospector who
viewed every foot of land in the world with the eye of the discoverer.
Gold, coal, iron, oil, he searched for them everywhere, making sure that
sooner or later he would find