hour, _mais_, after, it is--_bon Dieu_!--it is hell then. Who shall
forgif me--no!"

"The stroke of the hour--the stroke of the hour!" It beat into her brain.
Were they both thinking of the same thing now?

"You will show me queeck way. I mus' be Askatoon in two days, or it is all
over," he almost moaned. "Is no man here--I forget dat name, my head go
round like a wheel; but I know dis place, an' de good God, He help me fin'
my way to where I call out, _bien sur_. Dat man's name I have forget."

"My father's name is John Alroyd," she answered, absently, for there were
hammering at her brain the words, "_The stroke of the hour._"

"Ah, now I get--yes. An' your name, it is Loisette Alroy--ah, I have it in
my mind now--Loisette. I not forget dat name, I not forget you--no."

"Why do you want to go the 'quick' way to Askatoon?" she asked.

He puffed a moment at his pipe before he answered her. Presently he said,
holding out his pipe, "You not like smoke, mebbe?"

She shook her head in negation, making an impatient gesture.

"I forget ask you," he said. "Dat journee make me forget. When Injun Jo,
he leave me with the dogs, an' I wake up all alone, an' not know my
way--not like Jo, I think I die, it is so bad, so _terrible_ in my head.
Not'ing but snow, not'ing. But dere is de sun; it shine. It say to me,
'Wake up, Ba'tiste; it will be all right bime-bye.' But all time I t'ink I
go mad, for I mus' get Askatoon before--_dat_."

She started. Had she not used the same word in thinking of Askatoon.
"_That_," she had said.

"Why do you want to go the 'quick' way to Askatoon?" she asked again, her
face pale, her foot beating the floor impatiently.

"To save him before _dat_!" he answered, as though she knew of what he was
speaking and thinking.

"What is _that_?" she asked. She knew now, surely, but she must ask it
nevertheless.

"Dat hanging--of Haman," he answered. He nodded to himself. Then he took
to gazing into the fire. His lips moved as though talking to himself, and
the hand that held the pipe lay forgotten on his knee.

"What have you to do with Haman?" she asked, slowly, her eyes burning.

"I want safe him--I mus' give him free." He tapped his breast. "It is here
to mak' him free." He still tapped his breast.

For a moment she stood frozen still, her face thin and drawn and white;
then suddenly the blood rushed back into her face, and a red storm raged
in her eyes.

She thought of the sister, younger t