r, blaspheming and railing at
such as I.... I offered the things, and told him that was all I could
give. After a little he shook his head, and said that he must have the
woman for his wife. I did not know what to add. I said, 'She is white,
and the white people will never rest till they have killed you all, if
you do this thing. The Company will track you down.' Then he said, 'The
whites must catch me and fight me before they kill me.'... What was
there to do?"

Bagot came near to the priest, bending over him savagely:

"You let her stay with them--you, with hands like a man!"

"Hush," was the calm, reproving answer. "I was one man, they were
twenty."

"Where was your God to help you, then?"

"Her God and mine was with me."

Bagot's eyes blazed. "Why didn't you offer rum--rum? They'd have done it
for that--one--five--ten kegs of rum!"

He swayed to and fro in his excitement, yet their voices hardly rose
above a hoarse whisper all the time.

"You forget," answered the priest, "that it is against the law, and that
as a priest of my order I am vowed to give no rum to an Indian."

"A vow! A vow! Son of God! what is a vow beside a woman--my wife?"

His misery and his rage were pitiful to see.

"Perjure my soul! Offer rum! Break my vow in the face of the enemies of
God's Church! What have you done for me that I should do this for you,
John Bagot?"

"Coward!" was the man's despairing cry, with a sudden threatening
movement. "Christ himself would have broke a vow to save her."

The grave, kind eyes of the priest met the other's fierce gaze, and
quieted the wild storm that was about to break.

"Who am I that I should teach my Master?" he said, solemnly. "What would
you give Christ, Bagot, if He had saved her to you?"

The man shook with grief, and tears rushed from his eyes, so suddenly
and fully had a new emotion passed through him.

"Give--give!" he cried, "I would give twenty years of my life!"

The figure of the priest stretched up with gentle grandeur. Holding out
the iron crucifix, he said: "On your knees and swear it, John Bagot!"

There was something inspiring, commanding, in the voice and manner, and
Bagot, with a new hope rushing through his veins, knelt and repeated his
words.

The priest turned to the door, and called, "Madame Lucette!"

The boy, hearing, waked, and sat up in bed suddenly.

"Mother! mother!" he cried, as the door flew open.

The mother came to her husband's arms, laughing