ed to
promote me far, and that he and his sister, with their families, would
be glad to see me."

"She was married then?"

The rashness of the suggestion made Fawdor wave his hand impatiently. He
would not reply to it. "I was struck down with all the news," he said.
"I wandered like a child out into a mad storm. Illness came; then you,
who have nursed me back to life.... And now I have told all."

"Not all, bien sur. What will you do?"

"I am out of the world; why tempt it all again? See how those
twenty-five years were twisted by a boy's vanity and a man's tyranny!"

"But what will you do?" persisted Pierre. "You should see the faces of
women and children again. No man can live without that sight, even as a
saint."

Suddenly Fawdor's face was shot over with a storm of feeling. He lay
very still, his thoughts busy with a new world which had been disclosed
to him. "Youth hungers for the vanities," he said, "and the middle-aged
for home." He took Pierre's hand. "I will go," he added. "A door will
open somewhere for me."

Then he turned his face to the wall. The storm had ceased, the wild
dog huddled quietly on the hearth, and for hours the only sound was the
crackling of the logs as Pierre stirred the fire.

LITTLE BABICHE

"No, no, m'sieu' the governor, they did not tell you right. I was with
him, and I have known Little Babiche fifteen years--as long as I've
known you.... It was against the time when down in your world there they
have feastings, and in the churches the grand songs and many candles on
the altars. Yes, Noel, that is the word--the day of the Great Birth. You
shall hear how strange it all was--the thing, the time, the end of it."

The governor of the great Company settled back in a chair, his powerful
face seamed by years, his hair grey and thick still, his keen, steady
eyes burning under shaggy brows. He had himself spent long solitary
years in the wild fastnesses of the north. He fastened his dark eyes on
Pierre, and said: "Monsieur Pierre, I shall be glad to hear. It was at
the time of Noel--yes?"

Pierre began: "You have seen it beautiful and cold in the north, but
never so cold and beautiful as it was last year. The world was white
with sun and ice, the frost never melting, the sun never warming--just
a glitter, so lovely, so deadly. If only you could keep the heart warm,
you were not afraid. But if once--just for a moment--the blood ran out
from the heart and did not come in again,