very fond of the girl. He
reproached himself over and over again for his past blindness and
mistakes. He knew that he had brought his punishment upon his own
head, and that he deserved it.

As he lay there alone, with the storm beating against the cabin, he
thought of his patient, noble wife, and innocent outcast son. Them he
had lost, and when the gentle and beautiful Jean Sterling had come to
brighten his life, she, too, had been taken from him, and he was once
more left alone. He had plenty of time now to think of all this, and
he wondered if the One he had forsaken for so long was thus hounding
him that He might bring him back to His feet. The story of the
Prodigal Son came into his mind, and he knew that the Master's parable
was being re-enacted in his own life there in the midst of the northern
forest.

"I am the prodigal son," he murmured. "I have wandered far from my
Father, and have been feeding upon the husks. But I will arise and go
to my Father, and will say unto Him, 'Father, I have sinned against
heaven and before Thee, and am no more worthy to be called Thy son.'"

Slowly he repeated these words, but they brought little comfort and
hope to his weary, agitated heart and mind. In his distress he sought
refuge in prayer, and uttered the simple words he learned as a child.
But even they could not bring the rest he sought, nor the peace of
former years. So far had he wandered, and so long had he neglected the
golden means of grace, that the sweet communion of his soul with the
great soul of the Father could not be restored as if by magic in a few
minutes. This he now knew, so with a moan of despair he turned his
haggard face to the wall.

The return of Sam and Kitty when the storm had spent itself, brought
him no hope. They were alone, and Jean was not with them. The Indians
were greatly distressed at the girl's absence, and shook their heads
when Norman asked if they could find her.

"Babby lost," Sam replied. "Beeg snow. Injun no find babby."

Kitty was inconsolable, and while Sam rebuilt the fire which had gone
out, she sat upon the floor, her head covered with an old shawl, and
rocked herself to and fro in an agony of grief. Her sorrow was intense
and real, for the girl had become to her like her own child. Sam, too,
was deeply affected, and made no attempt to reprove his wife. He
wandered from room to room, examining every detail of the havoc wrought
by the slashers. He prepared