oft shoulders and tender arms where once had been rags
and bruises, and held there by the slim beauty and exquisite daintiness
of her he stared like a fool, until suddenly she laughed joyously at
his amaze, and ran to him with wide-open arms, and kissed him so soundly
that Peter cocked up his ears a bit startled. And then she kissed Father
John, and after that was mistress at the table, radiant in her triumph
and her eyes starry with happiness.

And she was no longer shy in speaking his name, but called him
Roger boldly and many times, and twice during that meal of marvelous
forgetfulness--though long lashes covered her eyes when she spoke
it--she called him 'my husband.'

In truth she was a woman and for the most part Roger McKay--fighting man
and very strong though he was--looked at her in dumb worship, speaking
little, his heart a-throb, and his brain reeling in the marvel of what
at last had come into his possession.

And yet, even in this hour of supreme happiness that held him half mute,
there was always lurking in the back of his brain a thought of Breault,
the Ferret.

CHAPTER XIX

In the star dusk of evening the time came when he spoke his fears to
Father John.

Nada had gone into her room, taking Peter with her, and out under the
cool of the skies Father John's pale face was turned up to the unending
glory of the firmament, and his lips were whispering a prayer of
gratitude and blessing, when Roger laid a hand gently on his arm.

"Father," he said, "it is a wonderful night."

"A night of gladness and omen," replied Father John. "See the stars!
They seem to be alive and rejoicing, and it is not sacrilege to believe
they are, giving you their benediction."

"And yet--I am afraid."

"Afraid?"

Father John looked into his eyes, and saw him staring off over the
forest-tops.

"Yes--afraid for her."

Briefly he told him of what had happened on the Barren months ago,
and how he had narrowly escaped Breault in coming away from the burned
country.

"He is on my trail," he said, "and tonight he is not very far away."

The Missioner's hand rested in a comforting way on his arm.

"You did not kill Jed Hawkins, my son, and for that we have thanked God
each day and night of our lives--Nada and I. And each evening she has
prayed for you, kneeling at my side, and through every hour of the day
I know she was praying for you in her heart--and I believe in the answer
to prayer such as that, Roger. Her