what his
nature was, and--you have known me for many years. And yet, I have never
ceased to pray for him, wicked as he is. We played together about the
meadows and vine-clad hill slopes of old France, in our happy boyhood.
We grew up and loved and might both have been happily wedded
there,--but--I've told you his story. There is nothing of myself that
can interest you. That letter of Mapleson's, purporting to be from
Patrick O'Meara, is a mere forgery. I have just come up from the
Mission. The records and letters of O'Meara have all been kept there.
This handwriting would not stand, in court, Mapleson. The land was
O'Meara's. It is now O'mie's."

Mapleson sat with rigid countenance. For almost fifteen years he had
matched swords with John Baronet. He had felt so sure of his game, he
had guarded every possible loophole where success might escape him, he
had paved every step so carefully that his mind, grown to the habitual
thought of winning, was stunned by the revelation. Like Judson in the
morning, his only defence lay In putting blame on somebody else.

"You are the most accomplished double-dealer I ever met," he declared to
the priest. "You pretend to follow a holy calling, you profess a love
for your brother, and yet you are trying to rob his child of his
property. You are against Jean Pahusca, son of the man you love so much.
Is that the kind of a priest you are?"

"The very kind--even worse," Le Claire responded. "I went back to France
before my aged father died. My mother died of a broken heart over Jean
long ago. While our father yet lived I persuaded him to give all his
estate--it was large--to the Holy Church. He did it. Not a penny of it
can ever be touched."

Mapleson caught his breath like a drowning man.

"It spoiled a beautiful lawsuit, I know," Le Claire continued looking
meaningly at him. "For that fortune in France, put into the hands of
Jean Pahusca's attorneys here, would have been rich plucking. It can
never be. I fixed that before our father's death. Why?"

"Yes, you narrow, grasping robber of orphans, why?" Tell shouted in his
passion.

"For the same reason that I stood between Jean Pahusca and this town
until he was outlawed here. The half-breed cares nothing for property
except as it can buy revenge and feed his appetites. He would sell
himself for a drink of whiskey. You know how dangerous he is when drunk.
Every man in this town except Judge Baronet and myself has had to flee
from hi