pain. In few and confused words I
tried to relate what had happened.

"The country's yours, Mr. Sutherland," said I, too weak, thick-tongued
and deliriously happy for speech.

"Much to be thankful for," was the Scotchman's comment. "Seven Oaks is
avenged. It would ill 'a' become a Sutherland to give his daughter's
hand to a conqueror, but I would na' say I'd refuse a wife to a man
beaten as you were, Rufus Gillespie," and he strode off to attend to
outdoor work.

And what next took place, I refrain from relating; for lovers' eloquence
is only eloquent to lovers.

CHAPTER XXVII

UNDER ONE ROOF

Nature is not unlike a bank. When drafts exceed deposits comes a
protest, and not infrequently, after the protest, bankruptcy. From the
buffalo hunt to the recapture of Fort Douglas by the Hudson's Bay
soldiers, drafts on that essential part of a human being called stamina
had been very heavy with me. Now came the casting-up of accounts, and my
bill was minus reserve strength, with a balance of debt on the wrong
side.

The morning after the escape from Fort Douglas, when Mr. Sutherland
strode off, leaving his daughter alone with me, I remember very well
that Frances abruptly began putting my pillow to rights. Instead of
keeping wide awake, as I should by all the codes of romance and common
sense, I--poor fool--at once swooned, with a vague, glimmering
consciousness that I was dying and this, perhaps, was the first blissful
glimpse into paradise. When I came to my senses, Mr. Sutherland was
again standing by the bedside with a half-shamed look of compassion
under his shaggy brows.

"How far," I began, with a curious inability to use my wits and tongue,
"how far--I mean how long have I been asleep, sir?"

"Hoots, mon! Dinna claver in that feckless fashion! It's months, lad,
sin' ye opened y'r mouth wi' onything but daft gab."

"Months!" I gasped out. "Have I been here for months?"

"Aye, months. The plain was snaw-white when ye began y'r bit nappie.
Noo, d'ye no hear the clack o' the geese through yon open window?"

I tried to turn to that side of the little room, where a great wave of
fresh, clear air blew from the prairie. For some reason my head refused
to revolve. Stooping, the elder man gently raised the sheet and rolled
me over so that I faced the sweet freshness of an open, sunny view.

"Did I rive ye sore, lad?" asked the voice with a gruffness in strange
contradiction to the gentleness of the touch