u not think it better that she should
go?"

"Yes, for him; but she grieves now."

"For him?"

"Not alone for him," was the reply. There was a pause, and then she
continued: "Madame told me to say to you that she did not wish Mr.
Roscoe to know that she was still here."

I assured her that I understood, and then she added mournfully: "I
cannot help you now, monsieur, as I did on board the 'Fulvia'. But he
will be better cared for in Miss Devlin's hands, the poor lady!... Do
you think that he will live?"

"I hope so. I am not sure."

Her eyes went to tears; and then I tried to speak more encouragingly.

All day people came to inquire, chief among them Mr. Devlin, whose big
heart split itself in humanity and compassion. "The price of the big
mill for the guarantee of his life!" he said over and over again. "We
can't afford to let him go."

Although I should have been on my way back to Toronto, I determined to
stay until Roscoe was entirely out of danger. It was singular, but in
this illness, though the fever was high, he never was delirious. It
would almost seem as if, having paid his penalty, the brain was at rest.

While Roscoe hovered between life and death, Mr. Devlin, who persisted
that he would not die, was planning for a new hospital and a new church,
of which Roscoe should be president and padre respectively. But the
suspense to us all, for many days, was very great; until, one morning
when the birds were waking the cedars, and the snow on Mount Trinity
was flashing coolness down the hot valley, he waked and said to me:
"Marmion, old friend; it is morning at last."

"Yes, it is morning," said I. "And you are going to live now? You are
going to be reasonable and give the earth another chance?"

"Yes, I believe I shall live now."

To cheer him, I told him what Mr. Devlin intended and had planned;
how river-drivers and salmon-fishers came every day from the valley to
inquire after him. I did not tell him that there had been one or two
disturbances between the river-drivers and the salmon-fishers. I tried
to let him see that there need be no fresh change in his life. At length
he interrupted me.

"Marmion," he said, "I understand what you mean. It would be cowardly of
me to leave here now if I were a whole man. I am true in intention, God
knows, but I must carry a crippled arm for the rest of my life, must
I not?.... and a crippled Padre is not the kind of man for this place.
They want men straight on