iven. The thing is understood. Certain runners, whose
turn it is, shadow the Free Trader. Your father is not responsible; no
one is responsible. It is the policy."

"And this man--"

"It has gone about that he is to take _la Longue Traverse_. He knows
it himself."

"It is barbaric, horrible; it is murder."

"My dear, it is all that; but this is the country of dread. You have
known the soft, bright side always--the picturesque men, the laugh,
the song. If you had seen as much of the harshness of wilderness life
as a doctor's wife must you would know that when the storms of their
great passions rage it is well to sit quiet at your prayers."

The girl's eyes were wide-fixed, staring at this first reality of
life. A thousand new thoughts jostled for recognition. Suddenly her
world had been swept from beneath her. The ancient patriarchal, kindly
rule had passed away, and in its place she was forced to see a grim
iron bond of death laid over her domain. And her father--no longer the
grave, kindly old man--had become the ruthless tyrant. All these
bright, laughing _voyageurs_, playmates of her childhood, were in
reality executioners of a savage blood-law. She could not adjust
herself to it.

She got to her feet with an effort.

"Thank you, Mrs. Cockburn," she said, in a low voice. "I--I do not
quite understand. But I must go now. I must--I must see that my
father's room is ready for him," she finished, with the proud
defensive instinct of the woman who has been deeply touched. "You know
I always do that myself."

"Good-night, dearie," replied the older woman, understanding well the
girl's desire to shelter behind the commonplace. She leaned forward
and kissed her. "God keep and guide you. I hope I have done right."

"Yes," cried Virginia, with unexpected fire. "Yes, you did just right!
I ought to have been told long ago! They've kept me a perfect child to
whom everything has been bright and care-free and simple. I--I feel
that until this moment I have lacked my real womanhood!"

She bowed her head and passed through the log room into the outer air.

Her father, _her_ father, had willed this man's death, and so he was
to die! That explained many things--the young fellow's insolence, his
care-free recklessness, his passionate denunciation of the Reverend
Crane and the Reverend Crane's religion. He wanted one little
thing--the gift of a rifle wherewith to assure his subsistence should
he escape into the forest--and