s substitute for a full meal, he
wandered back to the tent where he had slept. He was allowed perfect
liberty among these men, first, because the weather made it impossible
for him to attempt escape, and, second, because they had received
no orders to keep him under strict guard. Despite his wretched
situation, this morning the spirit of happiness and determination
that had seized him the night before was strong upon him, and he
settled himself to formulating his plans. Suddenly, right beside
him at the tent door, he discovered the bent form of old Maria.
How she had got there he did not know, for she seemed to have risen
directly out of the earth. Her presence both startled him, and
filled him with a quick hatred.

This was the creature who held in her filthy, withered hand the
happiness of so many persons; this was the creature that his father
had lov--No! Not that, for he could only have loved the beautiful
girl he had married in Montreal.

Donald looked at the old woman with a kind of pitying loathing.
What a terrible thing it was that such a worthless bit of humanity
should hold so much power! She was within reach of his hands. A
quick clutch, a stifled squawk, a brief struggle, and she would be
dead. And how much that was to come might be averted! He laughed
a little at such a method of cutting the Gordian knot.

"Laugh while you can, young McTavish," Maria croaked, suddenly.
"It won't be for long."

"Why not, old raven?" he asked, regarding her interestedly.

The certificate! That was it. She had the certificate, and he must
get it.

"The right man is coming," she replied. "The pride of his father's
heart! Ha, ha! Yes, the pride of his father's heart! He'll be rich,
and have the honors heaped high. You'd better go, young McTavish--go
while there's yet time."

"Why should I go? What are you talking about, anyway, old woman?

"You lie!" she yelled at him suddenly, being close. "I see it in
your eyes. You know all. You know why you should go. And I warn
you to go."

"Warn me? What about?"

"If there should be blood, it would do no hurt," she muttered,
vaguely. "Then, he would come into his own, the rightful heir, my
son."

Donald glanced at the beldam with a certain uneasiness now. He felt
a veiled threat, although, he told himself, she was mad. And, yet
if she felt that Seguis must be recognized, what would keep her
from doing incalculable harm?

"You talk a lot, but you say little," he retorted,