had come; and
in the revulsion of that relief nature gave way. Her tears ceased, her
breath came heavily, and the poor woman slept, the first refreshing
slumber of an unmeasured time.

When she waked at length, Joseph was crossing the room. The fire had
died out, twilight was falling, she was conscious of duties left
undone. Yet there was light enough left for her to scan the Indian's
impassive face with keen intensity, and though he turned neither to
the right nor left but went out with no word or gesture to satisfy her
craving, she felt that she had had her answer:

"Unless a miracle is wrought my master is doomed."

CHAPTER XVIII

THE LETTER

From the moment of his entrance to the sick room, old Joe assumed all
charge to it, and with scant courtesy banished from it both Angelique
and Margot.

"But he is mine, my own precious uncle. Joe has no right to keep me
out!" protested Margot, vehemently.

Angelique was wiser. "In his own way, among his own folks, that Indian
good doctor. Leave him be. Yes. If my master can be save', Joe
Wills'll save him. That's as God plans; but if I hadn't broke----"

"Angelique! Don't you ever, ever let me hear that dreadful talk again!
I can't bear it. I don't believe it. I won't hear it. I will not. Do
you suppose that our dear Lord is--will----"

She could not finish her sentence and Angelique was frightened by the
intensity of the girl's excitement. Was she, too, growing feverish
and ill? But Margot's outburst had worked off some of her own
uncomprehended terror, and she grew calm again. Though it had not been
put into so many words, she knew from both Angelique's and Joseph's
manner that they anticipated but one end to her guardian's illness.
She had never seen death, except among the birds and beasts of the
forest, and even then it had been horrible to her; and that this
should come into her own happy home was unbearable.

Then she reflected. Hugh Dutton's example had been her instruction,
and she had never seen him idle. At times when he seemed most so,
sitting among his books, or gazing silently into the fire, his brain
had been active over some problem that perplexed or interested him.
"Never hasting, never wasting," time, nor thought, nor any energy of
life. That was his rule and she would make it hers.

"I can, at least, make things more comfortable out of doors. Angelique
has let even Snowfoot suffer, sometimes, for want of the grooming and
care she's alwa