?"

Afraid? It was an ugly word for Barney to swallow. No, he was not
afraid, but his native diffidence, intensified by these recent years of
self-repression and self-absorption, had made all speech difficult to
him, but more especially speech that revealed the deeper movements of
his soul.

"No, Margaret, I'm not afraid," he said slowly. "But I'd rather have
them take the flesh off that arm bit by bit than get up and speak to
them. I'd have to tell them the truth, don't you see, Margaret? How can
I do that?"

"All that you say must be the truth, Barney, of course," she replied.
"But you will tell them just what you will."

With these words she turned away, leaving him silent and fighting a
desperate fight. His word passed to his brother must be kept. But soon
a deeper issue began to emerge. His honour was involved. His sense of
loyalty was touched. He knew himself to be a different man from the man
who, last week, in "Mexico's" saloon, had beaten his old antagonist at
the old game. His consciousness of himself, of his life purposes, of
his outlook, of his deepest emotions, was altogether a different
consciousness. And more than all, that haunting, pursuing restlessness
was gone and, in its place, a deep peace possessed him. The process by
which this had been achieved he could not explain, but the result was
undeniable, and it was due, he knew, to an influence the source of which
he frankly acknowledged to be external to himself. The words of the
beaten and confounded pagan magic-workers came to him, "This is the
finger of God." He could not deny it. Why should he wish to hide it? It
became clear to him, in these few minutes of intense soul activity, that
there was a demand being made upon him as a man of truth and honour, and
as the struggle deepened in his soul and the possibility of his refusing
the demand presented itself to his mind, there flashed in upon him
the picture of a man standing in the midst of enemies, the flickering
firelight showing his face vacillating, terror-stricken, hunted. From
the trembling lips of the man he heard the words of base denial, "I know
not the man," and in his heart there rose a cry, "O Christ! shall I do
this?" "No," came the answer, strong and clear, from his lips, "I will
not do this thing, so help me God."

Margaret turned quickly around and looked at him in dismay. "You won't?"
she said faintly.

"I'll take the service," he replied, setting the long jaws firmly
together