pain, it said; it would
still the tumult and the storm; it would solve her problem, it would
give her peace. But as she moved along the river-bank among the trees,
she met the little niece of the priest, who lived in his house, singing
as though she was born but to sing, a song which Finden had written and
Father Bourassa had set to music. Did not the distant West know Father
Bourassa's gift, and did not Protestants attend Mass to hear him play
the organ afterwards? The fresh, clear voice of the child rang through
the trees, stealing the stricken heart away from the lure of the river:

"Will you come back home, where the young larks are singin'?
The door is open wide, and the bells of Lynn are ringin';
There's a little lake I know,
And a boat you used to row
To the shore beyond that's quiet--will you come back home?

Will you come back, darlin'? Never heed the pain and blightin',
Never trouble that you're wounded, that you bear the scars of
fightin';
Here's the luck o' Heaven to you,
Here's the hand of love will brew you
The cup of peace--ah, darlin', will you come back home?"

She stood listening for a few moments, and, under the spell of the
fresh, young voice, the homely, heart-searching words, and the intimate
sweetness of the woods, the despairing apathy lifted slowly away.
She started forwards again with a new understanding, her footsteps
quickened. She would go to Father Bourassa. He would understand. She
would tell him all. He would help her to do what now she knew she must
do, ask Leonard Varley to save her husband's life--Leonard Varley to
save her husband's life!

When she stepped upon the veranda of the priest's house, she did not
know that Varley was inside. She had no time to think. She was ushered
into the room where he was, with the confusing fact of his presence
fresh upon her. She had had but a word or two with the priest, but
enough for him to know what she meant to do, and that it must be done at
once.

Varley advanced to meet her. She shuddered inwardly to think what a
difference there was between the fallen creature she had left behind
in the hospital and this tall, dark, self-contained man, whose name was
familiar in the surgeries of Europe, who had climbed from being the son
of a clockmaker to his present distinguished place.

"Have you come for absolution, also?" he asked with a smile; "or is it
to get a bill of excommunication against your only