l I have
seen him. But I will go and see him, and I'll send you word later what I
can do, or not do. Will that satisfy you? If I cannot do it, I will come
to say good-by."

Her face was set with suppressed feeling. She held out her hand to him
impulsively, and was about to speak, but suddenly caught the hand away
again from his thrilling grasp and, turning hurriedly, left the room. In
the hall she met Father Bourassa.

"Go with him to the hospital," she whispered, and disappeared through
the doorway.

Immediately after she had gone, a man came driving hard to bring Father
Bourassa to visit a dying Catholic in the prairie, and it was Finden who
accompanied Varley to the hospital, waited for him till his examination
of the "casual" was concluded, and met him outside.

"Can it be done?" he asked of Varley. "I'll take word to Father
Bourassa."

"It can be done--it will be done," answered Varley absently. "I do not
understand the man. He has been in a different sphere of life. He tried
to hide it, but the speech--occasionally! I wonder."

"You wonder if he's worth saving?"

Varley shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "No, that's not what I
meant."

Finden smiled to himself. "Is it a difficult case?" he asked.

"Critical and delicate; but it has been my specialty."

"One of the local doctors couldn't do it, I suppose?"

"They would be foolish to try."

"And you are going away at sunrise to-morrow?"

"Who told you that?" Varley's voice was abrupt, impatient.

"I heard you say so-everybody knows it.... That's a bad man yonder,
Varley." He jerked his thumb towards the hospital. "A terrible bad man,
he's been. A gentleman once, and fell down--fell down hard. He's done
more harm than most men. He's broken a woman's heart and spoilt her
life, and, if he lives, there's no chance for her, none at all. He
killed a man, and the law wants him; and she can't free herself without
ruining him; and she can't marry the man she loves because of that
villain yonder, crying for his life to be saved. By Josh and by Joan,
but it's a shame, a dirty shame, it is!"

Suddenly Varley turned and gripped his arm with fingers of steel.

"His name--his real name?"

"His name's Meydon--and a dirty shame it is, Varley."

Varley was white. He had been leading his horse and talking to Finden.
He mounted quickly now, and was about to ride away, but stopped short
again. "Who knows--who knows the truth?" he asked.

"Father Bourassa and me