was a
wife. And that the priest, in solemn voice, with outstretched hands,
was extending them his blessing.

The voice hesitated--stopped.

In the rear of the room the door was thrown violently open and banged
loudly against the log wall. There was a confused scuffling of feet and
a scraping of heavy benches as the men craned their necks toward the
entrance.

Involuntarily Ethel turned, and there, gliding swiftly toward her up
the blanket-carpeted aisle, was the most picturesquely beautiful woman
she had ever seen.

Wide-eyed she stared at the newcomer. Her face went deathly white, and
the heart within her breast turned to ice, for instinctively she knew,
by the wild, intense beauty of the woman, that she stood face to face
with the Indian girl--the Jeanne of Bill Carmody's whispered words!

Her brain took in the details with incredible rapidity; and the girl
was still coming toward her as she noted the dazzling brightness of the
great silvery wolf-skin that was flung about her shoulders and caught
together at her soft throat; the mass of black hair, upon which the
mist-beads sparkled like a million diamonds; the dark, liquid eyes, and
the even, white teeth that glistened between the curving red lips.

The girl was at her side now, and with a low cry threw herself upon her
knees before the man, and stretched her arms toward him gropingly.

"M's'u' Bill!" she cried, and the voice was sweet and soft; the words
uttered with imploring intensity. And then in Ethel's ears was the
voice of her husband.

"Jeanne, Jeanne," he said; "why have you come? Speak, girl; why have
you come to me?"

At the sound of the name, the thought that at the very altar this
woman's name was upon the lips of her husband, the hot blood surged to
her face and the tiny fists clenched. She was about to speak, but was
forestalled by the half-breed girl who had leaped to her feet and
thrown her arms about Bill's neck and was speaking in short, stabbing
words:

"Come! Come now--with me! Oh, do not wait! Come--even now it may be too
late!"

The low voice quivered with excitement, and the man's hand patted her
shoulder soothingly as he endeavored to quiet her. Ethel took a quick
step forward, and the hard tone of her voice cut upon the air like the
ring of tempered steel.

"Who are you?" she cried. "Speak! What is this man to you?"

The Indian girl turned and faced her, seeming for the first time aware
of her presence. The dark, liquid ey