ng of Kent's
confession. And Father Layonne, as he went to Kent's door, was
breathing softly to himself a prayer.

CHAPTER VII

From the window, the glorious day outside, and the vision he had made
for himself of Marette Radisson, Kent turned at the sound of a hand at
his door and saw it slowly open. He was expecting it. He had read young
Mercer like a book. Mercer's nervousness and the increased tightening
of the thing in his chest had given him warning. The thing was going to
happen soon, and Father Layonne had come. He tried to smile, that he
might greet his wilderness friend cheerfully and unafraid. But the
smile froze when the door opened and he saw the missioner standing
there.

More than once he had accompanied Father Layonne over the threshold of
life into the presence of death, but he had never before seen in his
face what he saw there now. He stared. The missioner remained in the
doorway, hesitating, as if at the last moment a great fear held him
back. For an interval the eyes of the two men rested upon each other in
a silence that was like the grip of a living thing. Then Father Layonne
came quietly into the room and closed the door behind him.

Kent drew a deep breath and tried to grin. "You woke me out of a
dream," he said, "a day-dream. I've had a very pleasant experience this
morning, mon pere."

"So some one was trying to tell me, Jimmy," replied the little
missioner with an effort to smile back.

"Mercer?"

"Yes. He told me about it confidentially. The poor boy must have fallen
in love with the young lady."

"So have I, mon pere. I don't mind confessing it to you. I'm rather
glad. And if Cardigan hadn't scheduled me to die--"

"Jimmy," interrupted the missioner quickly, but a bit huskily, "has it
ever occurred to you that Doctor Cardigan may be mistaken?"

He had taken one of Kent's hands. His grip tightened. It began to hurt.
And Kent, looking into his eyes, found his brain all at once like a
black room suddenly illuminated by a flash of fire. Drop by drop the
blood went out of his face until it was whiter than Father Layonne's.

"You--you don't--mean--"

"Yes, yes, boy, I mean just that," said the missioner, in a voice so
strange that it did not seem to be his own. "You are not going to die,
Jimmy. You are going to live!"

"Live!" Kent dropped back against his pillows. "LIVE!" His lips gasped
the one word.

He closed his eyes for an instant, and it seemed to him that the wor