ey stepped in with their burden.

"Holy Mary! Maren! Maren! Maren!" cried Henri Baptiste, and took both
her arms in a gripping clasp. He looked into her face with fear and
wonder, as if the girl had returned from the dead, while joy unspeakable
began to lighten his features.

"Sister! Holy Mary!"

And then, when the touch of her in the flesh had dispelled his first
horror, when the sight of the factor swinging grotesquely in the blanket
had taken on the sense of reality, he raised his voice in a stentorian
call.

From every door it brought the populace running, half-dressed and
startled, and in scant space a ring of faces stared upon the strangers
in stupid awe.

"Ma'amselle Le Moyne!" they whispered, fearfully.

"Mother of Heaven! The factor!"

"Our factor! Out of the hands of Death!"

"Mon Dieu! One of them! And the maid!"

And in the midst of the awed and hushed excitement that was growing with
each passing moment, there cut the voice of McElroy, babbling from the
blanket.

"Throw! Throw, Ma'amselle,--for M'sieu!"

"Hush!" said Maren; "where is Prix Laroux?"

"Here!"

The big fellow was pushing through the gathering crowd, to stand before
the weary girl with burning eyes.

"Maren!" he said simply, and could say no more.

"Take him, Prix," she said quietly; "take him to the factory. Get Rette
de Lancy's hand above him for care, and Jack for all things else. Take
these my men, and give them all the post affords, but chiefly rest at
present. They have--"

Here there came a tumult among the listening populace, and Marie rushed
through and flung herself upon Maren and there was time for nothing
else, save that, as Maren turned with her hanging like a vice about
her throat and Henri's arm across her shoulders, there was a streak
of crimson, a flash of ornaments in the sun, but now risen above the
forest's rim, and some one threw herself upon the unconscious form of
McElroy, kissing his face and his helpless hands and weeping terribly.

It was the little Francette. At her heels the great dog, Loup, halted
and glowered at the strangers.

CHAPTER XXVIII THE OLD DREAM ONCE MORE

They led her through the new day, between the staring, whispering
people, this comer from beyond the grave, to the little new cabin beside
the northern wall, across its step and into its sweet, fresh cleanliness
of home; and when Henri had shut the door they stood together in a
group, their arms inwound, and Marie wept hel