ards the dimly lighted saloon, and then made her
way slowly to the Indian lodge which was her temporary home. The sight
of the sad look on the missionary's face stood out clear and distinct
as she lay that night beneath her blankets. Another Face, too, often
came before her, weary, and blood-stained from the cruel crown of
thorns.

No picture had affected her so much as the one she had often gazed
upon, in the school room, of the Saviour hanging on the cross. Over
and over again she had sketched it until every detail was indelibly
impressed upon her heart. The weary face; the nail-pierced hands and
feet; the mocking crowd, had mingled with her dreams, and her
passionate resolve, but never until this night had the meaning of it
all stood out so real and distinct.

During the days that followed Jennie fought a stern battle. At times
the old longing almost gained the mastery, and she would draw forth the
knife, but always to return it to its hiding place among the bundle of
rags. Sometimes she watched Pritchen's movements with a strange
fascination, when the wild nature would reassert itself until crushed
back again by a mighty effort.

The result of this stern struggle was very apparent on this bright
afternoon as the maiden busied herself with the sketches. Her face,
almost radiant, revealed the heart within, an outward and visible sign
of an inward and spiritual grace.

When the pictures had been arranged to her satisfaction, she arose and
began to array herself in her finest dress, kept only for the most
important occasions. It took her some time to complete her costume,
and often she glanced at herself in a small broken mirror, with all the
pride of some society belle preparing for a grand ball. Finally over
her head and shoulders she threw a small bright-coloured shawl, a
present from the Christmas tree two years before.

Seizing the pictures in her hand, and drawing the wrap firmly around
her body, she left the lodge, glided swiftly and noiselessly down the
trail leading to the white settlement, and after a while turned sharply
to the left. A queer little bundle she presented as she mounted the
hill leading to the Radhurst cabin. Timidly she knocked upon the door,
and when Constance had thrown it open, she stepped into the building
without a word and seated herself upon the edge of the first stool
which caught her attention. Her little black eyes instinctively drank
in every object in the room, fro