he? Does he?" came the deep, jerky reply. "And what if he does?"

"H-h-ow is he?" Keith could not help it. An indescribable chill was
creeping over him, and his teeth chattered.

"Doesn't he look well?" roared the giant, as he flung the door wide
open. "Watch'er want of 'im?"

"They told me you were hurt; the gun burst, and tore away your arm."

"Who told you that?"

"The men at Klassan."

"And who are you, anyway?"

"A medical man, and a missionary."

The man started, and his eyes, terrible before, now fairly blazed in
their sockets. Torrents of oaths poured from his lips, and he sprang
back into the cabin towards a rifle which was standing in a corner.

No longer did Keith hesitate. He realized his danger, and turning fled
from the building out again into the night, whither he knew not, any
place was better than near that raving demon with those terrible eyes.
Breathless and exhausted, he at length paused and listened, but nothing
could he hear except the wind howling in the tree-tops overhead. The
truth now flashed upon him. He had been deceived, tricked, the object
of a huge joke. It hardly seemed possible that men with any spark of
feeling would do such a thing. For an instant a fierce rage took
possession of his soul. He clenched his mittened hands, his teeth
ground together, and the blood surged tumultuously through his body.

"O God!" he cried, "punish them. Strike them down, or give me strength
to do it!"

He paused. His lifted hand dropped to his side, and a change passed
over his face. What was that he saw standing there in the storm? A
form, thorn-crowned, with bleeding hands, and pierced side. The lips
moved. "Father, forgive them," he heard Him say, "they know not what
they do."

The scene was so vivid, and the words so clear, that Keith fell upon
his knees in the snow, unheeding the curious dogs squatting near.

"Father, forgive _me_!" he cried, lifting his hands to heaven.
"Forgive me, Thy ambassador, for my wicked words. I was----"

What was that? Music, the strains of a violin. He listened intently.
He recognized the refrain.

"Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the new-born King,
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled."

Keith staggered to his feet, and peered through the darkness, but could
see nothing. He followed the sound, and ere long a square building
loomed up in the distance. Toward this he feebly made his way,
totte