looked at her in the same dull way, scarcely seeming to see
her.

"Mary," he repeated mechanically. "She went away." Then changing to his
own language, he said with more energy, "She is hidden, but I shall find
her; no fear," and his head sank down again upon his arm.

His wife trembled as she heard the old threat which had pursued her for
so long, but she would not be discouraged. She spoke again in Ojibway,

"She is found. She wants to help and comfort her husband. She is here.
Raise your head and look at her."

He obeyed, and looked steadily at her, but still with the look of one
but half awake.

"No," he said slowly. "All lies. Mary is not like you. She has bright
eyes, and brown hair, soft and smooth like a bird's wing. I beat her,
and she ran away. Go! I want to sleep."

Mr. Strafford came forward.

"Have you forgotten me, too, Christian?" he asked.

Christian turned to him with something like recognition.

"No. You were here yesterday. Tell them to let me go away."

"It is because I want to persuade them to let you go, that I am here
now, and your--this lady, whom you do not remember, also."

"What does a squaw know? Send her away."

A look passed between the two friends, and the wife moved to a little
distance from her husband, where she was out of his sight.

"I wish," Mr. Strafford said, "you could tell me exactly what you were
doing the day they brought you here."

"I was sleeping," Christian answered. "I lay under the bush, and went to
sleep; and then they came and woke me, and brought me here. I want air!"
he cried, suddenly changing his tone, and springing up, he rushed to the
grated window, and seemed to gasp for breath. The small lattice stood
open, but the prisoner, devoured by fever, could not be satisfied with
such coolness as came in through it. He seized the iron bars with
trembling hands and tried to shake them; then finding it useless, went
back to his chair, and covering his face, burst into tears.

Mrs. Costello was instantly at his side. In her strange, short married
life she had given no caresses to her tyrant; now, upon this miserable
wreck, she lavished all the compassionate tenderness of her heart. Mr.
Strafford stood by helpless, yielding to the woman her natural place of
comforter. For a moment, as she held his head upon her bosom and laid
her cool soft hand upon his burning forehead, Christian seemed to
recognize her; he looked up into her face piteously, and once or tw