Suddenly Mrs. Corbett started as if she had heard a strange and disturbing noise; she threw out her hands as if in protest.  She sat still a few moments holding fast to the kitchen table in her excitement; her eyes glittered, and her breath came short and fast.

She went hurriedly into the pantry, fearful that her agitation might be noticed.  In her honest soul it seemed to her that her plan, so terrible, so daring, so wicked, must be sounding now in everybody’s ears.

In the darkness of the pantry she tried to think it out.  Was it an inspiration from heaven, or was it a suggestion of the devil?  One minute she was imploring Satan to “get thee behind me,” and the next minute she was thanking God and whispering Hallelujahs!  A lull in the storm drove her to immediate action.

John Corbett came out into the kitchen to see what was burning, for Maggie had forgotten her biscuits.

When the biscuits were attended to she took “Da” with her into the pantry, and she said to him, “Da, is it ever right to do a little wrong so that good will come of it?”

She asked the question so impersonally that John Corbett replied without hesitation:  “It is never right, Maggie.”

“But, Da,” she cried, seizing the lapel of his coat, “don’t you mind hearin’ o’ how the priests have given whiskey to the Indians when they couldn’t get the white captives away from them any other way?  Wasn’t that right?”

“Sure and it was; at a time like that it was right to do anything—­but what are you coming at, Maggie?”

“If Rance Belmont lost all the money he has on him, and maybe ran a bit in debt, he couldn’t go away to-morrow with her, could he?  She thinks he’s just goin’ to drive her to Brandon, but I know him—­he’ll go with her, sure—­she can’t help who travels on the train with her—­and how’ll that look?  But if he were to lose his money he couldn’t travel dead broke, could he, Da?”

“Not very far,” agreed Da, “but what are you coming at, Maggie?  Do you want me to go through him?” He laughed at the suggestion.

“Ain’t there any way you can think of, Da—­no, don’t think—­the sin is mine and I’ll take it fair and square on my soul.  I don’t want you to be blemt for it—­Da, listen—­” she whispered in his ear.

John Corbett caught her in his arms.

“Would I?  Would I?  Oh, Maggie, would a duck swim?” he said, keeping his voice low to avoid being heard in the other room.

“Don’t be too glad, Da; remember it’s a wicked thing I’m askin’ you to do; but, Da, are you sure you haven’t forgot how?”

John Corbett laughed.  “Maggie, when a man learns by patient toil to tell the under side of an ace he does not often forget, but of course there is always the chance, that’s the charm of it—­nobody can be quite sure.”