Ambrose heard this with mixed feelings.  His heart bled for Colina.  Yet the grim thought would not down that the tyrannous old trader had received no more than his deserts.  He soothed her with clumsy tenderness.

“Why do you want to keep it a secret?” he asked, after a while.

“Father wished it,” said Colina.  “We think he must have had a good reason.  The doctor thinks it is best.  There has been a good deal of trouble with the natives; many of them are ugly and rebellious.  And we whites are so few!

“Father could keep them in hand.  They are in such awe of him; they regard him as something almost more than mortal.  If they learn that he is vulnerable—­who knows what might happen!”

“I understand,” said Ambrose grimly.

“So no one knows, not even the servants.  I have hidden all the—­things.  Of course, the man who did it will never tell.”  The calm voice suddenly broke in a cry of agony.  “Oh, Ambrose!”

He comforted her mutely.

“It is so dreadful to think that any one should hate him so!” said poor Colina.  “So unjust!  They are like his children.  He is severe with them only for their good!”

Ambrose concealed a grim smile at this partial view of John Gaviller.

“He lies there so white and still,” she went on.  “It nearly breaks my heart to think how I have quarreled with him and gone against his wishes.  If waiting on him day and night will ever make it up to him, I’ll do it!”

Ambrose’s breast stirred a little with resentment, but he kept his mouth shut.  He understood that it was good for Colina to unburden her breast.

“Ah, thank God I have you!” she murmured.

They heard the doctor coming, and Colina drew away.  She introduced the two men.

“Mr. Doane is my friend,” she said.  “He is one of us.”

The doctor favored Ambrose with a glance of astonishment before making his professional announcement.  Ambrose saw the typical hanger-on of a trading-post, a white man of Gaviller’s age, careless in dress, with a humorous, intelligent face, showing the ravages of a weak will.  At present, with the sole responsibility of an important case on his shoulders, he looked something like the man he was meant to be.

It was no time for commonplaces.

“John is conscious,” he said directly.  “He is showing remarkable resistance.  There is no need for any immediate alarm.  He wants to make a statement.  I made the excuse of getting pencil and paper to come down.  In a matter of such importance I think there should be another witness.”

“I will go,” said Colina.

Giddings shook his head.  “Your father expressly forbade it,” he said.  “He wishes to spare you.”

Colina made an impatient gesture, but seemed to acquiesce.

“You go,” she said to Ambrose.

Giddings looked doubtful, but said nothing.