“Yes, for the love of God.  I have no money, I am poor, but the Company will always honor my orders, for I pay sometimes by the help of le bon Jesu.  Well, I added some things to the list:  a saddle, a rifle, and some flannel.  But no, he would not.  Once more I put many things down.  It was a big bill—­it would keep me poor for five years.  To save your wife, John Bagot, you who drove her from your door, blaspheming and railing at such as I....  I offered the things, and told him that was all I could give.  After a little he shook his head, and said that he must have the woman for his wife.  I did not know what to add.  I said, ’She is white, and the white people will never rest till they have killed you all, if you do this thing.  The Company will track you down.’  Then he said, ’The whites must catch me and fight me before they kill me.’...  What was there to do?”

Bagot came near to the priest, bending over him savagely: 

“You let her stay with them—­you, with hands like a man!”

“Hush,” was the calm, reproving answer.  “I was one man, they were twenty.”

“Where was your God to help you, then?”

“Her God and mine was with me.”

Bagot’s eyes blazed.  “Why didn’t you offer rum—­rum?  They’d have done it for that—­one—­five—­ten kegs of rum!”

He swayed to and fro in his excitement, yet their voices hardly rose above a hoarse whisper all the time.

“You forget,” answered the priest, “that it is against the law, and that as a priest of my order I am vowed to give no rum to an Indian.”

“A vow!  A vow!  Son of God! what is a vow beside a woman—­my wife?”

His misery and his rage were pitiful to see.

“Perjure my soul!  Offer rum!  Break my vow in the face of the enemies of God’s Church!  What have you done for me that I should do this for you, John Bagot?”

“Coward!” was the man’s despairing cry, with a sudden threatening movement.  “Christ himself would have broke a vow to save her.”

The grave, kind eyes of the priest met the other’s fierce gaze, and quieted the wild storm that was about to break.

“Who am I that I should teach my Master?” he said, solemnly.  “What would you give Christ, Bagot, if He had saved her to you?”

The man shook with grief, and tears rushed from his eyes, so suddenly and fully had a new emotion passed through him.

“Give—­give!” he cried, “I would give twenty years of my life!”

The figure of the priest stretched up with gentle grandeur.  Holding out the iron crucifix, he said:  “On your knees and swear it, John Bagot!”

There was something inspiring, commanding, in the voice and manner, and Bagot, with a new hope rushing through his veins, knelt and repeated his words.

The priest turned to the door, and called, “Madame Lucette!”

The boy, hearing, waked, and sat up in bed suddenly.

“Mother! mother!” he cried, as the door flew open.