unless there is a present for each clause. We have much
at stake, and we must give what we have."

"Certainly, Father."

She stepped back into the darkness, and they could hear her dragging
the bundle. Menard sprang to help.

"Mademoiselle, where are you?"

"Here, M'sieu."

He walked toward the sound with his hands spread before him. One hand
rested on her shoulder, where she stooped over the bale. She did not
shrink from his touch. For a moment he stood, struggling with a mad
impulse to take her slender figure in his arms, to hold her where a
thousand Indians could not harm her save by taking his own strong
life; to tell her what made this moment more to him than all the stern
years of the past. It may be that she understood, for she was
motionless, almost breathless. But in a moment he was himself.

"I will take it," he said.

He stooped, took up the bundle, and carried it outside. She followed
to the doorway.

"You will look, Mademoiselle."

She nodded, and knelt by the bundle, while the two men waited.

"There is little here, M'sieu. I brought only what was necessary. Here
is a comb. Would that please them?"

She reached back to them, holding out a high tortoise-shell comb. They
took it and examined it.

"It is beautiful," said Menard.

"Yes; my mother gave it to me."

"Perhaps, Mademoiselle,--perhaps there is something else, something
that would do as well."

"How many should you have, M'sieu?"

"Five, I had planned. There will be five words in the speech."

"Words?" she repeated.

"To the Iroquois each argument is a 'word.'"

"I have almost nothing else, not even clothing of value. Wait--here is
a small coat of seal."

"And you, Father?" asked Menard.

"I have a book with highly coloured pictures, M'sieu,--'The Ceremonies
of the Mass applied to the Passion of Our Lord.'"

"Splendid! Have you nothing else?"

"I fear not."

Menard turned to the maid, who was still on her knees by the open
bundle, looking up at them.

"I am afraid that we must take your coat and the comb," he said. "I am
sorry."

She answered in a low tone, but firmly: "You know, M'sieu, that it
would hurt me to do nothing. It hurts me to do so little."

"Thank you, Mademoiselle. Well, Father, we must use our wits. It may
be that four words will be enough, but I cannot use fewer. We have but
three presents."

"Yes," replied the priest, "yes." He walked slowly by them, and about
in a circle, repeating the word.