il
when there is no devil near?"

Guilt was in David's heart, but there was no sting of venom in St.
Pierre's words, and he was laughing at them now, as though what he saw
were a pretty joke and amused him.

"Late hours and shady bowers! I say it should be a love song or
something livelier," he cried, closing the door behind him and coming
toward them. "Why not En Roulant ma Boule, my sweet Jeanne? You know
that is my favorite."

He suddenly interrupted himself, and his voice rolled out in a wild
chant that rocked the cabin.

"The wind is fresh, the wind is free,
En roulant ma boule! The wind is fresh--my love waits me,
Rouli, roulant, ma boule roulant!
Behind our house a spring you see,
In it three ducks swim merrily,
And hunting, the Prince's son went he,
With a silver gun right fair to see--"

David was conscious that St. Pierre's wife had risen to her feet, and
now she came out of shadow into light, and he was amazed to see that
she was laughing back at St. Pierre, and that her two fore-fingers were
thrust in her ears to keep out the bellow of her husband's voice. She
was not at all discomfited by his unexpected appearance, but rather
seemed to join in the humor of the thing with St. Pierre, though he
fancied he could see something in her face that was forced and uneasy.
He believed that under the surface of her composure she was suffering a
distress which she did not reveal.

St. Pierre advanced and carelessly patted her shoulder with one of his
big hands, while he spoke to David.

"Has she not the sweetest voice in the world, m'sieu? Did you ever hear
a sweeter or as sweet? I say it is enough to get down into the soul of
a man, unless he is already half dead! That voice--"

He caught Marie-Anne's eyes. Her cheeks were flaming. Her look, for an
instant, flashed lightning as she halted him.

"Ma foi, I speak it from the heart," he persisted, with a shrug of his
shoulders. "Am I not right, M'sieu Carrigan? Did you ever hear a
sweeter voice?"

"It is wonderful," agreed David, wondering if he was hazarding too much.

"Good! It fills me with happiness to know I am right. And now, cherie,
good-night! I must return to the raft."

A shadow of vexation crossed Marie-Anne's face. "You seem in great
haste."

"Plagues and pests! You are right, Pretty Voice! I am most anxious to
get back to my troubles there, and you--"

"Will also bid M'sieu Carrigan good-night," she quickly interrupted
him