glory of
something in the woman's face.

His eyes must have burned strangely as he stared at her, but it did not
change that light in her own, and her hands were wonderfully gentle as
she helped Nepapinas raise him so that he was sitting up straight, with
pillows at his back.

"It doesn't hurt so much now, does it?" she asked, her voice low with a
mothering tenderness.

He shook his head. "No. What is the matter?"

"You were burned--terribly. For two days and nights you were in great
pain, but for many hours you have been sleeping, and Nepapinas says the
burns will not hurt any more. If it had not been for you--"

She bent over him. Her hand touched his face, and now he began to
understand the meaning of that glory shining in her eyes.

"If it hadn't been for you--he would have died!"

She drew back, turning to the door. "He is coming to see you--alone,"
she said, a little broken note in her throat. "And I pray God you will
see with clear understanding, David Carrigan--and forgive me--as I have
forgiven you--for a thing that happened long ago."

He waited. His head was in a jumble, and his thoughts were tumbling
over one another in an effort to evolve some sort of coherence out of
things amazing and unexpected. One thing was impressed upon him--he had
saved St. Pierre's life, and because he had done this Carmin Fanchet
was very tender to him. She had kissed him, and Marie-Anne had kissed
him, and--

A strange dawning was coming to him, thrilling him to his finger-tips.
He listened. A new sound was approaching from the hall. His door was
opened, and a wheel-chair was rolled in by old Nepapinas. In the chair
was St. Pierre Audemard. Feet and hands and arms were wrapped in
bandages, but his face was uncovered and wreathed in smiling happiness
when he saw David propped up against his pillows. Nepapinas rolled him
close to the bed and then shuffled out, and as he closed the door,
David was sure he heard the subdued whispering of feminine voices down
the hall.

"How are you, David?" asked St. Pierre.

"Fine," nodded Carrigan. "And you?"

"A bit scorched, and a broken leg." He held up his padded hands. "Would
be dead if you hadn't carried me to the river. Carmin says she owes you
her life for having saved mine."

"And Marie-Anne?"

"That's what I've come to tell you about," said St. Pierre. "The
instant they knew you were able to listen, both Carmin and Marie-Anne
insisted that I come and tell you things. Bu