I wish I could feel all that," Nancy exclaimed with an impulse
which a few moments before must have been impossible.

"You can." Bull nodded. "You will."

"You think so?" Nancy sighed. "I wish I could." Suddenly she spread out
her hands in a little pathetic gesture. "Oh, it all seems wrong.
Everything. What am I to do? What can I do? I--I can't even think.
Whichever way I look it all seems so black and hopeless. You think I
can--will?"

Bull's sympathy would no longer be denied. He rose from his chair and
moved to the window. His face was hidden from the troubled eyes that
watched him. But his voice came back infinite in its gentleness.

"You want to do something," he said. "You want to give expression to the
woman in you. And when that has happened it'll make you feel--better. I
know."

He nodded. Suddenly he turned back to her, and stood smiling down into
her anxious eyes.

"Tell me," he went on, "what is it you want to do? You're no prisoner
now. The war's finished. You're just as free as air to come and go as
you please. You can return to Quebec the moment you desire, and the
_Myra_ comes along up. And everything I can possibly arrange shall be
done for your happiness and comfort. When would you like to go?"

The girl shook her head.

"I wasn't thinking of that."

"I knew that," Bull smiled.

"Father Adam. He's in the house there sick and wounded," Nancy hurried
on. "I know him. I--may I nurse him back to health and strength. May I
try that way to teach myself I'm not the thing I think and feel. Oh, let
me be of use. Let me help to undo the thing I've done so much to bring
about."

The girl's hands were thrust out, and her eyes were shining. Never in
his life had Bull experienced such an appeal. Never in his life had he
been so near to reckless disregard for all restraint. He came nearer to
her.

"Surely you may do that," he said. "And I just want to thank you from
the bottom of my unfeeling heart for the thought that prompts you. We
haven't a soul here to do it right--to do it as you can. And Father Adam
is a mighty precious life to us all--in Sachigo."

CHAPTER XXIV

THE COMING OF SPRING

It had been a hard day. Bull Sternford had spent it dealing with
complicated financial schedules, an amazing, turbulent sea of figures,
until his powers and patience had temporarily exhausted themselves.

In a final fit of irritation he had flung his work aside, and risen from
his desk. The insuffera