and was so white
that even the sunlight was gold beside her look. Yet the strangest,
saddest smile played about her lips; and presently, as the eyes of the
others fastened on the woman and did not leave her, she regained her
usual composure.

The woman kept looking at Gabriel Druse. "When Dennis found that I had
gone, and knew why--for I left word on a sheet of paper--he went mad
like me. Trailing to the south, to find M'sieu' Marchand, he had an
accident, and was laid up in a shack for weeks on the Tanguishene River,
and they could not move him. But at last a ranchman wrote to me, and the
letter found me on the very day I left M'sieu'. When I got that letter
begging me to go to the Tanguishene River, to nurse Dennis who loved me
still, my heart sank. I said to myself I could not go; and Dennis and
I must be apart always to the end of time. But then I thought again. He
was ill, and his body was as broken as his mind. Well, since I could do
his mind no good, I would try to help his body. I could do that much for
him. So I went. But the letter to me had been long on the way, and when
I got to the Tanguishene River he was almost well."

She paused and rocked her body to and fro for a moment as though in
pain.

"He wanted me to go back to him then. He said he had never cared for the
woman at Yargo, and that what he felt for me now was different from what
it had ever been. When he had settled accounts we could go back to the
ranch and be at peace. I knew what he meant by settling accounts, and it
frightened me. That is why I am here. I came to warn the man, Marchand,
for if Dennis kills him, then they will hang Dennis. Do you not see?
This is a country of law. I saw that Dennis had the madness in his
brain, and so I left him again in the evening of the day I found him,
and came here--it is a long way. Yesterday, M'sieu' Marchand laughed at
me when I warned him. He said he could take care of himself. But such
men as Dennis stop at nothing; there will be killing, if M'sieu' stays
here."

"You will go back to Dennis?" asked Fleda gently. "Some other woman will
make him happy when he forgets me," was the cheerless, grey reply.

The old man got up and, coming over, laid a hand upon her shoulder.

"Where did you think of going from here?" he asked.

"Anywhere--I don't know," was the reply.

"Is there no work here for her?" he asked, turning to Madame Bulteel.

"Yes, plenty," was the reply. "And room also?" he asked again