glow in his eyes, and his heart was thrilled. They walked so swiftly
that it seemed to him only a few moments when they came to a little
clump of low trees, and into these Father Roland led David by the hand,
treading lightly now.

In another moment they stood beside someone who was sleeping. Father
Roland pointed down, and spoke no word.

It was a woman. The moonlight fell upon her, and shimmered in the thick
masses of dark hair that streamed about her, concealing her face. David
choked. It was his heart in his throat. He bent down. Gently he lifted
the heavy tresses, and stared into the sleeping face that was under
them--the face of the woman he had met that night on the
Transcontinental!

Over him he heard a gentle whisper.

"My wife, David!"

He staggered back, and clutched Father Roland by the shoulders, and his
voice was almost sobbing in its excitement as he cried, whisperingly:

"Then you--you are Michael O'Doone--the father of Marge--and
Tavish--Tavish...."

His voice broke. The Missioner's face had gone white. They went back
into the moonlight again, so that they should not awaken the woman.

* * * * *

Out there, so close that they seemed to be in each other's arms, the
stories were told, David's first--briefly, swiftly; and when Michael
O'Doone learned that his daughter was in David's camp, he bowed his face
in his hands and David heard him giving thanks to his God. And then he,
also, told what had happened--briefly, too, for the minutes of this
night were too precious to lose. In his madness Tavish had believed that
his punishment was near--believed that the chance which had taken him so
near to the home of the man whose life he had destroyed was his last
great warning, and before killing himself he had written out fully his
confession for Michael O'Doone, and had sworn to the innocence of the
woman whom he had stolen away.

"And even as he was destroying himself, God's hand was guiding my
Margaret to me," explained the Missioner. "All those years she had been
seeking for me, and at last she learned at Nelson House about Father
Roland, whose real name no man knew. And at almost that same time, at Le
Pas, there came to her the photograph you found on the train, with a
letter saying our little girl was alive at this place you call the Nest.
Hauck's wife sent the letter and picture to the Royal Northwest Mounted
Police, and it was sent from inspector to inspector, un