d bloody.
With sobs and execrations he poured forth his tale to Brown.

"And my father has sworn to kill him, and if he fails I shall
take it up."

"Kalman, my boy," said Brown, "I cannot wonder that you feel like
this. Killing is too good for the brute. But this you cannot do.
Vengeance is not ours, but God's."

"If my father fails," said Kalman quietly, "I shall kill him."

"You must not think like that, much less speak so," said Brown.
"This is Canada, not Russia. You are a Christian man and no heathen."

"I can't help it," said Kalman; "I can only see that bloody snow."
He put his hands over his eyes and shuddered violently. "I must
kill him!"

"And would you ruin your own life? Would you shut yourself off
forever from your best and holiest thoughts? And what of your
sister, and Jack, and me? And what of--of--all your friends?
For this one fierce and sinful passion--for it is sinful,
Kalman--you would sacrifice yourself and all of us."

"I know all that. It would sacrifice all; but in here," smiting
his breast, "there is a cry that will not cease till I see that
man's blood."

"God pity you, Kalman. And you call yourself a follower of Him who
for His murderers prayed, 'Father, forgive them.'" Then Brown's
voice grew stern. "Kalman, you are not thinking clearly. You must
face this as a Christian man. The issue is quite straight. It is no
longer between you and your enemy; it is between you and your Lord.
Are you prepared to-night to reject your Lord and cut yourself off
from Him? Listen." Brown took his Bible, and turning over the
leaves, found the words, "'If ye forgive not men their trespasses,
neither will your Father forgive your trespasses'; and remember,
these are the words of Him who forgave those who had done their
worst on Him, blighting His dearest hopes, ruining His cause,
breaking His heart. Kalman, you dare not."

And Kalman went his way to meet his Gethsemane in the Night Hawk
ravine, till morning found him on his face under the trees, with
his victory still in the balance. The hereditary instincts of
Slavic blood cried out for vengeance. The passionate loyalty of
his heart to the memory of his mother and to his father cried out
for vengeance. His own wrongs cried out for vengeance, and against
these cries there stood that single word, "Father, forgive them,
they know not what they do."

Before a week was gone old Portnoff came hot foot to Brown to
report that early that morning Rosenblat