r, comforting
his heart that he had this right, until he drew near the cabin, and
there Amalia saw the pelt of the sheep hung upon the wall of the
cabin, pitifully dangling, bloody and ragged. Strangely, at the sight
quite harmless, yet gruesome, all her fortitude gave way. With a cry
of terror she hid her face and clung to him.

"No, no. I cannot go there--not near it--no!"

"Oh, you brave, sweet woman! It is only a skin. Don't look at it,
then. You have been frightened. I see how you have suffered. Wait.
There--no, don't put your foot to the ground. Sit on this hillock
while I take it away."

But she only clung to him the more, and sobbed convulsively. "I am
afraid--'Arry King. Oh, if--if--they are there still! Those Indian! Do
not go there."

"But they are gone; I have been in and they are not there. I won't
take you into that place until I have made it fit for you again. Sit
here awhile. Amalia Manovska,--I can't see you weep." So tenderly he
spoke her name, with quivering lips, reverently. With all his power he
held himself and would dare no more. If only once more he might touch
her lips with his--only once in his renunciation--but no. His
conscience forbade him. Memory closed upon him like a deadening cloud
and drenched his hurt soul with sorrow. He rose from stooping above
her and looked back.

"Your mother is coming. She will be here in a moment and then I will
set that room in order for you, and--" his voice shook so that he was
obliged to pause. He stooped again to her and spoke softly: "Amalia
Manovska, stop weeping. Your tears fall on my heart."

"Ah, what have happen, to you--to Amalia--? Those terrible men
'rouge'!" cried Madam Manovska, hurrying forward.

"Oh, Madam, I am glad you have come. The Indians are gone, never fear.
Amalia has hurt her foot. It is very painful. You will know what to do
for her, and I will leave her while I make things more comfortable in
there."

He left them and ran to the cabin, and hastily taking the hideous pelt
from the wall, hid it, and then set himself to cleaning the room and
burning the litter of bones and scraps left from the feast. It was
horrible--yes, horrible, that they should have had such a fright, and
alone there. Soon he went back, and again taking her in his arms,
unresisted now, he laid her on the bunk, then knelt and removed her
worn shoe.

"Little worn shoe! It has walked many a mile, has it not? Did you
think to ask Larry Kildene to bring you