strife
was fiercer in the wilderness, just at that time, than almost anywhere
else within the furthest reach of science. On first coming he had found
more people being killed by calomel and jalap than by the plague. At
every turn he encountered this bane of the country which was called
callomy-jallopy, and at that moment he was utterly worn out, body and
soul, by a struggle to save the life of a man who had ignorantly
poisoned himself by drinking some acid after taking the dose. This was
not his first experience of the kind; but he had met the other trials
with the high courage of a light heart and a free mind. It was only
within the last two days that he had been weighed down by
discouragement, by heaviness of heart, and depression of mind. He was so
weary and absorbed now in disheartened thought, that he did not hear
Toby's approach, and he was startled when Father Orin appeared in the
open door. He greeted him with a warmly outstretched hand, but did not
say that he was glad to see him; they were too good friends for empty
phrases, such good friends that they sat down silently, neither needing
a word to know the other's sadness. It was the priest who finally broke
the silence.

"You are troubled, my son," he said, quietly and gently. "I see there is
something besides the trouble which touches us all--this terror of what
is coming on the other side of the river. I see that there is something
else--some closer trouble of your own. If you wish to tell me about it,
I will do what I can to help you; but you know this without being told."

He had spoken at the right moment, for there are moments in the lives of
the most reserved and self-reliant when the heart must speak to ease the
mind. Paul Colbert was a Protestant, and so firm and strong in his faith
that he was ready at all times to defend it, to fight for it; yet this
moment, which has nothing to do with any creed, had come to him, and he
spoke as one man speaks to another whom he trusts and knows to be his
friend. He told what he was suffering, and the cause of his
wretchedness. He spoke of his first meeting with Ruth, and of the love
for her that had leapt up in his heart at the first glimpse of her face,
before he had heard her voice, before he knew her name. He said how
happy he was when chance put her in his arms through that wild night's
ride. He described his visit to her on the next day, and said how far he
was from suspecting that William Pressley was more