ns,
and have headaches and the sound of any one's voice pierce through you
like a knife. It would be terrible."

"Why do you think of that?"

"Because I love you best of everybody. The Governor is very nice, but he
is in France so much and you are here. Then we can climb rocks together
and sit in the forests and hear the trees talk. I go to M. Giffard's
grave and say over the spells Madawando taught me, to bring him back,
but he does not come. If he could, miladi would be bright and gay again,
and we would dance and sing, and have merry times. If you died I should
want to die, too."

He was touched by the child's simple devotion.

"I am not going to die. Your Madawando told me I should live to be very
old. There were some curious lines in my hand."

"I am so glad," she said simply.

"But you had better not tell the good priest that you are trying to
bring M. Giffard back to life in this Indian fashion. They think it a
sin."

"I do not like the priests, in their dirty gray gowns, and their heads
looking as if they had been scalped. Only when they read in their book.
It sounds like those great people in the wars of Troy."

And this was a little Christian girl. Were not the priests also praying
that the souls in purgatory might be lightened of their burden? and he
smiled.

But somehow miladi pressed heavily upon his conscience. M. Giffard had
come to _his_ assistance, to save his property, as well as to save human
lives. He lost sight of the great brotherhood of mankind, of the heroism
of a truly noble soul. Was there anything he could do to lighten her
burthen?

At last she expressed a desire to see him. He had looked to find her
wasted away with grief, changed so that it would be sorrow to look upon
her. She was pale, but, it seemed, more really beautiful than he had
ever known her. Her gown was white, and she had a thin black scarf
thrown around her shoulders which enhanced her fairness. There could be
no shopping for mourning in this benighted country.

"I thought I should go to him," she said in her soft, half-languid
voice. "But the good Pere believes there is something for me to do and
that I must be content to remain, and thankful to live. But all is so
changed. Sometimes I make myself believe that Laurent has gone back to
France to settle matters. He counted so on our return. And that he will
come again for me."

"You would like to go to friends?"

"Alas, there are not many. Some have gone to Eng