ow did she come to know so
much about love? Surely she had never loved any one with her whole soul.
Neither had she craved an overwhelming affection. But now the world
seemed large, and strange, and empty to her. She rustled the leaves
under her feet, as if they made a sort of company in the loneliness.
Perhaps it would not have been so bad to have taken M. Boulle's love. If
only love did not mean nearness, some sacred rites, kisses. She felt if
she raised her hand in permission it might still be hers. No, no, she
could not take it, and she shivered. Why, it was nearly dark, and cold.
She must run to warm her blood.

She came in bright and glowing, her eyes in cordial shining.

"Thank the Holy Mother that you have come," cried Mawha. "Miladi has
been crying and going on and saying that you have deserted her. Wanamee
could not comfort her. Run, quick."

Miladi was sobbing as if her heart would break. Rose bent over her,
smoothed her brow and hair, chafed the cold hands.

"The way was so long and dark," she cried, "such a long, long path. Will
I have to go all alone?" and Rose could feel the terrified shiver.

"You will not have to go anywhere," began the girl, in a soothing tone.
"I shall stay here with you."

"But you were gone," complainingly.

"I will not go again."

"Then sit here and hold my hands. I think it was a dream. I am not going
to die. I am really better. I walked about to-day. Is there word from
Monsieur? You know we are going to France in the summer. Do you know
what happens when one dies? I've seen the little Indian babies die. Do
you suppose they really have souls?"

"Every one born in the world has. The priest will tell you." Rose gained
a little courage. "Perhaps you would like to see Father Jamay."

"I went to confession a long while ago. The priest wanted my French
books. M. Ralph said I need not give them up. I prayed to the Virgin. I
prayed for many things that did not come. But we will go to France, M.
Ralph promised, and he never breaks his word, so I do not need to pray
for that. I am cold. Cover me up warm, and get something for my feet.
Then sit here and put your arms around me. Promise me you will never go
away again."

"I promise"--in a sweet, soft tone.

Then she sat on the side of the bed and placed her arm about the
shoulders. How thin they were.

"Sing something. The silence frightens me."

Rose sang, sometimes like a chant, lines she could recall that had a
musical so