nothing to forgive," he murmured. "Mine was the
mistake--mine the blame. It is only natural that you should have loved
each other. I was too old to mate with one so young and fair. I had made
up my mind to release her from her promise--to give her to you, Denzil."

He stopped again, and I saw a sudden change in his face. The doctor
answered my questioning look with a grave nod, and just then the door
was thrown open and Flora entered. She gave me a glance of startled
surprise, and knelt on the opposite side. Shaking the snow from her
furred cloak, she bent over the dying man; her eyes filled with tears of
grief and pity, and her lips trembled.

"Griffith, tell me it is not true!" she cried; "Live for my sake!"

He looked from the girl to me.

"God bless you both!" he said weakly. "Do not grieve for me, Flora. I
loved you, but it was more the love of a father for a daughter. Now I
leave you a legacy of happiness--a husband who will cherish and protect
you. Promise before I go that you will be Denzil's wife. I shall die the
happier if I know that my mistake--is--atoned--"

The effort was too much for him. He gasped for breath, and his face
turned the color of ashes, blood oozed to his lips. I was speechless
with emotion, and Flora was weeping too bitterly for words; but I saw
her lips move, and she suddenly stretched out her hand. I clasped it for
a brief moment, and as I released it and looked at Griffith Hawke, he
shuddered from head to foot and lay still, with closed eyes.

"He is dead," said Menzies.

"Yes, it is over," assented the doctor.

A silence fell on us all, broken only by Flora's sobbing. Overhead, the
sentries spoke in low tones while they watched at their posts, and
outside the wind howled a mournful requiem.

* * * * *

Through the remaining hours of that night the storm raged, heaping the
snow in higher drifts, and keeping half a dozen men busily employed in
clearing the entrances to the various outbuildings. That the Indians had
taken shelter in the forest, and were not likely to attempt another
assault, did little to lighten the general gloom and grief that pervaded
the fort, for there was not a man but felt he had lost a friend in
Griffith Hawke. As for myself, I had a heavy weight of responsibility
upon me, and that prevented my mind from dwelling too much on other
things. I gave a thought now and again to my new-born happiness, but the
thrill of joy was as q