a shock--what, he did not know. Then, finally, he answered the
factor's questions.

"I do not need a week, a day, or an hour, to think these matters
over," he said. "All I can give is a final and inclusive, 'No!' to
all of them."

The factor stirred in his place, as much as his wounded shoulder
would permit. All the paternal was gone from him now, and all the
pleading. The eye that regarded the young man glittered balefully,
and the lips were parted in a cruel smile.

"Well, sir," he cried, almost triumphantly, "I shall have to tell
you then that it is impossible for you to marry Jean under any
circumstances."

"Why?"

"Because, sir, you are not the legitimate son of Donald McTavish,
chief commissioner of this company. You have no standing, and can
inherit no money. If you are lucky, you may marry the daughter of
a half-breed some time; but a white girl, even a poor white trapper's
daughter, wouldn't have you." He stopped, and watched cunningly
the effect of his words... This was the sweetest moment of his life.

Donald, for his part, smiled easily. This was merely the fabrication
of a feverish brain, he told himself.

"Will you kindly explain your assertion, sir?" he asked. "You
haven't yet made yourself quite clear."

"I mean," said Fitzpatrick bluntly, "that, before your father
married your mother in Montreal, he had contracted a previous
marriage in the hunting-ground; a marriage amply attested, of which
the certificate still exists. That, of course, makes his second
marriage in Montreal illegal, makes him a bigamist, and you
illegitimate. Moreover (and this is the best joke of all), unknown
to him a son was born, to his first marriage, and that son, according
to law, should inherit the family wealth and position. Now--"

"Stop! Stop! You fiend!" shouted Donald, his hands to his ears,
and a look of fury on his face. "Oh, God! If you weren't lying
there, if your white hairs didn't protect you, I swear to heaven
I'd kill you, if I swung for it. What you have made of my mother!
What you have made of her!" It was characteristic of his nature
that he thought of some one else in a crisis. So it had been in
his boyhood; so it was now when the structure of his life came
tumbling about his ears, just when it had seemed for a little while
most beautiful.

The triumph died out of Fitzpatrick's face, and was supplanted by
an expression of fear. But few times had he ever felt fear, bodily
fear. This was one of th