y followed the trim figure in the simple muslin
gown. It was a rare picture indeed for a man who had but just finished
seven months in the "bush," half the time with the spectre of starvation
haunting his heels--this girl with the dusky eyes and hair, the vivid
memory of whose face he had carried with him into the nameless barrens.
But she belonged to another and he, Jean Marcel, was branded as a
murderer at Whale River, even if he escaped the law.

Presently, when Pere Breton was called from the room to minister to a
Cree convert, Julie became serious.

"Jean Marcel, I have much to say to you; but it is hard--to begin."

"I should think you would have little to say to Jean Marcel."

"Why, because some half-breeds have brought a story to Whale River which
was not true?"

"Well, enough of it is true, Julie, to make the Indians believe, when
they hear it, that Jean Marcel killed his partners to save himself from
starvation."

"Not if Pere Breton and Monsieur Gillies have any influence with the
Crees. They will not allow them to believe such a cruel falsehood,"
protested Julie, vehemently.

Marcel smiled indulgently at the girl's ignorance of Cree psychology.

"The harm is already done," he said. "One man is found stabbed; also the
outfit of another gone. The third man comes back. No matter what M'sieu
Gillies and Pere Henri tell them they will believe the man guilty who
got out alive."

"They will not believe these Lelacs, when they are shown to be liars,"
she insisted, stamping her foot impatiently.

"They have lied about the rifle and fur only, Julie. They are telling
the truth when they say they found Antoine and some of Piquet's outfit.
The rest does not matter except to make me a thief as well as murderer."

"Oh, but it is all so unjust, so terrible to be accused like this when
because of your good heart you wished to bury Antoine decently in the
spring instead of leaving him in the snow where they would never have
found him. It is too----" Julie Breton's voice broke with emotion.
Through tears her dark eyes flashed in protest at the pass to which a
blind fate had brought an innocent man.

Marcel was deeply touched by this revelation of the girl's loyalty; but
her tears roused his heart to a wild beating. Unable to speak, he faced
her, his dark features illumined with the gratitude and love he could
not voice. For a space he sat fighting for the mastery of his emotions.
Then he said huskily:

"Julie B