fully to recognize her until she came and knelt down at
his side, taking his cold hand in hers. Then he smiled, and turning a
little towards her, said "Mary!"

She could not answer, but she bent her head down for a moment upon the
hand she held.

"You have been here before?" he went on. "I remember seeing you. You
have forgiven me, then?"

"Quite. Think of other things now."

"I can't think of anything except that I must be dying, and that I am
glad you are here."

"I have been near you all the while you have been here; I shall not
leave you again."

"No, not again--it will be such a little while, and I cannot hurt you
now. Have you been happy?"

"Sometimes. I had our child."

"Where is she?"

"Here. She was tired and has fallen asleep."

"Don't wake her yet. I know I forget a great deal--everything seems far
off--but just at last I wanted you, and you are here."

Both were silent for a minute. Then he spoke again--

"Mary, why did you marry an Indian?"

"Because I loved him," she said, her voice half choked by sobs.

"It was a pity. You knew nothing. They cheated you into it; but I think,
though he was a brute, he loved you always. In his way, you know, as
much as he could."

His mind seemed to be beginning to wander again, and his voice grew
weaker. She rose, crying quietly, and gave him a little more wine. Then
she touched Lucia and said, "Come, my child."

Lucia was instantly awake. She followed her mother to the bedside.

"Here is our daughter. Can you see her?"

"Not very well. Is she like you?"

"No. She is an Indian girl--strangers say she is beautiful, but to me
she is only my brave, good child."

"I am glad. She will make amends. It is all right now; you will be free
and safe. Good-bye."

He was silent for awhile, lying with closed eyes; and when he spoke
again it was in Ojibway. He seemed to be talking to his own people, and
to fancy himself out in the woods with a hunting party. After a time
this ceased also, and then he began to talk confusedly in the three
languages which were familiar to him, and in broken, incoherent
sentences. His voice, however, grew fainter and fainter. The wine which
they gave him at short intervals seemed to revive him each time for a
moment; but neither of them could doubt that the end was very near.

But as it came nearer still, the delusion that had been strongest lately
came back to the dying man. He again fancied himself a child--the
favourite pup