to think of him, and
she does. She wants to think of you--and she does--ah, bagosh, yes!"

"Yes, I understand," remarked Carnac morosely. "I understand."

"Then why do you let her be under Tarboe's influence? Why don't--"

Carnac thrust out a hand that said silence. "Denzil, I'll never forget
what you've told me about yourself. Some day you'll have to tell it to
the priest, and then--"

"I'll never tell it till I'm on my death-bed. Then I'll tell it, sacre
bapteme, yes!"

"You're a bad Catholic, Denzil," remarked Carnac with emotion, but a
smile upon his face.

"I may be a bad Catholic, but the man deserved to die, and he died.
What's the difference, so far's the world's concerned, whether he died
by accident, or died--as he died. It's me that feels the fury of the
damned, and want my girl back every hour: and she can't come. But some
day I'll go to M'sieu' Luke Tarboe, and tell him the truth, as I've told
it you--bagosh, yes!"

"I think he'd try and kill you, if you did. That's the kind of man he
is."

"You think if he knew the truth he'd try and kill me--he!"

Carnac paused. He did not like to say everything in his mind. "Do you
think he'd say much and do little?"

"I dunno, I dunno, but I'll tell him the truth and take my chance."
Suddenly he swung round and stretched out appealing hands. "Haven't you
got any sense, m'sieu'? Don't you see what you should do? Ma'm'selle
Junia cares for you. I know it--I've seen it in her eyes often--often."

With sudden vehemence Carnac caught the wrists of the other. "It can't
be, Denzil. I can't tell you why yet. I'm going away. If Tarboe wants
her--good--good; I must give her a chance."

Denzil shrank. "There's something wrong, m'sieu'," he said. Then his
eyes fastened on Carnac's. Suddenly, with a strange, shining light in
them, he added "It will all come right for you and her. I'll live for
that. If you go away, I'll take good care of her."

"Even if--" Carnac paused.

"Yes, even if he makes love to her. He'll want to marry her, surelee."

"Well, that's not strange," remarked Carnac.

CHAPTER XI. CARNAC'S TALK WITH HIS MOTHER

Carnac went slowly towards his father's house on the hill. Fixed, as his
mind was, upon all that had just happened, his eye took fondly from
the gathering dusk pictures which the artist's mind cherishes--the long
roadway, with the maples and pines, the stump fences; behind which lay
the garnered fields, where the plough had made r