bove the great St. Lawrence River,
and dictates its course to the Gulf, when the wind from the north,
bringing with it flurries of fine snow, began to blow cold and strong.
Doctor Chalmers drew the buffalo robes tighter about him, and settled
back in a corner of the sleigh; he had three miles yet to drive before
he reached farmer Frechette's house. "Had I known it was going to be
this cold I would have arranged for some other doctor to take up the
case," he muttered. Had he only done so, how different his life would
have been!

"We were afraid you would not come to-day," said Madame Frechette as
she led him into the kitchen, where the stove was throwing out a
genial heat.

"Had the message been less urgent, I should not have done so," he
replied, stooping and warming his benumbed hands. Farmer Frechette sat
facing the doctor at the opposite side of the stove, furtively
glancing at the young physician, dissatisfaction imprinted on every
line of his face; he was bitterly disappointed. "He is little better
than a boy," the old man repeated to himself, over and over again.

"This is the doctor from Montreal, Adele," said the mother, bending
over her sick daughter. Doctor Chalmers drew near the bed, and as the
light from the coal-oil lamp fell across Adele's face, he could not
help but think how beautiful she was even in her illness.

For a long time nothing could be heard in the kitchen but the loud
ticking of the yellow-faced clock, hung high above the old deal table,
and the occasional murmur of voices in the sick girl's room. Unable
any longer to sit and endure the suspense, the farmer rose, and began,
fretfully, to walk to and fro. Finally he stopped at the window, and
his gaze travelled across the great expanse of white, beautified by
the pale light of the early moon, to the tin-clad church tower in the
distance, which shone like burnished silver as the moon's rays fell
upon it.

"If she dies there is no Virgin and the priests have deceived us," he
said, looking steadily at the tower; "but if she lives"--and he
straightened out his bent figure--"I shall die happy in the faith. I
will leave money to help build the new church which Father Sauvalle so
long has wished to have built." Hearing a slight noise behind him, he
turned quickly. His wife, followed by the doctor, was entering the
room.

"Well?" he queried, in a peculiar tone, looking at the doctor as
though he knew he would tell him there was no hope.

"Sh