"Why does my own flesh and blood do such wicked tricks to an Irish
soldier? Why does it give poison to an Irish soldier?"

"Poison, Jen? You needn't speak so ghost-like. It was only a dose of
laudanum; not enough to kill him. Ask Pierre."

Inwardly she believed him, and said a Thank-God to herself, but to the
half-breed she remarked: "Yes, ask Pierre--you are behind all this!
It is some evil scheme of yours. Why did you do it? Tell the truth for
once." Her eyes swam angrily with Pierre's.

Pierre was complacent; he admired her wild attacks. He smiled, and
replied: "My dear, it was a whim of mine; but you need not tell him, all
the same, when he wakes. You see this is your father's house, though the
whim is mine. But look: he is waking-the pin is good. Some cold water,
quick!"

The cold water was brought and dashed into the face of the soldier. He
showed signs of returning consciousness. The effect of the laudanum had
been intensified by the thoroughly exhausted condition of the body.

But the man was perfectly healthy, and this helped to resist the danger
of a fatal result.

Pierre kept up an intermittent speech. "Yes, it was a mere whim of mine.
Eh, he will think he has been an ass to sleep so long, and on duty, and
orders to carry to Archangel's Rise!" Here he showed his teeth again,
white and regular like a dog's. That was the impression they gave, his
lips were so red, and the contrast was so great. One almost expected to