She went to the door and called the Indian woman. "Ikni," she said.
"He dares to say evil of Andre and me. Think--of Andre!"

Ikni came to him, put her wrinkled face close to his, and said: "She was
yours, only yours; but the spirits gave you a devil. Andre, oh, oh,
Andre! The father of Andre was her father--ah, that makes your sulky
eyes to open. Ikni knows how to speak. Ikni nursed them both. If you
had waited you should have known. But you ran away like a wolf from a
coal of fire; you shammed death like a fox; you come back like the snake
to crawl into the house and strike with poison tooth, when you should be
with the worms in the ground. But Ikni knows--you shall be struck with
poison too, the Spirit of the Red Knife waits for you. Andre was her
brother."

He pushed her aside savagely: "Be still!" he said. "Get out-quick.
'Sacre'--quick!"

When they were alone again he continued with no anger in his tone: "So,
Andre the avocat and you--that, eh? Well, you see how much trouble has
come; and now this other--a secret too. When were you married to Shon
McGann?"

"Last night," she bitterly replied; "a priest came over from the Indian
village."

"Last night," he musingly repeated. "Last night I lost two thousand
dollars at the Little Goshen field. I did not play well last night;
I was nervous. In ten years I had not lost so much at one game as I did
last night. It was a punishment for playing too honest, or something;