of justice--he had come for that.

Perhaps he might arrive at Askatoon before the stroke of the hour,
but still he would be too late, for in her pocket now was the Governor's
reprieve. The man had slept soundly. His wallet was still in his
breast; but the reprieve was with her.

If he left without discovering his loss, and got well on his way, and
discovered it then, it would be too late. If he returned--she only saw
one step before her, she would wait for that, and deal with it when it
came. She was thinking of Lucy, of her own lover ruined and gone. She
was calm in her madness.

At the first light of the moon she roused him. She had put food into his
fur-coat pocket, and after he had drunk a bowl of hot pea-soup, while she
told him his course again, she opened the door, and he passed out into
the night. He started forward without a word, but came back again and
caught her hand.

"Pardon," he said; "I go forget everyt'ing except dat. But I t'ink what
you do for me, it is better than all my life. Bien sur, I will come
again, when I get my mind to myself. Ah, but you are beautibul," he
said, "an' you not happy. Well, I come again--yes, a Dieu."

He was gone into the night, with the moon silvering the sky, and the
steely frost eating into the sentient life of this northern world.
Inside the house, with the bearskin blind dropped at the window again,
and the fire blazing high, Loisette sat with the Governor's reprieve in
her hand. Looking at it, she wondered why it had been given to Ba'tiste
Caron, and not to a police-officer. Ah yes, it was plain--Ba'tiste was a