determined dark eyes searching hers, for she baffled him. If she could
feel so much for a, "casual," why not a little more feeling for him?
Suddenly, as he drew her eyes to him again, there came the conviction
that they were full of feeling for him. They were sending a message, an
appealing, passionate message, which told him more than he had ever heard
from her or seen in her face before. Yes, she was his! Without a spoken
word she had told him so. What, then, held her back? But women were a
race by themselves, and he knew that he must wait till she chose to have
him know what she had unintentionally conveyed but now.

"Yes, I am moved," she continued slowly. "Who can tell what this man
might do with his life, if it is saved! Don't you think of that? It
isn't the importance of a life that's at stake; it's the importance of
living; and we do not live alone, do we?"

His mind was made up. "I will not, cannot promise anything till I have
seen him. But I will go and see him, and I'll send you word later what
I can do, or not do. Will that satisfy you? If I cannot do it, I will
come to say good-by."

Her face was set with suppressed feeling. She held out her hand to him
impulsively, and was about to speak, but suddenly caught the hand away
again from his thrilling grasp and, turning hurriedly, left the room.
In the hall she met Father Bourassa.

"Go with him to the hospital," she whispered, and disappeared through the
doorway.

Immediately after she had gone, a man came driving hard to bring Father
Bourassa to visit a dying Catholic in the prairie, and it was Finden who