will to prevent herself from going over and taking things in her own
hands, being his nurse, his handmaid, his slave. Duty--to the
government, to her father? Her heart cried out that her duty lay where
all her life was eddying to one centre. What would the world say? She
was not concerned for that, save for him. What, then, would M'sieu' say?
That gave her pause. The Seigneur's words the day before had driven her
back upon a tide of emotions which carried her far out upon that sea
where reason and life's conventions are derelicts, where Love sails with
reckless courage down the shoreless main.

"If I could only be near him!" she kept saying to herself. "It is my
right. I would give my life, my soul for his. I was with him before
when his life was in danger. It was my hand that saved him. It was my
love that tended him. It was my soul that kept his secret. It was my
faith that spoke for him. It was my heart that ached for him. It is my
heart that aches for him now as none other in all the world can. No one
on earth could care as I care. Who could there be?" Something whispered
in her ear, "Kathleen!" The name haunted her, as the little cross had
done. Misery and anger possessed her, and she fought on with herself
through dark hours.

Thus five days had gone, until at last a wagon was brought to the door of
the tailor-shop, and M'sieu' came out, leaning on the arm of Jo
Portugais. There were several people in the street at the time, and they
kept whispering that M'sieu' had been at death's door. He was pale and
haggard, with dark hollows under the eyes. Just as he got into the wagon
the Cure came up. They shook hands. The Cure looked him earnestly in
the face, his lips moved, but no one could have told what he said. As
the wagon started, Charley looked across to the post-office. Rosalie was
standing a little back from the door, but she stepped forward now. Their