Driscoll had turned his head and the light touched his face, which
glistened with sweat. His eyes were wide open, his lips moved as if he
tried to speak, and Thirlwell thought his brain was clear, but saw next
moment that Driscoll was not watching him. He had a curious, strained
look and gazed at the door, as if somebody had come in. The strange
thing was that he looked afraid.

"I couldn't stop her with the back-stroke," he said hoarsely. "She
rolled over as she swung across the stream."

Thirlwell shivered, because it was obvious that the sick man was going
over what had happened the night Strange was drowned. His manner hinted
that he was trying to excuse himself for something he had done.
Shrinking back in the bunk, he resumed in a stronger voice: "I couldn't
stop her! The stream was running fast."

Then he was silent for a time and Thirlwell heard the river rolling
through its ice-bound channel and the dreary wailing of the pines. He
felt disturbed; something in Driscoll's voice and look had jarred his
nerves, and it cost him an effort not to waken Father Lucien. It was not
time yet and the priest needed sleep. Driscoll lay quiet with his eyes
shut, but presently moved and began to mutter. Thirlwell, leaning
forward, caught the words: "I never had the thing; he took it with him."

The strained voice broke, Driscoll drew a hard breath, and feebly turned
his face from the light. After this Thirlwell, whose curiosity was
excited, had less trouble to keep awake, and at length roused Father
Lucien, as he had been told. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning,
the fire had sunk, and the shack was very cold. The wind had fallen and
the bush was silent; one could hear the loose snow dropping from the