boughs.

Father Lucien crossed the floor and after standing for a time beside the
bunk came back and sat down by the stove.

"You can put in fresh wood; it won't disturb him now," he said. "He's
sleeping well. I think the danger's over."

The cord wood snapped and crackled, the front of the stove got red, and
sitting in a corner out of the draughts, they began to talk in low
voices.

"Driscoll was delirious; he talked strangely," Thirlwell remarked. "Is a
sick man's raving all such stuff as dreams?"

"Ah," said Father Lucien, "we know little yet about the working of the
disordered brain, but the imagination sometimes centers on and distorts
things that have happened. Did you get a hint of intelligence in what
Driscoll said?"

"I did. He said he _never had the thing_. Somebody--Strange,
perhaps--_took it with him_."

"Why do you think he meant Strange?"

"Because his mind was obviously dwelling on the night Strange's canoe
capsized. He said it was an accident--he could not stop her swinging
across the stream--as if he were answering somebody who accused him. The
disturbing thing was that although delirious he looked horribly afraid."