"I think Strange found the silver," Father Lucien said quietly.

Thirlwell knitted his brows. He had dark suspicions, but after all they
had no solid foundation, and he thought it best to copy the missionary's
reserve.

"We know Driscoll's character, and may have been mistaken about one
thing. Is it logical to imagine that such a man would feel afraid?"

"Fear sometimes comes without remorse," said Father Lucien.

"Superstitious fear, working on a brain disordered by liquor and
illness?"

"We will not argue about the proper name. It may be superstition, or
something greater. I believe that retribution follows the offense."

Thirlwell looked hard at the other. "Well, I doubt if we will ever know
the truth about Strange's death."

"It is possible," Father Lucien agreed. "Perhaps it is not important
whether we know or not. One thing is certain: if wrong has been done, it
will be made right, if not by the way we would choose, by another. I
think we may leave it there."

"We must," said Thirlwell dryly. "There is nothing else to do. In the
meantime, if I can't be useful, I'm going to sleep."

Day was breaking when he wakened and Father Lucien told him that
Driscoll was better, but would need careful nursing for a time.