VIII

February and March and April were past, and May was come. Lepage had had
a hard struggle for life, but he had survived. For weeks every night
there was a repetition of that first night after the return: delirious
self-condemnation, entreaty, appeal to his wife, and Hume's name
mentioned in shuddering remorse. With the help of the Indian who had
shared the sick man's sufferings in the Barren Grounds, the factor and
Hume nursed him back to life. After the first night no word had passed
between the two watchers regarding the substance of Lepage's delirium.
But one evening the factor was watching alone, and the repentant man from
his feverish sleep cried out: "Hush, hush! don't let them know--I stole
them both, and Rose did not know. Rose did not know!"

The factor rose and walked away. The dog was watching him. He said to
Bouche: "You have a good master, Bouche."




IX

In an arm-chair made of hickory and birch-bark by Cloud-in-the-Sky,
Lepage sat reading a letter from his wife. She was at Winnipeg, and was
coming west as far as Regina to meet him on his way down. He looked a
wreck; but a handsome wreck. His refined features, his soft black beard