and his hat on the back of his head. He had had his shooting, he had
done his thinking, and he was pleased with himself. He had shaped his
homeward course so that it would bring him near to Gabriel Druse's house.

He had seen Fleda only twice since the episode at Carillon, and met her
only once, and that was but for a moment at a Fete for the hospital at
Manitou, and with other people present--people who lay in wait for crumbs
of gossip.

Since the running of the Rapids, Fleda had filled a larger place in the
eyes of Manitou and Lebanon. She had appealed to the Western mind: she
had done a brave physical thing. Wherever she went she was made
conscious of a new attitude towards herself, a more understanding
feeling. At the Fete when she and Ingolby met face to face, people had
immediately drawn round them curious and excited. These could not
understand why the two talked so little, and had such an every-day manner
with each other. Only old Mother Thibadeau, who had a heart that sees,
caught a look in Fleda's eyes, a warm deepening of colour, a sudden
embarrassment, which she knew how to interpret.

"See now, monseigneur," she said to Monseigneur Lourde, nodding towards
Fleda and Ingolby, "there would be work here soon for you or Father
Bidette if they were not two heretics."

"Is she a heretic, then, madame?" asked the old white-headed priest, his
eyes quizzically following Fleda.

She is not a Catholic, and she must be a heretic, that's certain," was
the reply.