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Neither could she be a riverhter, for it was inconceivable that either a riverirl down into civilization, where this girl had undoubtedly been It was that point chiefly which puzzled Kent She was not only beautiful She had been tutored in schools that were not taught by wilderness missioners In her, it seemed to him, he had seen the beauty and the wild freedoht out of the heart of an ancient aristocracy that was born nearly two hundred years ago in the old cities of Quebec and Montreal

His ht: he reht out every nook and cranny of that ancient town of Quebec, and had stood over graves two centuries old, and deep in his soul had envied the dead the lives they had lived He had always thought of Quebec as a rare old bit of ti cities--the heart of the New World as it had once been, still beating, still whispering of its one-ti in the edies--a ghost that lived, that still beat back defiantly the destroying s And it pleased hi north, and still farther north--even as the spirits of the profaned dead had risen fro that the way had at last been lorious day and whispered softly, as if she were standing there, listening to him: "If I had lived--I would have called you--my Quebec It's pretty, that name It stands for a lot And so do you"

And out in the hall, as Kent whispered those words, stood Father Layonne, with a face that hiter than the mere presence of death had ever ed ten years since he had placed his stethoscope at Kent's chest that ray rock, and young Mercer, in whose staring eyes was the horror of a thing he could not yet quite coan made an effort to speak and failed Kedsty wiped his forehead, as he had wiped it theof Kent's confession And Father Layonne, as he went to Kent's door, was breathing softly to himself a prayer