"What! you won't send any to those people in distress?"

"Why should I? They are Loyalists, and that is enough."

Jean started and stared at the man in amazement.

Surely she had not heard aright.

"Do you mean what you say?" she asked.

"I certainly do. Those Loyalists will never receive any help from me.

Let them starve and freeze; it is no more than they deserve."

These cold, inhuman words stirred Jean's fighting blood. She rose quickly to her feet, her eyes ablaze with anger.

"I don't know who you are," she began, "and I don't know why you hate the Loyalists. But--" she paused just for an instant, "some of that food and clothing will leave this place to-morrow morning."

The man sat bolt upright at this declaration, and flung out his right hand as if to hit the girl. Then he sank back upon the bed with a groan.

"You can't help yourself," Jean reminded, "so it is better for you to keep quiet. Some of those supplies are going, whether you like it or not."

"But this is a hold-up, a robbery," the man charged.

"I don't care what you call it, and I'm not worrying about that. I only know that men, women, and children are starving not far away, so while there is food here they are going to have some of it."

Jean was surprised at her boldness. But it was not time for half-way measures. If the owner would not agree to let the supplies go, she would take matters into her own hands.

"Oh, but for this confounded pain in my side I would soon teach you who is master of this house," the man shouted. "You are an impudent hussy, and I believe the story you told me about being carried away is a lie.

And how do I know but what you are lying about those Loyalists? You and your Indian companions may keep what you take for yourselves."

"You can believe me or not, just as you wish," Jean quietly and firmly replied. "But those supplies are going to the Loyalists in the morning. I would be ashamed to be called Colonel Sterling's daughter if I were afraid to use strong measures to save starving people."

At these words the man suddenly lifted himself on his right elbow, and peered keenly at the girl.

"Light the rest of those candles," he ordered. "I must see your face.

I want to know if you are telling me the truth."

Jean did so, and then returned to the man's side.

"Stand there," he commanded, "a little to the right, so I can see your face. Ah, that's better. Now, tell me your father's Christian name."

"James," the girl replied.

"Yes, but James what? He has a second name, has he not?"

"Witrow. James Witrow Sterling; that's his full name."

"What was your mother's name?"

"Deborah Ruth."

"But her maiden name?"

"Winslow."

"And your name?"

"Priscilla Jean, although I only get 'Jean.'"

"After whom were you named?"

"A very dear friend of my parents."

"Who was she?"

"Priscilla Jean Norman, so I have been told."

"Where is she now?"

"I do not know. She and her husband disappeared years ago, and no word has been received from them since. They were the dearest friends my father had, and he feels the loss very keenly."

"Is your mother alive?"

"No; she died several years ago."

With a deep sigh the man dropped back upon the pillow, and remained silent for a few minutes. Jean sat down by his side, lost in thought.

What was the meaning of the man's sudden excitement? she asked herself.

And why did he question her so closely about her parents' names?

Perhaps he had known them in the past. At length the man stirred, reached out his right hand and touched hers.

"Young woman," he began, "for your parents' sake alone I give you permission to take food and clothing to those starving people."

"Oh, I am so glad!" Jean replied. "But did you know my father and mother?"

To this question the man seemed to pay no heed. His eyes were fixed upon the seven candles.

"Yes, there were seven of us," he murmured as if to himself, "seven who were all in all to one another. But six went out, and I was left alone. Put them out again, Miss, and leave just one burning. You may go now, as I want to think. Send Sam to me. He can sleep in here to-night. You will find plenty of blankets in the next room. Good night."

Quietly and almost reverently Jean extinguished six of the candles, and then left the room. She felt that there was a deep mystery surrounding this man's life of which the seven-branch candle-stick was but the outward symbol.

CHAPTER XXIV

TIMON OF THE WILDERNESS

Jean awoke the next morning much refreshed after the good night's rest.

She slept upon a liberal supply of blankets which Kitty had prepared for her upon the floor. This was a treat after camp-life, and when she opened her eyes the Indian woman was cooking breakfast. It was not yet daylight, but the room was quite bright from the dancing flames of the fire-place. It felt nice to lie there with a roof above her and no weary journey ahead for that day, at least. She recalled the events of the previous day, and wondered how the injured man had pa.s.sed the night. She had fallen asleep thinking about him, and the mystery of his life. Whoever he was, she was thankful that he had known her parents, and that for their sake he was willing to send food to the Loyalists. The Indians were to start that morning, so she must be ready to a.s.sist them in selecting the supplies.