"Oh, thank you, Father--thank you."

Again came the man's restless movement at the word "Father." He abruptly leant forward and held his cup out for replenishment.

"May I?" he asked. Then his smile broke out again. "But tell me," he went on. "What have you done about the Skandinavia?"

"Nothing."

Nancy returned him his cup with an unsteady hand.

"Nothing? But you must communicate with them. You should write and tell them of your decision. You should tell them you don't intend to return to them."

Father Adam sipped his tea. He was watching intently but un.o.btrusively the transparent display of emotions which his words had conjured.

"I hadn't thought about it," Nancy said at last, not without some disappointment. "Do you really think I should write? But it will take so long to reach them. I can't wait for that. It--"

"Wire."

"Yes. I suppose I could--wire."

"Sternford will have it sent for you."

In a moment the light of hope died out of the girl's eyes. The excited flush on her cheeks paled. And the man saw, and read the sign he beheld.

He waited. But Nancy remained silent, crushed under the feeling of utter desolation to which the mention of Bull Sternford's name had reduced her.

Father Adam set his cup down.

"Don't let the sending of that message worry, child," he said quickly.

"These people deserve no better treatment after the thing they've done to you. All you need say is, 'You will accept my resignation forthwith.'

Write that out on a piece of paper, and sign it. Then take it along to Mr. Sternford. Tell him of your decision, and ask him to have it sent by the wireless. He'll do it, my dear. And after that--why, after that, if you still feel the same about things, and want to turn missionary in the lumber camps, come right back to me here, and I'll do for you as you ask. It's a great thought, Nancy, and I honour you for it. It's a hard, desperate sort of life, without comfort or earthly reward. Once the twilight of the forest claims you, and its people know you, there's nothing to do but to go on and on to the end. Will you go--and send just that message?"

Nancy inclined her head.

"Yes. I'll go right away, just as soon as I've taken this tray back."

She rose abruptly. She gathered the remains of the meal on to the tray and picked it up. And the manner of her movements betrayed her. She stood for a moment, and the man saw the struggle for composure that was going on behind her pretty eyes.

"Father," she said at last, and the man abruptly rose from his chair and moved away, "I just can't thank you--for this. It's given me fresh hope.

A hope I never thought would be mine. Some day--"

Her voice broke and the man turned at once. He was smiling again.

"Don't say a word, my dear. Not a word. Go and write that message, and take it to Sternford. And then--why--"

He moved over to the door and held it open for her. As she pa.s.sed out he nodded kindly, and looked after her till she vanished into the kitchen at the end of the pa.s.sage.

Father Adam was alone again in the room that had been his for so many weeks. The door was closed and he stood at the window gazing out at the dreary world beyond. But he saw nothing of it. He was thinking with the speed of a mind chafing at delay. He was wondering and hoping, and--fearing.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE MESSAGE

It was a woman of desperately fortified resolve who turned the handle of the office door in response to Bull Sternford's peremptory summons. The thought of the coming interview terrified Nancy, and her terror had nothing whatever to do with the sending of her message.

Bull failed to look up from the ma.s.s of papers that littered his desk.

His sharp "Well," as Nancy approached him, was utterly impatient at the interruption. And its effect was crushing upon the girl in her present dispirited mood. She felt like headlong flight. She stood her ground, however, and the sound of her little nervous clearing of the throat came to the man at the table.

Bull looked up. In an instant his whole att.i.tude underwent a complete change. His eyes lit, and he sprang from his seat behind the desk. He came towards the shrinking girl, eager and smiling with the welcome his love inspired.

"Why, say, Nancy," he cried. "I just hadn't a notion it was you. I was up to my neck in all this stuff," he said, indicating the litter on his desk, "and I hadn't a thought but it was the darn c.h.i.n.k come to worry with food." He laughed. "You certainly have handed me some scare since you got a grip on our crazy household. I've got a nightmare all the time I've got to eat. And the trouble is I'd hate to miss any of it. Will you come right over to the window and sit? There's daylight enough still. We don't need to use Skert's electric juice till we have to. I'm real glad you came along."

The man's delight was transparent. Nancy remained unresponsive, however.

She was blind to everything but the thing she had come to do, and the hopelessness that weighed so heavily upon her.

"I'm sorry," she said simply, accepting the chair he set for her. "I didn't think you'd--you see, I waited till I guessed you'd be through.

But I won't keep you. It's just a small favour, that's all."

Bull observed her closely. She was so amazingly and completely charming.

She was no longer clad in the rough, warm garments of the trail. Even the cotton overall she used in the work of the house had been removed.

Now a dainty frock, that had no relation to the rigours of Labrador, displayed the delicate beauty of her figure, and perfectly harmonised with the colouring of her wonderful hair. Somehow it seemed to the man her beauty had intensified in its appeal since the day of her supreme confidence in the cause for which she had so devotedly fought.

"A favour?" he laughed. "Why, I'm just glad."

Even while he spoke Bull remembered his talk with Bat Harker when he had listened to a wealth of pitying comment upon the feelings and opinions he had then laid bare. The girl's unsmiling eyes troubled him.

"What's the favour?" he asked simply, as Nancy remained silent.

The girl started. She had turned to the evening light pouring in through the window. Her thought had wandered to that grim, dark future when the twilit forests would close about her, and the strong tones of this man's voice would never again be able to reach her.

She drew a folded paper from the bosom of her frock.

"Would you let them send it for me--wireless?" she asked timidly.

"It's--it's to Mr. Peterman."

All Bull's desire to smile had pa.s.sed. He nodded.

"Yes," he said. "If you wish it. It shall be sent right off."

His tone had suddenly lost its warmth. It seemed as if the mention of Peterman's name had destroyed his goodwill.

Nancy searched his face anxiously. The man's brows had depressed and his strong jaws had become set. She knew that expression. Usually it was the prelude to uncompromising action.

She drew a deep breath.