So, silently, stolidly they went down the Right of Way to the river-hut. The fire was still burning on the hearth, the room was hot and still. "Come in, Nick!" called Tom to the dog who had kept close to them; "come in!" Wet and bedraggled Nick slouched in and, eyeing Donelle as if she were a stranger, passed to the far side of the room and lay down, his head upon his paws, his eyes alert. Tom brought out food and they all ate, Nick condescending to come nearer. The heat, the weariness and suffering of the day, began to tell upon Donelle and presently a terror seized her—a terror she had never known in her life before. She looked at Tom with wide eyes, her face became livid. The rain outside beat against the window and pattered on the roof. The devil that had tempted Tom earlier was taking control of the situation. His face was tense, his eyes burning. He was thinking, thinking, and his thoughts scorched. He was thinking of women, women, his mother, Mam’selle Morey—even that unknown woman, the wife of the man who had all but ruined Donelle. Then he thought of Donelle herself, but he dared not look at the pale little thing by the fire. She was his! She had done him a great injustice, it was only fair that he should hold her to her bargain. She had only thought of herself, how to save herself, she ought to pay for that. Pay—pay—pay! The word was hateful and ugly. Again Tom thought of his mother, and her face rose sharply before him. Then the finest thing that Tom ever did in his life he did at that moment. In the still, hot room, with eyes at last resting upon Donelle’s bowed head, he vowed to his God that _she_ should not pay, not if it cost him all that life held dear! If the time ever came when she could give—Tom breathed hard. Then he spoke. "Donelle," his voice was deep and solemn, "you’re tired, done almost to death, but you’re safe—safer than you know. I want you to go to that bed"—Gavot pointed to his cot in the far corner by the side of which Nick lay curled—"and you are to sleep. I’m going to pile the fire high, and——" "Tom, let me go to Marcel’s just for to-night, please, Tom!" The agony in Donelle’s eyes made Gavot shudder. "I guess I’d rather have my wife stay here," he said. Then added, "You must do what I say, Donelle. I’ve done my part, you’ve got to do yours." "I will, Tom. I will." Gropingly she walked across the room, while Tom piled wood on the fire. In the dark shadows she waited. Then Tom rose up, took his heavy coat, his fur cap, and went toward the door. "Good-night," he said. It was like a groan. "Good-night, and you’re safe, Donelle, so help me God! After I am gone, draw the bar across the door."