"Mamsey, Mamsey, he did not! It was this way. My father came into the cabin, he had been hunting. My mother was there. I was there, and—and the man! I cannot, oh! Mamsey, I cannot remember his name, but I hated him. I was afraid. He used to say he would carry me off if—if I told! When my father came into the cabin—I cannot remember it all, for I ran and hid behind a door. But yes, I can remember this: the man said I was—his! Then my father ran toward him and he screamed something, and my mother," Donelle was crouching, looking beyond Mantelle and Marcel, at what no eyes but hers could see, "and my mother cried out that what the man said was a lie! And then my father and the man struggled. They fought and the gun went off—and—and—my mother fell! "Mamsey, I—I cannot remember the rest. I was always tired, always going somewhere, but my father did not do that awful thing!" A sudden stillness filled the dim room, a silence that hurt. Then Jo’s tones rang out like a clanging bell: "Father, this girl is Tom Gavot’s wife?" "She is." The priest was as white as death. Marcel was silent. "Then no harm can reach her from that man, wherever, whoever, he is?" "None." "And that boy took my girl believing what the world thinks is the worst?" Jo’s voice suddenly softened, her eyes dimmed. There was no reply to this. Marcel was crying softly, persistently, her face covered by her poor, wrinkled hands. The priest’s white face shone in the shadowy room. Then Jo laughed and lifted Donelle up. "Child, you have seen the worst and the best in man. We still have Tom Gavot and he will keep all harm from you." Then she turned to Marcel. "Margot would have been proud of Tom, could she have known," she said. Marcel groped her way across the room. Her eyes were hidden, her sobs choked her. "Mam’selle," she faltered, "Mam’selle Jo!" Then the two women clung together. Father Mantelle watched them. What he thought no one could know, but a radiance overspread his face. "Mam’selle Morey," he said quietly at last, "you have opened my eyes. God’s peace be with you." Then, as if leaving a sacred place, he turned and went out into the early evening. Marcel soon followed, but she was not crying when she went. Donelle had kissed her, Jo had held her hands and smiled into her eyes. Marcel had received her blessing from them. Then, when they were alone, Jo lighted the lamp and piled wood in the stove. "And now we will eat, child," she said. Donelle was still dazed, trembling. "I remember!" was what she kept repeating. "How strange, Mamsey, but I see it clear and true after all these years." "And now, forget it, Donelle. The vision was given to you from God. It has done its work. We must forget the past." And for years it was never talked of between them. "But, Mamsey——" "Not another word, Donelle. We must eat and then talk of Tom."