Such behavior, together with the fact that he refused to say anything concerning his early life, or why he was serving as a scout when it would seem as if nature had fitted him for some noble purpose, convinced me, boy though I was, that there was a painful secret which had sent him out from among those whom he loved. On this day of which I speak, while we were strolling aimlessly up the river, the hunter said carelessly, giving no particular weight to his words: "I met Donnelly at Cahokia a short time ago, and we spoke of you, Simon." Kenton stopped suddenly as does a man when a bullet reaches a vital spot in his body. His face turned pale as I had seen it once before, and he trembled as if in an ague fit, striving to speak, but in vain, and the hunter, alarmed by this show of weakness, would have sprung forward to prevent the scout from falling, but the latter waved him aside as he asked in a tremulous whisper: "Which Donnelly did you meet?" "He whom you have reason to know; perhaps it would have been better if I said that Donnelly who has good cause to remember you." "Do you mean Martin?" Simon Kenton asked with an effort, and showing yet greater evidence of being disturbed in mind. "Ay, lad, Martin Donnelly, and why should you, above all others, show fear at his name?" "Tell me!" and Kenton leaned forward eagerly, as if his very life depended upon the answer. "Do you mean to say you spoke with that Martin Donnelly who lived some time ago in Fauquier County, in the colony of Virginia?" "Ay, Simon, the same. He whom you flogged until the breath had-well nigh left his body." "And he lives?" Kenton asked with a long indrawing of the breath, straightening himself up as does one who has been suddenly relieved of a heavy burden. "He was alive when I met him in Cahokia, and counted on settling down in the Illinois country, if it so chanced everything was favorable. He left his family in Virginia so I understood; but reckoned on going after them some time this fall." Kenton leaned against a tree, his face hidden in his arm, and we three stood gazing at him in silence and astonishment until perhaps ten minutes had passed, when he turned to face us with an expression such as I shall never forget. "If you have made no mistake, John Lucas," he said, speaking slowly, and with a ring of joy in his tone, "if you have spoken truly, there is taken from me that which I believed I must carry to my grave, and from there to the presence of my God. If Martin Donnelly be alive, I am a free man once more----" "I tell you, Simon, I saw and talked with Martin Donnelly," Lucas exclaimed impatiently. "What is the meaning of your words? Why have you not always been a free man, save perchance when the savages had you in their clutches, as these lads here have told?"