The strained voice broke, Driscoll drew a hard breath, and feebly turned his face from the light. After this Thirlwell, whose curiosity was excited, had less trouble to keep awake, and at length roused Father Lucien, as he had been told. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning, the fire had sunk, and the shack was very cold. The wind had fallen and the bush was silent; one could hear the loose snow dropping from the boughs. Father Lucien crossed the floor and after standing for a time beside the bunk came back and sat down by the stove. "You can put in fresh wood; it won't disturb him now," he said. "He's sleeping well. I think the danger's over." The cord wood snapped and crackled, the front of the stove got red, and sitting in a corner out of the draughts, they began to talk in low voices. "Driscoll was delirious; he talked strangely," Thirlwell remarked. "Is a sick man's raving all such stuff as dreams?" "Ah," said Father Lucien, "we know little yet about the working of the disordered brain, but the imagination sometimes centers on and distorts things that have happened. Did you get a hint of intelligence in what Driscoll said?" "I did. He said he _never had the thing_. Somebody--Strange, perhaps--_took it with him_." "Why do you think he meant Strange?" "Because his mind was obviously dwelling on the night Strange's canoe capsized. He said it was an accident--he could not stop her swinging across the stream--as if he were answering somebody who accused him. The disturbing thing was that although delirious he looked horribly afraid." Father Lucien was silent and Thirlwell went on: "You have been with him for three nights. Has he talked like this before?" "Yes," said Father Lucien, quietly. "You can be trusted. I think he is afraid." "Ah!" said Thirlwell, looking hard at him. "Then I wonder why the canoe capsized. Were they drunk, or was there a quarrel? But perhaps you know and cannot tell!" "I do not know. Driscoll is not of my flock. He is ill and it is my business to cure his sickness, but I can go no farther. If he has other troubles, he would refuse my help." "That is so," Thirlwell agreed. "There's a mystery about the capsize, and I'm curious. You see, I met Strange's daughter and she believes in the lode." Father Lucien hesitated, and then went to a shelf. "I will show you something," he said, and gave Thirlwell a small Russian leather wallet. It was well made, but worn and stained as if it had been soaked in water. "I found this when I undressed Driscoll," he went on. "It is not a thing you would expect a rude prospector to carry. But I found something else." He held out a piece of broken stone and Thirlwell as he took it moved abruptly. He knew something about ore and saw that the stone had come from the same vein as the specimen Agatha had given him. "I think Strange found the silver," Father Lucien said quietly.