He winced a little. “When I left Fort Charles he was very well,” he said, “and he asked me to tell you to come some day. He also has sent you a half-dozen silver-fox skins, a sash, and moccasins made by his own hands. The things are not yet unpacked.” Moccasins?--She remembered when last she had moccasins on her feet--the day she rode the horse at the quick-set hedge, and nearly lost her life. How very distant that all was, and yet how near too! Suddenly she remembered also why she took that mad ride, and her heart hardened a little. “You have been kind to my father since I left?” she asked. He met her eyes steadily. “No, not always; not more than I have been kind to you. But at the last, yes.” Suddenly his voice became intensely direct and honest. “Lali,” he continued, “there is much that I want to say to you.” She waved her hand in a wearied fashion. “I want to tell you that I would do the hardest penance if I could wipe out these last four years.” “Penance?” she said dreamily--“penance? What guarantee of happiness would that be? One would not wish another to do penance if--” She paused. “I understand,” he said--“if one cared--if one loved. Yes, I understand. But that does not alter the force or meaning of the wish. I swear to you that I repent with all my heart--the first wrong to you, the long absence--the neglect--everything.” She turned slowly to him. “Everything-Everything?” she repeated after him. “Do you understand what that means? Do you know a woman’s heart? No. Do you know what a shameful neglect is at the most pitiful time in your life? No. How can a man know! He has a thousand things--the woman has nothing, nothing at all except the refuge of home, that for which she gave up everything!”