His eyes met the priest's eyes
steadily. "Did I say that? Then my tongue wasn't making a fool of me,
after all. How did you guess I knew--everything, father?"
"A priest knows many t'ings--so."
There was a moment of gloom, then the Irishman brightened. He came
straight to the heart of the mystery around which they had been
maneuvering. "Have you seen her husband--Meydon--this year? It isn't
his usual time to come yet."
Father Bourassa's eyes drew those of his friend into, the light of a new
understanding and revelation. They understood and trusted each other.
"Helas! He is there in the hospital," he answered, and nodded towards
a building not far away, which had been part of an old Hudson's Bay
Company's fort. It had been hastily adapted as a hospital for the
smallpox victims.
"Oh, it's Meydon, is it, that bad case I heard of to-day?"
The priest nodded again and 'pointed. "Voila, Madame Meydon, she is
coming. She has seen him--her hoosban'."
Finden's eyes followed the gesture. The little widow of Jansen was
coming from the hospital, walking slowly towards the river.
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