"But I kept him living just the same. Time enough for him to
repent in and get ready to go. A most interesting case. He was a
criminal, too, and wanted to die; but you have to keep life going if
you can, to the last inch of resistance."
The priest looked thoughtfully out of the window; Finden's eyes were
screwed up in a questioning way, but neither made any response to
Varley's remarks. There was a long minute's silence. They were all
three roused by hearing a light footstep on the veranda.
Father Bourassa put down his glass and hastened into the hallway. Finden
caught a glimpse of a woman's figure, and, without a word, passed
abruptly from the dining-room where they were, into the priest's study,
leaving Varley alone. Varley turned to look after him, stared, and
shrugged his shoulders.
"The manners of the West," he said good-humouredly, and turned again to
the hallway, from whence came the sound of the priest's voice. Presently
there was another voice--a woman's. He flushed slightly and
involuntarily straightened himself.
"Valerie," he murmured.
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