And she was no longer shy in speaking his name, but called him Roger boldly and many times, and twice during that meal of marvelous forgetfulness—­though long lashes covered her eyes when she spoke it—­she called him ‘my husband.’

In truth she was a woman and for the most part Roger McKay—­ fighting man and very strong though he was—­looked at her in dumb worship, speaking little, his heart a-throb, and his brain reeling in the marvel of what at last had come into his possession.

And yet, even in this hour of supreme happiness that held him half mute, there was always lurking in the back of his brain a thought of Breault, the Ferret.

CHAPTER XIX

In the star dusk of evening the time came when he spoke his fears to Father John.

Nada had gone into her room, taking Peter with her, and out under the cool of the skies Father John’s pale face was turned up to the unending glory of the firmament, and his lips were whispering a prayer of gratitude and blessing, when Roger laid a hand gently on his arm.

“Father,” he said, “it is a wonderful night.”

“A night of gladness and omen,” replied Father John.  “See the stars!  They seem to be alive and rejoicing, and it is not sacrilege to believe they are, giving you their benediction.”

“And yet—­I am afraid.”

“Afraid?”

Father John looked into his eyes, and saw him staring off over the forest-tops.

“Yes—­afraid for her.”

Briefly he told him of what had happened on the Barren months ago, and how he had narrowly escaped Breault in coming away from the burned country.

“He is on my trail,” he said, “and tonight he is not very far away.”

The Missioner’s hand rested in a comforting way on his arm.

“You did not kill Jed Hawkins, my son, and for that we have thanked God each day and night of our lives—­Nada and I. And each evening she has prayed for you, kneeling at my side, and through every hour of the day I know she was praying for you in her heart —­and I believe in the answer to prayer such as that, Roger.  Her faith, now, is as deep as the sea.  And you, too, must have faith.”

“She is more precious to me than life—­a thousand lives, if I had them,” whispered Jolly Roger.  “If anything should happen—­now—­”

“Yes, if the thing you fear should happen, what then?” cried Father John, faith ringing like a note of inspiration in his low voice.  “What, then, Roger?  You did not kill Jed Hawkins.  If the law compels you to pay a price for the errors it believes you have committed, will that price be so terribly severe?”

“Prison, Father.  Probably five years.”

Father John laughed softly, the star-glow revealing a radiance in his face.