“No, Pierre, don’t go for the medicine, nor for the water, nor for anything now, for what you said is true. Mon Dieu, true, too true!” And Pierre, erring Pierre, folded his arms around his father and tried to comfort him like one would a sorrowing child.  It was while his arms were yet around him that her eyes slowly opened, and she saw the precious sight.  The dying embers of life, which so often flash up before they expire forever, were burning in her now.

“Pierre, mon garcon; Baptiste, husband,” she whispered.

For a moment they hesitated as though one from the dead had spoken to them, then with glad cries they hurried to her side.  With infinite tenderness Pierre put his strong arms around her and bent his head to catch the last words her lips would ever form.  Baptiste, prayer-beads in hand, knelt by his son’s side, saying prayers for the dying.

“My son; my Pierre.”

“Mother!”

“Oh, I am so happy that I released you from the spell the evil one threw over you.  For my sake, Pierre, return to the Church and be forgiven.”

“Before the sun sets, mother, I will go to confession and partake of the blessed sacrament; and I will cease my evil ways and be a son to my father.  It was so noble of you, mother, to release me from the spell as you did.”

He would rather have had his tongue cut out than to let her know that the great sacrifice she had made for him had been a sad, sad mistake.

And now the end was very near.  “Baptiste?” she asked faintly.

He laid her in his father’s arms and turned away.  He did not hear what she said to his father, but he heard him reply in a voice that sounded strangely far away and weak, “Yes, soon; very soon, wife.”

Then all was silent.  With his back still turned to them he waited for his father to call him; but the seconds sped on and the silence continued.  At last he turned.  His father was kneeling on the floor with his arms around her and his head lying on the pillow close to hers.

“Come, father,” he said softly, as he tried to raise him.  There was no reply.  He bent over and peered into the two quiet faces.  The legend of the loup-garou had no place in the land they had entered.

* * * * *

A Christmas Adventure.

How vividly do I remember the Christmas eve and Christmas day of 1882!  Ten years make great changes in our lives.  To-day I am a well-to-do business man, and expect to spend Christmas in my cozy home, with wife and family, and not on the wild, bleak prairies, expecting every moment a dreadful railway catastrophe.