The Missioner smiled enigmatically.

“The soul of many a man has gone from behind steel bars to heaven or I vastly miss my guess,” he said.  “But—­we don’t like the thought of steel bars, do we, David?  Man-made laws and justice don’t always run tandem.  But God evens things up in the final balance.  You’ll live to see that.  He’s back there now, meting out your vengeance to them. Your vengeance.  Do you understand?  And you won’t be called to take a hand in the business.”  Suddenly he pointed toward the cabin, where Thoreau and Mukoki were already at work packing a sledge.  “It’s a glorious day.  We start right after dinner.  Let us get your things in a bundle.”

David made no answer, but three minutes later he was on his knees unlocking his trunk, with Father Roland standing close beside him.  Something of the humour of the situation possessed him as he flung out, one by one, the various articles of his worthless apparel, and when he had all but finished he looked up into the Missioner’s face.  Father Roland was staring into the trunk, an expression of great surprise in his countenance which slowly changed to one of eager joy.  He made a sudden dive, and stood back with a pair of boxing gloves in his hands.  From the gloves he looked at David, and then back at the gloves, fondling them as if they had been alive, his hands almost trembling at the smooth touch of them, his eyes glowing like the eyes of a child that had come into possession of a wonderful toy.  David reached into the trunk and produced a second pair.  The Missioner seized upon them.

“Dear Heaven, what a gift from the gods!” he chortled.  “David, you will teach me to use them?” There was almost anxiety in his manner as he added, “You know how to use them well, David?”

“My chief pastime at home was boxing,” assured David.  There was a touch of pride in his voice.  “It is a scientific recreation.  I loved it—­that, and swimming.  Yes, I will teach you.”

Father Roland went out of the room a moment later, chuckling mysteriously, with the four gloves hugged against the pit of his stomach.

David followed a little later, all his belongings in one of the leather bags.  For some time he had hesitated over the portrait of the Girl; twice he had shut the lock on it; the third time he placed it in the big, breast pocket inside the coat Father Roland had provided for him, making a mental apology for that act by assuring himself that sooner or later he would show the picture to the Missioner, so would want it near at hand.  Father Roland had disposed of the gloves, and introduced David to the rest of his equipment when he came from the cabin.  It was very business-like, this accoutrement that was to be the final physical touch to his transition; it did not allow of skepticism; about it there was also a quiet and cold touch of romance.  The rifle chilled David’s bare fingers when he touched it.  It was short-barrelled, but heavy in the