sometimes for the Indians whose children are in my school. I have come to have a very great respect for him."
Miss Boland looked instantly relieved and began to let down. "Oh, and so you came to me, of course. Naturally!" Despite her capacity for icy hardness, Billie was after all a woman and her manner confessed longing for someone to talk to about her love besides those who condemned him as utterly as she did. "You have seen him in the—the jail?" Billie's tongue stuck at the word and then jerked it out. "Tell me how he is, Miss Marceau. Is he comfortable?" she demanded anxiously. The mask had fallen off altogether; for the minute Billie Boland was just a girl, asking another girl about her lover. But Lahleet's response to such inquiries, while her black eyes sifted the blue ones, was lacking in enthusiasm.
"He is comfortable—physically—if that is what you mean," she said, "but mentally—in spirit, that is—he is broken—very much broken. Oh, Miss Boland, he can't endure this long!"
Now this was the wrong speech. It encouraged Miss Billie in the resolution to be adamant till adversity brought Henry to his senses. Her concerned expression went away, replaced by a determined one. "Mr. Harrington can save himself at any time," she assured with cool emphasis. "He is merely wrong-headed, you know."
Lahleet stared, instantly resentful yet controlling herself marvelously. "But it's all a low conspiracy," she contended. "He couldn't surrender to that and be a man."
"But he has been so stupid," frowned Billie, in tones
