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hH M EGBERT W-N U-SER.VICE Mark Darrell, young American lumber man, la bosa of a lumber camp near St. Victor, Canada. Nat Page la bia assistant. Madame Madeleine Kinross, a young widow-who owns the ttmberland, la try ing to persuade Mark to cancel his lease. Her lawyer, Horace Brousaac, makea Mark several cash offers to get out, the last a sum of 115,000. Broussac telli Mark that he Intends to marry Madame Kinross. Mark, who has fallen In love with her himself, determines to stay. Later he goes to Madeleine, and finds her arguing with Broussac, who has asked her to marry him. Mark Interrupts the stormy conversation and Broussac leaves, hurling threats at Mark. Made leine and Mark talk of love. CHAPTER VI “These three say that my hus band was lost in the fog when he was on the ice-floe, killing the seals. They say he drifted away. But they whisper and mutter together. There is something that they have not told me. I know that he is alive, being cared for somewhere, and that some day he will return. And mean while it is my duty to take care of the seigniory.” “And Broussac?” asked Mark. “He is a distant relative of my husband’s. I trusted him. Now he demands that I shall marry him. I do not love him; and anyway, how could I marry him when my husband is alive?” She came closer to Mark; he put his hands upon her shoulders and she swayed toward him. “I never loved the seigneur. I married him half-an-hour betore the fleet sailed for the sealing-grounds, to protect the little property that my father had left. He was the lighthouse-keeper then. I never loved the seigneur, but he was un homme galant. There was not a girl within fifty miles of St. Victor but was in love with him. He was the sort of man a woman loves, Monsieur Darrell, because he was so rash, heedless, careless, as if the things of the world were all his toy. “He had begged me to marry him since I was thirteen years old. I did not love him, but I was fascinat ed by him. And, if I married him, my father’s little property would re main secure. “Father Lacombe married us half an-hour before the sealing fleet sailed for Newfoundland, and I have not seen him since. They say he died. If he had died, I should feel it here.” She struck her breast again. “My cousin Horace Broussac managed the estate. He lost a great deal of money—l do not know how— and he was forced to make you a lease of the mill and those three thousand arpents. Later, he made some money for me in the market. And so I want you to go, because I must protect the seigniory of my husband. Will you go?” “Madame, you have signed a lease with me. Your request is not fair to me, or my backers.” “But Horace wants to marry me.” She was speaking like a frightened child. “He told me that I must marry him, and that the seigniory must be intact. How can I marry him when my husband is still alive? I was a child when I mar ried him, to save my father’s prop erty. I am afraid of him. I am afraid of his return. I am afraid of being his wife. But he is my husband, and he is still alive. Madeleine Admits Her Love for Mark “They know it, those old men. That is why they mutter. That is why old Andre hates you so. They know something that they have not told me—Andre, and Alphonse Vi tard, and Hector Mackintosh, who sailed on the same boat with him. Yes, and Monsieur Lacombe, the cure, knows it too. They know that my husband is not dead. And Ho race Broussac demands that I mar ry him.” Mark drew Madeleine into his arms, but only as he might have caressed a frightened child. “I love you,” he said simply. He saw her big gray eyes looking at him in ter ror and fascination. He knew this woman was his for the taking. “Darling, your husband is not alive,” he said. “You have lived in a dream about him. And that mar riage was never a marriage. You were a child then. That marriage has cursed your life, and it was no marriage.” “Oh yes, it was a marriage," she answered. "I am the wife of the seigneur of St. Victor.” A little proudly. “You don’t know what a man he is. He can bend any woman to his will. There is not a man in St. Victor who would dare to cross, him. He can tear a pack of cards in two with his fingers. And he is just a child who has never grown up. Do you not see that it is my duty to protect his seigniory for him? Because he is not dead, and he is coming back.” She swayed in Mark’s arms, and then suddenly she gave her lips to his. “Yes, I love you," she said. “I loved you from the first. You knew that, didn’t you? And I am a married woman, and I must tell Father Lacombe that I have sinned in loving you. And he tells me that the seigneur is dead, when I know he is not dead.” “Madeleine,” said Mark, “Made leine, darling, husband died on the ice-floe five years ago. If he had lived, he would return.” “He will return!” cried the girl desperately. “Monsieur, will you protect me against Horace Brous sac? Will you save me from him?” “I will,” said Mark. “I cannot marry. I am not free to marry, neither Horace nor you. But we are no longer enemies. And I care no longer what Horace Broussac does with my lands—be cause whatever may happen, I love you!” The last log of lumber had passed through the mill along the flume, and into the hold of the second of the waiting schooners. These had departed for Quebec. Soon there would be an additional ten thousand dollars to Mark’s credit—not much, but enough to enable him to face the long period before the lumber would come whirling down the St. Victor again, and to make a few im provements on his lease. Leaving Nat to take charge of the mill and the bookkeeping, he started to repair the corduroys over the swampy districts, and the drags along which the felled trees were drawn to the skids at the edge of the gorge. All day long the sounds of axe and hammer rang through the trees. Mark had picked out one particu lar tract that he meant to log the coming winter. It lay on high ground, well back from the river, near the natural bridge that con nected the mainland with the light house peninsula. Wide swaths would “I’d like to join you in the woods.” have to be cut in the underbrush to bring the fallen trees to the sawyer’s camp beside the gorge, but the pro ceeds promised to be profitable. Broussac’s efforts in the past had been decidedly unwoodsmanlike. He had been cutting timber here and there promiscuously, with the idea of a quick profit. Mark decided to take up his head quarters here. He had a shack built in the thick of a heavily timbered belt where the land rose to join the natural bridge. There, after his men had departed for their homes, he would spend the evening, think ing—always thinking of Madeleine. A Conference With The Parish Priest “I cannot marry. I am not free to marry, neither Horace nor you,” she had said to him. Was there any thing to that idea of hers that the seigneur had somehow survived, five years after he was reported drowned at sea? He couldn’t believe it—and yet it was a fixed and dominating idea in the girl’s mind. She had kissed him, told him she loved him, but that idea of hers stood between them, and probably would always stand. She had told him that the reason why the three men hated him— Andre, Mackintosh and Vitard— was because they knew the seigneur was alive. They resented his presence there. So did all St. Victor, as if it foresaw the love af fair that was destined to spring from it. In the night, brooding, Mark would see the one-two, one-two of the lighthouse flashes, and, when the fogs choked the Gulf, he would hear the steady, throbbing note of the foghorn. Years seemed to have gone by since that night when Nat < and he had been oast ashore in the storm. And Mark hadn’t seen Madeleine again. He knew that she did not want to see him. Then what of Broussac? What of his schemes to marry her? Madeleine had asked Mark to pro tect her against Broussac and he had promised to do so. How was it to be done? Thinking the matter over, Mark came to the conclusion that the key to the situation lay in Father La combe. A parish priest knows ev erything. If the seigneur was real ly alive, Father Lacombe would know. And he would know exactly what had happened when the ice floe, carrying Kinross, was de tached from the main icefield, and carried him away into the fog. MIDLAND JOURNAL, RISING SUN. MD, With this idea in mind, Mark fol lowed his men down to the flat ter rain in the evening, and had supper with Nat Page at the milk now again empty and silent. Madame Gingras, the wife of the mill superintendent, served them, making quite a little fuss over Mark. Plump little Madame Gin gras was a motherly soul, and liked to put forth her best efforts to please the young bachelor who had taken over the mill. Mark didn’t dream that his romance with Madeleine was already the chief subject of conversation in the settlement. Mark was a man to be filled up with beef stew and strawberry pie. But he wasn’t one of St. Victor. He was an American who would pres ently be gone, leaving St. Victor to itself and its own secrets, and it was too bad about the seigneur’s wife. Nevertheless, Madame Gin gras mothered the two men, beam ing in approval when Mark praised .her pastry. "Not much for me to do here, Mark,” said Nat Page, as they smoked their pipes together. “I’d like to join you up in the woods." “I’m going to ask you to take charge of the corduroy gangs,” said Mark. “They’re apt to be a bit slip-shod unless they’ve got an American working over them.” “Just as you say. We’ve cer tainly made a fine start. 1 think we’re going to put it over, Mark.” “I know we are.” “I don’t trust that Broussac, though. He’s up to some more mis chief. I can sense it, from the way people look at me, every time I go into St. Victor.” “I’\e wondered what his game is, said Mark. Of course he couldn’t tell Nat about Madeleine. "I thought he had another lessee in the field, but now I think he simply wants to get us out of St. Victor.” “He’ll have his work cut out,” grinned Nat. “The men are eating out of our hands.” They talked a little longer, Mark had a look at the books, and then departed into town to see Father Lacombe. The cure lived with an old house keeper in the house next to the big stone church. He was sitting in his study beside the stove, read ing, his soutane closely buttoned about him. “And what can I do for you, Monsieur?” he asked. “I’ve come to have a talk with you, Father.” Fattier Lacombe Speaks Mysteriously The cure nut his book away and scrutinized Mark thoughtfully. Mark was fully conscious of the slight feeling of antagonism between them, the result of their last meet ing. “I’m not a member of your church, but I thought perhaps you would have a private and con fidential talk with me. I think it is desirable.” “My son,” said the cure kindly, “everybody is a member of my church, even though he may not be aware of it. What is it that you wished to speak to me about?” “I love the wife of the late seigneur. I think she loves me, or might come to love me,” said Mark frankly. He could see that this was no news to Father Lacombe, who leaned forward, his finely- chiseled face scrutinizing his visitor’s. “She thinks—you are aware of it, of course—she thinks that her husband, the late seigneur, did not die on that ice-floe,” said Mark. “I want to know the truth. At least, I want to know what you know.” Father Lacombe looked dis turbed. "Monsieur Darrell! You do not belong to St. Victor. I have advised you to return your lease to Monsieur Broussac. You have no right-rl say you have no right to question me about our own affairs.” “So the seigneur didn’t die?" asked Mark. “Where is he, then? Is it fair to make a mystery out of nothing?” “I have not said that the seigneur is alive. I do not propose to dis cuss the matter, Mr. Darrell. But I will say this much—Madame Kin ross is not for you. Put her out of your mind. Forget this busi ness. “Pardon me if I am abrupt, Mon sieur,” the cure continued, rising and beginning to pace up and down the room. “If you understood what it means to be a parish priest, to have so many souls,' human souls dependent upon me, to try to recon cile them with their consciences—” “I think I can understand that.” said Mark, “But the question I asked you is a simple one. I have gathered that something happened to the seigneur. That he was per haps? rescued from the floe. That he is being cared for somewhere—” “Monsieur Darrell, I have told you that Madame Kinross is not for you. I have advised you to accept Monsieur Broussac’s terms, and go. We are the habitants. We be long here. We try to live good lives, to make our peace with God. I will not answer your questions. I say simply that Madame Kinross is not for you- Now, Monsieur, draw your own conclusions!” The old priest’s face was aflame with anger. Mark bowed and left his cottage. (TO BE CONTINUED) L improved jj UNIFORM INTERNATIONAL SUNDAY I chool Lesson By HAROLD L. LUNDQUIST. D. D. Of The Moody Bible Institute of Chicago. Released by Western Newspaper Union. Lesson lor December 1 . Lesson subjects and Scripture texts se lected and copyrighted by International Council of Religious' Education; used by permission. A LETTER ON CHRISTIAN LIVING LESSON TEXT—Acts 19:23-30: Ephesians 6:13-18. MEMORY SELECTION Finally, my brethren, be strong In the Lord, and in tha power of his might.—Ephesians 8:10. The war is never over for the Christian. He is called to a con stant strife against the world, the flesh and the devil, which knows no armistice or peace conference so long as he lives or the Lord tarries. Paul, who had now set out on his third missionary journey, was this time permitted of the Holy Spirit to witness and minister in Asia. For three months he spoke in the synagogue, as was his custom, but when his ministry resulted in many converts others hardened them selves in opposition. So he withdrew (a bit of strategy in this spiritual warfare) to neutral ground in the “school of one Tyrannus,” where he could teach and reason with them daily. Paul knew by experience that this could not go on, for he had learned as we should learn to I. Expect Opposition —lt Will Come (Acts 19:23-30). The comfortable and contented Christians of our day who just want to be let alone to carry on their worship are certainly not related to the real Christians of Paul’s type. The enemy of our souls is often content to let us go on in compara tive peace as long as we do not bother him unduly, but once we put up the banner of a holy life and service in God’s army, he begins a terrific counterattack. Paul had felt it already in the hardening of lis teners’ hearts (v. 8). 1. Selfish Opposition (vv. 23-27). One way to bring a violent reaction against spiritual truth is to let it interfere with business. Demetrius and his fellow silversmiths pro fessed to be concerned about the threatened destruction of the heath en worship of Diana. Many of the enemies of the gos pel in our time are fighting against God’s Word because they are in a business which is condemned by it. 2. Senseless Tumult (vv. 28-30). Knowing that their opposition was without true foundation, they in spired and agitated a wild demon stration. Shouting a slogan which had no real meaning, they lent their voices to the tumultuous agitation against God. Finally, one sensible man, fearing the punishment of city of ficials, quieted them (Acts 19:35-41). The Ephesians were just like many in our day who fear man more than God. But, may we ask, if you fear the judgment of men, how think you to escape the judgment of God? After all, it is God and His Word you oppose, unconverted friend. Do you think He will hold you guiltless? Paul was not afraid (v. 30), for he had also learned that the servant of the Lord can 11. Count on God—He Will Deliver (Eph. 6:13-18). Writing to the church in this very city where the Lord opened “a great door and effectual” for Paul (I Cor. 16:9), he admonishes them and us to make full use of the provision which God has made for victorious warfare. There is a complete armor, and a mighty weapon, the sword of the Spirit, but none will do us the slight est good unless we put it on and go into battle. If we think we can do | without the breastplate of righteous ness (and some Christians and church workers seem to think they can), or neglect to carry and Use the shield of faith, we can only ex pect defeat. We fight great spiritu al enemies (see vv. 11, 12 of this chapter) and we need the best in both offensive and defensive equip ment. The girdle of truth binds up the warrior and eliminates the hin drances to rapid movement. The breastplate is righteousness, not his own but Christ’s, but it must be appropriated and used. The soldier must be well shod for the long rough journeys and to give him a good foothold in the day of battle. Peace in the heart provides such a firm vantage point in the fight for God. Faith is the quickly moved shield, catching all the fiery darts. Here again it is not my faith or yours alone, but our faith in God, put ting him between us and our ene mies. The sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God, is our all-powerful weapon. Let us not neglect to use it. We are so prone to talk about the Bible, to defend it, to argue for its truths. Talking about a sword does not make it effective. Let’s really use it. Prayer is always to be counted on and it is both a defensive and of fensive weapon. It keeps us in touch with the Captain of the Lord’s hosts. We call for help, get orders and transmit news of victory through prayer. 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