Mclntee  escaped  with  his  life,  but  he  had  a  leg  broken,
and  for  months  was  in  the  doctor's  hands.  He  recovered
a  shattered  cripple,  but  he  took  Jinnyann's  emphatic
warning,  and  held  his  tongue  as  to  what  passed  between
him  and  Wee  Mon  Oins  on  that  memorable  night.  The
skein  of  Fate  which  had  tangled  the  lives  of  two  wretched
mortals  together  was  finally  and  silently  broken.
Wee  Mon  Oins  lay  sullen,  taciturn  and  mentally
stunned,  on  the  ground,  Jinnyann  standing  silent  beside
him.
The  struggle  of  thought  is  a  struggle  with  Fate,  and
fatahsm  an  acceptance  of  defeat  by  thought.  A  strange
thinker  in  his  way,  this  poor  wretch  felt  the  hand  of
Fate  heavy  on  his  gift  of  thought,  a  gift,  a  pain  and  pride
to  him.
"  Arn't  ye  goin'  till  loose  me,  Jinnyann?"

He  said  this  in  a  quiet,  dreary  tone.
"  Loose  ye  !  Ye '11  lie  there  boun'  till  they  come  and
fin'  ye  in  the  morn  ere  I  loose  ye,  an'  ye  no  better  nor  a
wile  beast,  wile  for  blood."

*'Ye  take  Mclntee's  side,  Jinnyann,  girl,  an'  go  be-
tween him  and  justice?"

There  was  a  tone  of  grave  reproach  in  the  man's  words.
"  I  take  no  side,  not  bein'  called  to  giv'  justice  or  to
wi'hold  it.  Ye  fool  mon!  are  ye  in  a  perfect  worl',  or
des  ye  set  till  yerself  to  make  it  perfec' ,  or  as  ye'd  have
it?  Ye'r  in  an  imperfec'  worl'  and  am  boun'  till  take  it
imperfec'  an'  beyon'  ye."

The  words  were  Jinnyann's,  but  it  is  necessary  to  give
Nancy  Lynd  the  credit  of  the  idea  and  of  the  duty  of  im-
pressing it,  and  the  logical  consequences,  on  the  girl.
