And what less could he tell, if he confided in him at all?
He had gone a hundred yards or more into the forest, and in a little
open space, lighted up like a tiny amphitheatre in the glow of the moon,
he stopped. Suddenly there came to him, thrilling in its promise, a key
to the situation. He would wait until they reached Tavish's. And then,
in the presence of the Missioner, he would suddenly show Tavish the
picture. His heart throbbed uneasily as he anticipated the possible
tragedy--the sudden betrayal--of that moment, for Father Roland had
said, like one who had glimpsed beyond the ken of human eyes, that
Tavish was haunted by a vision of the dead. The dead! Could it be that
she, the girl in the picture....? He shook himself, set his lips tight
to get the thought away from him. And the woman--the woman in the coach,
the woman who had left in her seat this picture that was growing in his
heart like a living thing--who was she? Was her quest one of
vengeance--of retribution? Was Tavish the man she was seeking? Up in
that mountain valley--where the girl had stood on that rock--had his
name been Michael O'Doone?
He was trembling when he went on, deeper into the forest. But of his
determination there was no longer a doubt.
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