"But I have a message," she said in choking tones.
"From whom?" I asked aimlessly enough.
"Eric Hamilton!" she answered.
"Eric Hamilton!" both the priest and I shouted.
"Yes—why? What—what—is it? He's wounded, and he wants a Rufus Gillespie, who's with the Nor'-Westers. The Bois-Brulés fired on the fort. Where is Rufus Gillespie?"
"Bless you, lassie! Here—here—here he is!" The holy father thumped my back at every word. "Here he is, crazy as a March hare for news of Hamilton!"
"You—Rufus—Gillespie!" So she did not even know my name. Evidently, if she troubled my thoughts, I did not trouble hers.
"He's told me so much about you," she went on, with a little pant of astonishment. "How brave and good——"
"Pshaw!" I interrupted roughly. "What's the message?"
"Mr. Hamilton wishes to see you at once," she answered coldly.