"I understand," came quietly, and in those two words Houston felt that her opinion had been formed; that to her, he was the father; the quiet form in his arms his own child! It was like a blow to him; yet it was only what he had expected from the moment that he had recognized her. And after all, he felt that it did not matter; it was only one more false accusation to be added to the total, only one more height to be added to the barrier which already existed between them. He accepted her attitude—in spite of the pain it brought—and faced her.
"You were willing to help—before you—knew. You would have been glad to help in the case of a stranger. Are you still willing—now?"
She hesitated a moment, her eyes downcast, at last to force a smile.
"Of course. But you are asking something almost impossible. The nearest priest is at Crestline."
"Crestline?" Houston instinctively turned toward the hills, a bleak, forbidding wall against the sky. "I—"
"Rather, a mile below there at the Croatian settlement on Mount Harris. I am afraid you couldn't find it."
"I can try. Will you lend me Lost Wing to run an errand? I want to get Ba'tiste—for her."
"Certainly."
"May I talk to him privately? He understands English?"
She nodded. Then: