"Ah, Monsieur, I'm glad that you are come—I'm weary and want to be off."
"The long traverse, eh?"
"Oui, Monsieur—le grand voyage."
"Is there anything I can do for you?" asked the Englishman. The dying priest made a movement as if hunting for something. The bishop, to assist, stepped quickly to his side. The patient gave up the quest of whatever he was after and looked languidly at the factor. "What is it, my son?" asked the bishop, bending low. "What would you have the factor fetch from his house?"
"Just a small bit of cheese," said the sick man, sighing wearily.
"Now, that's odd," mused the factor, as he went off on his strange errand.
When the Englishman returned to the cabin, the bishop and the priest stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. Upon a bench on the narrow veranda Dunraven sat, resting after his hundred-mile tramp, and on the opposite side of the threshold Wing You lay sleeping in his blankets, so as to be in easy call if he were wanted.
When the two friends were alone, the sick man signalled, and the factor drew near.
"I have a great favor—a very great favor to ask of you," the priest began, "and then I'm off. Ah, mon Dieu!" he panted. "It has been hard to hold out. Jesus has been kind."
"It's damned tough at your time, old fellow," said the factor, huskily.