"She—my Zoe is dead! How?" questioned Jean Jacques in a ghostly sort of voice, but there was a steadiness and control unlike what he had shown in other tragic moments.
"It was a blizzard. She was bringing her husband's body in a sleigh to the railway here. He had died of consumption. She and the driver of the sleigh went down in the blizzard. Her body covered the child and saved it. The driver was lost also."
"Her child—Zoe's child?" quavered Jean Jacques. "A little girl—Zoe. The name was on her clothes. There were letters. One to her father— to you. Your name is Jean Jacques Barbille, is it not? I have that letter to you. We buried her and her husband in the graveyard yonder." He pointed. "Everybody was there—even when they knew it was to be a Catholic funeral."
"Ah! she was buried a Catholic?" Jean Jacques' voice was not quite so blurred now.
"Yes. Her husband had become Catholic too. A priest who had met them in the Peace River Country was here at the time."
At that, with a moan, Jean Jacques collapsed. He shed no tears, but he sat with his hands between his knees, whispering his child's name.
The Young Doctor laid a hand on his shoulder gently, but presently went out, shutting the door after him. As he left the room, however, he turned and said, "Courage, Monsieur Jean Jacques! Courage!"
When the Young Doctor came back a half-hour later he had in his hand the letters found in Zoe's pocket. "Monsieur Jean Jacques," he said gently to the bowed figure still sitting as he left him.
Jean Jacques got up slowly and looked at him as though scarce understanding where he was.
"The child—the child—where is my Zoe's child? Where is Zoe's Zoe?" he asked in agitation. His whole body seemed to palpitate. His eyes were all red fire.