Out there, so close that they seemed to be in each other's arms, the stories were told, David's first—briefly, swiftly; and when Michael O'Doone learned that his daughter was in David's camp, he bowed his face in his hands and David heard him giving thanks to his God. And then he, also, told what had happened—briefly, too, for the minutes of this night were too precious to lose. In his madness Tavish had believed that his punishment was near—believed that the chance which had taken him so near to the home of the man whose life he had destroyed was his last great warning, and before killing himself he had written out fully his confession for Michael O'Doone, and had sworn to the innocence of the woman whom he had stolen away.
"And even as he was destroying himself, God's hand was guiding my Margaret to me," explained the Missioner. "All those years she had been seeking for me, and at last she learned at Nelson House about Father Roland, whose real name no man knew. And at almost that same time, at Le Pas, there came to her the photograph you found on the train, with a letter saying our little girl was alive at this place you call the Nest. Hauck's wife sent the letter and picture to the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, and it was sent from inspector to inspector, until it found her at Le Pas. She came to the Château. We were gone—with you. She followed, and we met as Metoosin and I were returning. We did not go back to the Château. We turned about and followed your trail, to seek our daughter. And now...."
Out of the shadow of the trees there broke upon them suddenly the anxious voice of the woman.
"Napao! where are you?"
"Dear God, it is the old, sweet name she called me so many years ago," whispered Michael O'Doone. "She is awake. Come!"
David held him back a moment.
"I will go to Marge," he said quickly. "I will wake her. And you—bring her mother. Understand, dear Father? Bring her up there, where Marge is sleeping...."
The voice came again:
"Napao—Napao!"
"I am coming; I am coming!" cried the Missioner.