As she began to sing the doctor passed out beyond the firelight to the side of the tent. There he found Stanton, with his head bowed low between his knees.
"My boy," said the doctor, "that is very beautiful, but it is very hard to bear."
"Yes," said Stanton. "I'm a baby. I would like to help her, but I cannot."
"Well, my boy, she needs no help that either you or I can give."
Perault, the half-breed, and Crawley sat in silence at the other side of the fire. Shock remained near, the girl, wondering at her marvellous self-control. Verse after verse she sang in a voice low, but clear and sweet. As the refrain occurred again and again,
"O sweet and blessed country, the home of God's elect,
O sweet and blessed country that eager hearts expect,
Jesus, in mercy bring us to that dear land of rest,"
the only change was that the song rose a little clearer and fuller and with deeper tone.
After she had finished the camp lay in perfect silence.
"Are you asleep, father, dear?" his daughter said at length, but there was no reply. She touched his hands and his face.
"Father!" she cried in a voice of awe and fear, but still there was no reply.