"Tell me," he went on, "what is it you want to do? You're no prisoner now. The war's finished. You're just as free as air to come and go as you please. You can return to Quebec the moment you desire, and the Myra comes along up. And everything I can possibly arrange shall be done for your happiness and comfort. When would you like to go?"
The girl shook her head.
"I wasn't thinking of that."
"I knew that," Bull smiled.
"Father Adam. He's in the house there sick and wounded," Nancy hurried on. "I know him. I—may I nurse him back to health and strength. May I try that way to teach myself I'm not the thing I think and feel. Oh, let me be of use. Let me help to undo the thing I've done so much to bring about."
The girl's hands were thrust out, and her eyes were shining. Never in his life had Bull experienced such an appeal. Never in his life had he been so near to reckless disregard for all restraint. He came nearer to her.
"Surely you may do that," he said. "And I just want to thank you from the bottom of my unfeeling heart for the thought that prompts you. We haven't a soul here to do it right—to do it as you can. And Father Adam is a mighty precious life to us all—in Sachigo."