"They say me if I get here you will tell me queeck way to
Askatoon. Time, he go so fas', an' I have loose a day an' a night, an'
I mus' get Askatoon if I lif--I mus' get dere in time. It is all safe to
de stroke of de hour, mais, after, it is--bon Dieu--it is hell then. Who
shall forgif me--no!"
"The stroke of the hour--the stroke of the hour!" It beat into her
brain. Were they both thinking of the same thing now?
"You will show me queeck way. I mus' be Askatoon in two days, or it is
all over," he almost moaned. "Is no man here--I forget dat name, my head
go round like a wheel; but I know dis place, an' de good God He help me
fin' my way to where I call out, bien sur. Dat man's name I have
forget."
"My father's name is John Alroyd," she answered absently, for there were
hammering at her brain the words, "The stroke of the hour."
"Ah, now I get--yes. An' your name, it is Loisette Alroy'--ah, I have it
in my mind now--Loisette. I not forget dat name, I not forget you--no."
"Why do you want to go the 'quick' way to Askatoon?" she asked.
He puffed a moment at his pipe before he answered her. Presently he
said, holding out his pipe, "You not like smoke, mebbe?"
She shook her head in negation, making an impatient gesture.
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