No penitent at a Methodist revival-service ever looked more serious than did Jim Newall, as Margaret Godfrey uttered the above.
Margaret had at length sufficiently recovered to proceed to the wigwam, assisted on either side by little Mag and Mrs.Fowler.The three walked slowly toward the home of Paul Guidon.

Arriving at the entrance of the wigwam the little Chipewayan led the way inside.
The first object that met the eyes of Mrs.Godfrey was the sick Indian lying, wasted and emaciated, on a bed of spruce-boughs covered with a blanket.
Margaret Godfrey at once knelt at his bed-side and placing his dark thin hand in that of her own, said "Dear Paul, I come to see you." He looked up at her and stared in a sort of vacant manner.

He tried to raise his head, but was too weak to do so.

She looked straight in his eyes, and said again, "Paul, you remember your old pale-faced friend who used to live at Grimross Neck ?" As Margaret spoke the last word, Paul Guidon faintly whispered, "Thank Great Chief, I told him get you come me, Paul must not be made die till you come." Great tears rolled down his sunken cheeks as he whispered the above, and Margaret Godfrey, overpowered with emotion, lightly rested her forehead on his thin sinewy arm.

Not a step.