But when the bishop touched on the subject of repentance, the hidden force was revealed. It was as if the tormenting spirit within him had cried out loudly, instead of the low, monotonous tone in which he said: —

“Yas, I kin repent now he’s dade, but ef he war livin’ an’ riled me agin that-a-way like he done — I reckon — I reckon God don’t want no repentin’ like I repents.”

It was steel against flint, the spark in the narrow blue line of his eyes as he said the words, and the bishop understood.

But what to do with this man of the mountains — this force of nature in the wild; how guard him from a far more pernicious element in the civilized town life than any he would find in his rugged solitudes?