CONJUROR'S HOUSE

 _Beyond the butternut, beyond the maple, beyond the white pine and the red, beyond the oak, the cedar, and the beech, beyond even the white and yellow birches lies a Land, and in that Land the shadows fall crimson across the snow. _

[Illustration: PAUL GILMORE, in "THE CALL OF THE NORTH"--The dramatic version of "CONJUROR'S HOUSE. "]

 CONJUROR'S HOUSE

 _A Romance of the Free Forest_

 BY

 Stewart Edward White

 AUTHOR OF THE WESTERNERS, THE BLAZED TRAIL, ETC. 

 GROSSET & DUNLAP

 PUBLISHERS: NEW YORK

COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY

STEWART EDWARD WHITE

COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY

Published, March, 1903. R. 

CONJUROR'S HOUSE

_Chapter One_

The girl stood on a bank above a river flowing north. At her backcrouched a dozen clean whitewashed buildings. Before her ininterminable journey, day after day, league on league into remoteness, stretched the stern Northern wilderness, untrodden save by thetrappers, the Indians, and the beasts. Close about the littlesettlement crept the balsams and spruce, the birch and poplar, behindwhich lurked vast dreary muskegs, a chaos of bowlder-splits, theforest. The girl had known nothing different for many years. Once asummer the sailing ship from England felt its frozen way through theHudson Straits, down the Hudson Bay, to drop anchor in the mightyRiver of the Moose. Once a summer a six-fathom canoe manned by a dozenpaddles struggled down the waters of the broken Abítibi. Once a year alittle band of red-sashed _voyageurs_ forced their exhaustedsledge-dogs across the ice from some unseen wilderness trail. That wasall. 

Before her eyes the seasons changed, all grim, but one by the verypathos of brevity sad. In the brief luxuriant summer came the Indiansto trade their pelts, came the keepers of the winter posts to rest, came the ship from England bringing the articles of use or ornamentshe had ordered a full year before. Within a short time all were gone, into the wilderness, into the great unknown world. The snow fell; theriver and the bay froze. Strange men from the North glided silentlyto the Factor's door, bearing the meat and pelts of the seal. Bitteriron cold shackled the northland, the abode of desolation. Armies ofcaribou drifted by, ghostly under the aurora, moose, lordly andscornful, stalked majestically along the shore; wolves howledinvisible, or trotted dog-like in organized packs along the riverbanks. Day and night the ice artillery thundered. Night and day thefireplaces roared defiance to a frost they could not subdue, while thepeople of desolation crouched beneath the tyranny of winter. 

Then the upheaval of spring with the ice-jams and terrors, the Mooseroaring by untamable, the torrents rising, rising foot by foot to thevery dooryard of her father's house. Strange spirits were abroad atnight, howling, shrieking, cracking and groaning in voices of ice andflood. Her Indian nurse told her of them all--of Maunabosho, the good;of Nenaubosho the evil--in her lisping Ojibway dialect that soundedlike the softer voices of the forest. 

At last the sudden subsidence of the waters; the splendid eagerblossoming of the land into new leaves, lush grasses, an abandon ofsweetbrier and hepatica. The air blew soft, a thousand singing birdssprang from the soil, the wild goose cried in triumph. Overhead shonethe hot sun of the Northern summer. 

From the wilderness came the _brigades_ bearing their pelts, the hardytraders of the winter posts, striking hot the imagination through themysterious and lonely allurement of their callings. For a briefseason, transient as the flash of a loon's wing on the shadow of alake, the post was bright with the thronging of many people. TheIndians pitched their wigwams on the broad meadows below the bend; thehalf-breeds sauntered about, flashing bright teeth and wicked darkeyes at whom it might concern; the traders gazed stolidily over theirlittle black pipes, and uttered brief sentences through their thickblack beards. Everywhere was gay sound--the fiddle, the laugh, thesong; everywhere was gay color--the red sashes of the _voyageurs_, thebeaded moccasins and leggings of the _mètis_, the capotes of the_brigade_, the variegated costumes of the Crees and Ojibways. Like thewild roses around the edge of the muskegs, this brief flowering of theyear passed. Again the nights were long, again the frost crept downfrom the eternal snow, again the wolves howled across barren wastes. 

Just now the girl stood ankle-deep in green grasses, a bath ofsunlight falling about her, a tingle of salt wind humming up the riverfrom the bay's offing. She was clad in gray wool, and wore no hat. Hersoft hair, the color of ripe wheat, blew about her temples, shadowingeyes of fathomless black. The wind had brought to the light anddelicate brown of her complexion a trace of color to match her lips, whose scarlet did not fade after the ordinary and imperceptible mannerinto the tinge of her skin, but continued vivid to the very edge; hereyes were wide and unseeing. One hand rested idly on the breech of anornamented bronze field-gun. 

McDonald, the chief trader, passed from the house to the store wherehis bartering with the Indians was daily carried on; the otherScotchman in the Post, Galen Albret, her father, and the head Factorof all this region, paced back and forth across the veranda of thefactory, caressing his white beard; up by the stockade, young AchillePicard tuned his whistle to the note of the curlew; across the meadowfrom the church wandered Crane, the little Church of Englandmissionary, peering from short-sighted pale blue eyes; beyond thecoulee, Sarnier and his Indians _chock-chock-chocked_ away at theseams of the long coast-trading bateau. The girl saw nothing, heardnothing. She was dreaming, she was trying to remember. 

In the lines of her slight figure, in its pose there by the old gunover the old, old river, was the grace of gentle blood, the pride ofcaste. Of all this region her father was the absolute lord, feared, loved, obeyed by all its human creatures. When he went abroad, hetravelled in a state almost mediæval in its magnificence; when hestopped at home, men came to him from the Albany, the Kenógami, theMissináibe, the Mattágami, the Abítibi--from all the rivers of theNorth--to receive his commands. Way was made for him, his lightestword was attended. In his house dwelt ceremony, and of his house shewas the princess. Unconsciously she had taken the gracious habit ofcommand. She had come to value her smile, her word, to value herself. The lady of a realm greater than the countries of Europe, she movedserene, pure, lofty amid dependants. 

And as the lady of this realm she did honor to her father'sguests--sitting stately behind the beautiful silver service, below theportrait of the Company's greatest explorer, Sir George Simpson, dispensing crude fare in gracious manner, listening silently to theconversation, finally withdrawing at the last with a sweeping courtesyto play soft, melancholy, and world-forgotten airs on the old piano, brought over years before by the _Lady Head_, while the guests mademerry with the mellow port and ripe Manila cigars which the Companysupplied its servants. Then coffee, still with her natural Old Worldcharm of the _grande dame_. Such guests were not many, nor came often. There was McTavish of Rupert's House, a three days' journey to thenortheast; Rand of Fort Albany, a week's travel to the northwest;Mault of Fort George, ten days beyond either, all grizzled in theCompany's service. With them came their clerks, mostly English andScotch younger sons, with a vast respect for the Company, and avaster for their Factor's daughter. Once in two or three yearsappeared the inspectors from Winnipeg, true lords of the North, withtheir six-fathom canoes, their luxurious furs, their red bannerstrailing like gonfalons in the water. Then this post of Conjuror'sHouse feasted and danced, undertook gay excursions, discussed inpublic or private conclave weighty matters, grave and reverendadvices, cautions, and commands. They went. Desolation again crept in. 

The girl dreamed. She was trying to remember. Far-off, half-forgottenvisions of brave, courtly men, of gracious, beautiful women, peopledthe clouds of her imaginings. She heard them again, as voices beneaththe roar of rapids, like far-away bells tinkling faintly through awind, pitying her, exclaiming over her; she saw them dim andchanging, as wraiths of a fog, as shadow pictures in a mist beneaththe moon, leaning to her with bright, shining eyes full of compassionfor the little girl who was to go so far away into an unknown land;she felt them, as the touch of a breeze when the night is still, fondling her, clasping her, tossing her aloft in farewell. One shefelt plainly--a gallant youth who held her up for all to see. One shesaw clearly--a dewy-eyed, lovely woman who murmured loving, brokenwords. One she heard distinctly--a gentle voice that said, "God's lovebe with you, little one, for you have far to go, and many days to passbefore you see Quebec again. " And the girl's eyes suddenly swambright, for the northland was very dreary. She threw her palms out ina gesture of weariness. 

Then her arms dropped, her eyes widened, her head bent forward in theattitude of listening. 

"Achille!" she called, "Achille! Come here!"

The young fellow approached respectfully. 

"Mademoiselle?" he asked. 

"Don't you hear?" she said. 

Faint, between intermittent silences, came the singing of men's voicesfrom the south. 

"_Grace à Dieu_!" cried Achille. "Eet is so. Eet is dat _brigade_!"

He ran shouting toward the factory. 

_Chapter Two_

Men, women, dogs, children sprang into sight from nowhere, and ranpell-mell to the two cannon. Galen Albret, reappearing from thefactory, began to issue orders. Two men set about hoisting on the tallflag-staff the blood-red banner of the Company. Speculation, excitedand earnest, arose among the men as to which of the branches of theMoose this _brigade_ had hunted--the Abítibi, the Mattágami, or theMissináibie. The half-breed women shaded their eyes. Mrs. Cockburn, the doctor's wife, and the only other white woman in the settlement, came and stood by Virginia Albret's side. Wishkobun, the Ojibwaywoman from the south country, and Virginia's devoted familiar, tookher half-jealous stand on the other. 

"It is the same every year. We always like to see them come, " saidMrs. Cockburn, in her monotonous low voice of resignation. 

"Yes, " replied Virginia, moving a little impatiently, for sheanticipated eagerly the picturesque coming of these men of the SilentPlaces, and wished to savor the pleasure undistracted. 

"Mi-di-mo-yay ka'-win-ni-shi-shin, " said Wishkobun, quietly. 

"Ae, " replied Virginia, with a little laugh, patting the woman's brownhand. 

A shout arose. Around the bend shot a canoe. At once every paddle init was raised to a perpendicular salute, then all together dashedinto the water with the full strength of the _voyageurs_ wieldingthem. The canoe fairly leaped through the cloud of spray. Anotherrounded the bend, another double row of paddles flashed in thesunlight, another crew, broke into a tumult of rapid exertion as theyraced the last quarter mile of the long journey. A third burst intoview, a fourth, a fifth. The silent river was alive with motion, glittering with color. The canoes swept onward, like race-horsesstraining against the rider. Now the spectators could make out plainlythe boatmen. It could be seen that they had decked themselves out forthe occasion. Their heads were bound with bright-colored fillets, their necks with gay scarves. The paddles were adorned with gaudywoollen streamers. New leggings, of holiday pattern, wereintermittently visible on the bowsmen and steersmen as they half roseto give added force to their efforts. 

At first the men sang their canoe songs, but as the swift rush of thebirch-barks brought them almost to their journey's end, they burstinto wild shrieks and whoops of delight. 

All at once they were close to hand. The steersman rose to throw hisentire weight on the paddle. The canoe swung abruptly for the shore. Those in it did not relax their exertions, but continued theirvigorous strokes until within a few yards of apparent destruction. 

"Holá! holá!" they cried, thrusting their paddles straight down intothe water with a strong backward twist. The stout wood bent andcracked. The canoe stopped short and the _voyageurs_ leaped ashore tobe swallowed up in the crowd that swarmed down upon them. 

The races were about equally divided, and each acted after itsinstincts--the Indian greeting his people quietly, and stalking awayto the privacy of his wigwam; the more volatile white catching hiswife or his sweetheart or his child to his arms. A swarm of Indianwomen and half-grown children set about unloading the canoes. 

Virginia's eyes ran over the crews of the various craft. Sherecognized them all, of course, to the last Indian packer, for in sosmall a community the personality and doings of even the humblestmembers are well known to everyone. Long since she had identified the_brigade_. It was of the Missináibie, the great river whosehead-waters rise a scant hundred feet from those that flow as manymiles south into Lake Superior. It drains a wild and rugged countrywhose forests cling to bowlder hills, whose streams issue fromdeep-riven gorges, where for many years the big gray wolves hadgathered in unusual abundance. She knew by heart the winter posts, although she had never seen them. She could imagine the isolation ofsuch a place, and the intense loneliness of the solitary man condemnedto live through the dark Northern winters, seeing no one but the rareIndians who might come in to trade with him for their pelts. She couldappreciate the wild joy of a return for a brief season to the companyof fellow-men. 

When her glance fell upon the last of the canoes, it rested with aflash of surprise. The craft was still floating idly, its bow barelycaught against the bank. The crew had deserted, but amidships, amongthe packages of pelts and duffel, sat a stranger. The canoe was thatof the post at Kettle Portage. 

She saw the stranger to be a young man with a clean-cut face, a trimathletic figure dressed in the complete costume of the _voyageurs_, and thin brown and muscular hands. When the canoe touched the bank hehad taken no part in the scramble to shore, and so had sat forgottenand unnoticed save by the girl, his figure erect with something of theIndian's stoical indifference. Then when, for a moment, he imaginedhimself free from observation, his expression abruptly changed. Hishands clenched tense between his buckskin knees, his eyes glanced hereand there restlessly, and an indefinable shadow of something whichVirginia felt herself obtuse in labelling desperation, and yet towhich she discovered it impossible to fit a name, descended on hisfeatures, darkening them. Twice he glanced away to the south. Twice heran his eye over the vociferating crowd on the narrow beach. 

Absorbed in the silent drama of a man's unguarded expression, Virginialeaned forward eagerly. In some vague manner it was borne in on herthat once before she had experienced the same emotion, had come intocontact with someone, something, that had affected her emotionallyjust as this man did now. But she could not place it. Over and overagain she forced her mind to the very point of recollection, butalways it slipped back again from the verge of attainment. Then alittle movement, some thrust forward of the head, some nervous, rapidshifting of the hands or feet, some unconscious poise of theshoulders, brought the scene flashing before her--the white snow, thestill forest, the little square pen-trap, the wolverine, desperate butcool, thrusting its blunt nose quickly here and there in baffled hopeof an orifice of escape. Somehow the man reminded her of the animal, the fierce little woods marauder, trapped and hopeless, but scorningto cower as would the gentler creatures of the forest. 

Abruptly his expression changed again. His figure stiffened, themuscles of his face turned iron. Virginia saw that someone on thebeach had pointed toward him. His mask was on. 

The first burst of greeting was over. Here and there one or another ofthe _brigade_ members jerked their heads in the stranger's direction, explaining low-voiced to their companions. Soon all eyes turnedcuriously toward the canoe. A hum of low-voiced comment took theplace of louder delight. 

The stranger, finding himself generally observed, rose slowly to hisfeet, picked his way with a certain exaggerated deliberation ofmovement over the duffel lying in the bottom of the canoe, until hereached the bow, where he paused, one foot lifted to the gunwale justabove the emblem of the painted star. Immediately a dead silence fell. Groups shifted, drew apart, and together again, like the slowagglomeration of sawdust on the surface of water, until at last theyformed in a semicircle of staring, whose centre was the bow of thecanoe and the stranger from Kettle Portage. The men scowled, the womenregarded him with a half-fearful curiosity. 

Virginia Albret shivered in the shock of this sudden electricpolarity. The man seemed alone against a sullen, unexplainedhostility. The desperation she had thought to read but a moment beforehad vanished utterly, leaving in its place a scornful indifference andperhaps more than a trace of recklessness. He was ripe for anoutbreak. She did not in the least understand, but she knew it fromthe depths of her woman's instinct, and unconsciously her sympathiesflowed out to this man, alone without a greeting where all others cameto their own. 

For perhaps a full sixty seconds the new-comer stood uncertain what heshould do, or perhaps waiting for some word or act to tip the balanceof his decision. One after another those on shore felt the insolenceof his stare, and shifted uneasily. Then his deliberate scrutiny roseto the group by the cannon. Virginia caught her breath sharply. Inspite of herself she could not turn away. The stranger's eye crossedher own. She saw the hard look fade into pleased surprise. Instantlyhis hat swept the gunwale of the canoe. He stepped magnificentlyashore. The crisis was over. Not a word had been spoken. 

_Chapter Three_

Galen Albret sat in his rough-hewn arm-chair at the head of the table, receiving the reports of his captains. The long, narrow room openedbefore him, heavy raftered, massive, white, with a cavernous fireplaceat either end. Above him frowned Sir George's portrait, at his righthand and his left stretched the row of home-made heavy chairs, finished smooth and dull by two centuries of use. 

His arms were laid along the arms of his seat; his shaggy head wassunk forward until his beard swept the curve of his big chest; theheavy tufts of hair above his eyes were drawn steadily together in afrown of attention. One after another the men arose and spoke. He madeno movement, gave no sign, his short, powerful form blotted againstthe lighter silhouette of his chair, only his eyes and the white ofhis beard gleaming out of the dusk. 

Kern of Old Brunswick House, Achard of New; Ki-wa-nee, the Indian ofFlying Post--these and others told briefly of many things, each in hisown language. To all Galen Albret listened in silence. Finally LouisPlacide from the post at Kettle Portage got to his feet. He tooreported of the trade, --so many "beaver" of tobacco, of powder, oflead, of pork, of flour, of tea, given in exchange; so many mink, otter, beaver, ermine, marten, and fisher pelts taken in return. Thenhe paused and went on at greater length in regard to the stranger, speaking evenly but with emphasis. When he had finished, Galen Albretstruck a bell at his elbow. Me-en-gan, the bowsman of the Factor'scanoe, entered, followed closely by the young man who had thatafternoon arrived. 

He was dressed still in his costume of the _voyageur_--the looseblouse shirt, the buckskin leggings and moccasins, the long tasselledred sash. His head was as high and his glance as free, but now thesteel blue of his eye had become steady and wary, and two faint lineshad traced themselves between his brows. At his entrance a hush ofexpectation fell. Galen Albret did not stir, but the others hitchednearer the long, narrow table, and two or three leaned both elbows onit the better to catch what should ensue. 

Me-en-gan stopped by the door, but the stranger walked steadily thelength of the room until he faced the Factor. Then he paused andwaited collectedly for the other to speak. 

This the Factor did not at once begin to do, but satimpassive--apparently without thought--while the heavy breathing ofthe men in the room marked off the seconds of time. Finally abruptlyGalen Albret's cavernous voice boomed forth. Something there wasstrangely mysterious, cryptic, in the virile tones issuing from a bulkso massive and inert. Galen Albret did not move, did not even raisethe heavy-lidded, dull stare of his eyes to the young man who stoodbefore him; hardly did his broad arched chest seem to rise and fallwith the respiration of speech; and yet each separate word leapedforth alive, instinct with authority. 

"Once at Leftfoot Lake, two Indians caught you asleep, " hepronounced. "They took your pelts and arms, and escorted you toSudbury. They were my Indians. Once on the upper Abítibi you werestopped by a man named Herbert, who warned you from the country, afterrelieving you of your entire outfit. He told you on parting what youmight expect if you should repeat the attempt--severe measures, theseverest. Herbert was my man. Now Louis Placide surprises you in arapids near Kettle Portage and brings you here. "

During the slow delivering of these accurately spaced words, theattitude of the men about the long, narrow table gradually changed. Their curiosity had been great before, but now their intellectualinterest was awakened, for these were facts of which Louis Placide'sstatement had given no inkling. Before them, for the dealing, was aproblem of the sort whose solution had earned for Galen Albret areputation in the north country. They glanced at one another to obtainthe sympathy of attention, then back toward their chief in anxiousexpectation of his next words. The stranger, however, remainedunmoved. A faint smile had sketched the outline of his lips when firstthe Factor began to speak. This smile he maintained to the end. As theolder man paused, he shrugged his shoulders. 

"All of that is quite true, " he admitted. 

Even the unimaginative men of the Silent Places started at thesesimple words, and vouchsafed to their speaker a more sympatheticattention. For the tones in which they were delivered possessed thatdeep, rich throat timbre which so often means power--personalmagnetism--deep, from the chest, with vibrant throat tones suggestinga volume of sound which may in fact be only hinted by the loudness theman at the moment sees fit to employ. Such a voice is a responsiveinstrument on which emotion and mood play wonderfully seductivestrains. 

"All of that is quite true, " he repeated after a second's pause; "butwhat has it to do with me? Why am I stopped and sent out from the freeforest? I am really curious to know your excuse. "

"This, " replied Galen Albret, weightily, "is my domain. I tolerate norivalry here. "

"Your right?" demanded the young man, briefly. 

"I have made the trade, and I intend to keep it. "

"In other words, the strength of your good right arm, " supplementedthe stranger, with the faintest hint of a sneer. 

"That is neither here nor there, " rejoined Galen Albret, "the point isthat I intend to keep it. I've had you sent out, but you have been toostupid or too obstinate to take the hint. Now I have to warn you inperson. I shall send you out once more, but this time you must promiseme not to meddle with the trade again. "

He paused for a response. The young man's smile merely becameaccentuated. 

"I have means of making my wishes felt, " warned the Factor. 

"Quite so, " replied the young man, deliberately, "_La LongueTraverse_. "

At this unexpected pronouncement of that dread name two of the menswore violently; the others thrust back their chairs and sat, theirarms rigidly braced against the table's edge, staring wide-eyed andopen-mouthed at the speaker. Only Galen Albret remained unmoved. 

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, calmly. 

"It amuses you to be ignorant, " replied the stranger, with somecontempt. "Don't you think this farce is about played out? I do. Ifyou think you're deceiving me any with this show of formality, you'remightily mistaken. Don't you suppose I knew what I was about when Icame into this country? Don't you suppose I had weighed the risks andhad made up my mind to take my medicine if I should be caught? Yourmethods are not quite so secret as you imagine. I know perfectly wellwhat happens to Free Traders in Rupert's Land. "

"You seem very certain of your information. "

"Your men seem equally so, " pointed out the stranger. 

Galen Albret, at the beginning of the young man's longer speech, hadsunk almost immediately into his passive calm--the calm of greatelemental bodies, the calm of a force so vast as to rest motionless bythe very static power of its mass. When he spoke again, it was in thetentative manner of his earlier interrogatory, committing himself notat all, seeking to plumb his opponent's knowledge. 

"Why, if you have realized the gravity of your situation have youpersisted after having been twice warned?" he inquired. 

"Because you're not the boss of creation, " replied the young man, bluntly. 

Galen Albret merely raised his eyebrows. 

[Illustration: THE ARRIVAL OF THE FREE-TRADER. Scene from the play. ]

"I've got as much business in this country as you have, " continuedthe young man, his tone becoming more incisive. "You don't seem torealize that your charter of monopoly has expired. If the governmentwas worth a damn it would see to you fellows. You have no more rightto order me out of here than I would have to order you out. Supposesome old Husky up on Whale River should send you word that you weren'tto trap in the Whale River district next winter. I'll bet you'd bethere. You Hudson Bay men tried the same game out west. It didn'twork. You ask your western men if they ever heard of Ned Trent. "

"Your success does not seem to have followed you here, " suggested theFactor, ironically. 

The young man smiled. 

"This _Longue Traverse_, " went on Albret, "what is your idea there? Ihave heard something of it. What is your information?"

Ned Trent laughed outright. "You don't imagine there is any secretabout that!" he marvelled. "Why, every child north of the Line knowsthat. You will send me away without arms, and with but a handful ofprovisions. If the wilderness and starvation fail, your runners willnot. I shall never reach the Temiscamingues alive. "

"The same old legend, " commented Galen Albret in apparent amusement, "I heard it when I first came to this country. You'll find a dozensuch in every Indian camp. "

"Jo Bagneau, Morris Proctor, John May, William Jarvis, " checked offthe young man on his fingers. 

"Personal enmity, " replied the Factor. 

He glanced up to meet the young man's steady, sceptical smile. 

"You do not believe me?"

"Oh, if it amuses you, " conceded the stranger. 

"The thing is not even worth discussion. "

"Remarkable sensation among our friends here for so idle a tale. "

Galen Albret considered. 

"You will remember that throughout you have forced this interview, " hepointed out. "Now I must ask your definite promise to get out of thiscountry and to stay out. "

"No, " replied Ned Trent. 

"Then a means shall be found to make you!" threatened the Factor, hisanger blazing at last. 

"Ah, " said the stranger softly. 

Galen Albret raised his hand and let it fall. The bronzed and gaudilybedecked men filed out. 

_Chapter Four_

In the open air the men separated in quest of their various familiesor friends. The stranger lingered undecided for a moment on the topstep of the veranda, and then wandered down the little street, ifstreet it could be called where horses there were none. On the leftranged the square whitewashed houses with their dooryards, the oldchurch, the workshop. To the right was a broad grass-plot, and thenthe Moose, slipping by to the distant offing. Over a little bridge thestranger idled, looking curiously about him. The great trading-houseattracted his attention, with its narrow picket lane leading to thedoor; the storehouse surrounded by a protective log fence; the fortitself, a medley of heavy-timbered stockades and square block-houses. After a moment he resumed his strolling. Everywhere he went the peoplelooked at him, ceasing their varied occupations. No one spoke to him, no one hindered him. To all intents and purposes he was as free as theair. But all about the island flowed the barrier of the Moose, andbeyond frowned the wilderness--strong as iron bars to an unarmed man. 

Brooding on his imprisonment the Free Trader forgot his surroundings. The post, the river, the forest, the distant bay faded from his sight, and he fell into deep reflection. There remained nothing of physicalconsciousness but a sense of the grateful spring warmth from thedeclining sun. At length he became vaguely aware of something else. He glanced up. Right by him he saw a handsome French half-breedsprawled out in the sun against a building, looking him straight inthe face and flashing up at him a friendly smile. 

"Hullo, " said Achille Picard, "you mus' been 'sleep. I call you twot'ree tam. "

The prisoner seemed to find something grateful in the greeting evenfrom the enemy's camp. Perhaps it merely happened upon thepsychological moment for a response. 

"Hullo, " he returned, and seated himself by the man's side, lazilystretching himself in enjoyment of the reflected heat. 

"You is come off Kettle Portage, eh, " said Achille, "I t'ink so. Youis come trade dose fur? Eet is bad beez-ness, dis Conjur' House. Ole'man he no lak' dat you trade dose fur. He's very hard, dat ole man. "

"Yes, " replied the stranger, "he has got to be, I suppose. This is thecountry of _la Longue Traverse_. "

"I beleef you, " responded Achille, cheerfully; "w'at you call heemyour nam'?"

"Ned Trent. "

"Me Achille--Achille Picard. I capitaine of dose dogs on dat winter_brigade_. "

"It is a hard post. The winter travel is pretty tough. "

"I beleef you. "

"Better to take _la Longue Traverse_ in summer, eh?"

"_La Longue Traverse_--hees not mattaire w'en yo tak' heem. "

"Right you are. Have there been men sent out since you came here?"

"_Bâ oui_. Wan, two, t'ree. I don' remember. I t'ink Jo Bagneau. Nobodee he don' know, but dat ole man an' hees _coureurs du bois_. Heees wan ver' great man. Nobodee is know w'at he will do. "

"I'm due to hit that trail myself, I suppose, " said Ned Trent. 

"I have t'ink so, " acknowledged Achille, still with a tone of mostengaging cheerfulness. 

"Shall I be sent out at once, do you think?"

"I don' know. Sometam' dat ole man ver' queek. Sometam' he ver' slow. One day Injun mak' heem ver' mad; he let heem go, and shot dat Injunright off. Noder tam he get mad on one _voyageur_, but he don' keelheem queek; he bring heem here, mak' heem stay in dose warm room, feedheem dose plaintee grub. Purty soon dose _voyageur_ is get fat, is gosof; he no good for dose trail. Ole man he mak' heem go ver' far off, mos' to Whale Reever. Eet is plaintee cole. Dat _voyageur_, he freezeto hees inside. Dey tell me he feex heem like dat. "

"Achille, you haven't anything against me--do you want me to die?"

The half-breed flashed his white teeth. 

"_Bâ non_, " he replied, carelessly. "For w'at I want dat you die? It'ink you bus' up bad; _vous avez la mauvaise fortune_. "

"Listen. I have nothing with me; but out at the front I am very rich. I will give you a hundred dollars, if you will help me to get away. "

"I can' do eet, " smiled Picard. 

"Why not?"

"Ole man he fin' dat out. He is wan devil, dat ole man. I lakfirs'-rate help you; I lak' dat hundred dollar. On Ojibway countreedey make hees nam' _Wagosh_--dat mean fox. He know everyt'ing. "

"I'll make it two hundred--three hundred--five hundred. "

"W'at you wan' me do?" hesitated Achille Picard at the last figure. 

"Get me a rifle and some cartridges. "

The half-breed rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and inhaled a deepbreath. 

"I can' do eet, " he declared. "I can' do eet for t'ousand dollar--tent'ousand. I don't t'ink you fin' anywan on dis settlement w'at candare do eet. He is wan devil. He's count all de carabine on dis pos', an' w'en he is mees wan, he fin' out purty queek who is tak' heem. "

"Steal one from someone else, " suggested Trent. 

"He fin' out jess sam', " objected the half-breed, obstinately. "Youdon' know heem. He mak' you geev yourself away, when he lak' do dat. "The smile had left the man's face. This was evidently too serious amatter to be taken lightly. 

"Well, come with me, then, " urged Ned Trent, with some impatience. "Athousand dollars I'll give you. With that you can be rich somewhereelse. "

But the man was becoming more and more uneasy, glancing furtively fromleft to right and back again, in an evident panic lest theconversation be overheard, although the nearest dwelling-house was ascore of yards distant. 

"Hush, " he whispered. "You mustn't talk lak' dat. Dose ole man fin'you out. You can' hide away from heem. Ole tam long ago, PierreCadotte is stole feefteen skin of de otter--de sea-otter--and he issol' dem on Winnipeg. He is get 'bout t'ousand beaver--five hunder'dollar. Den he is mak' dose longue voyage wes'--ver' far wes'--_ondit_ Peace Reever. He is mak' heem dose cabane, w'ere he is leev longtam wid wan man of Mackenzie. He is call it hees nam' Dick Henderson. I is meet Dick Henderson on Winnipeg las' year, w'en I mak' paddle ondem Factor Brigade, an' dose High Commissionaire. He is tol' me wannight pret' late he wake up all de queeck he can w'en he is hear wannoise in dose cabane, an' he is see wan Injun, lak' phantome 'gainstde moon to de door. Dick Henderson he is 'sleep, he don' know w'at hemus' do. Does Injun is step ver' sof' an' go on bunk of PierreCadotte. Pierre Cadotte is mak' de beeg cry. Dick Henderson say he nosee dose Injun no more, an' he fin' de door shut. _Bâ_ Pierre Cadotte, she's go dead. He is mak' wan beeg hole in hees ches'. "

"Some enemy, some robber frightened away because the Henderson manwoke up, probably, " suggested Ned Trent. 

The half-breed laid his hand impressively on the other's arm andleaned forward until his bright black eyes were within a foot of theother's face. 

"W'en dose Injun is stan' heem in de moonlight, Dick Henderson is seehees face. Dick Henderson is know all dose Injun. He is tole me datInjun is not Peace Reever Injun. Dick Henderson is say dose Injun isOjibway Injun--Ojibway Injun two t'ousand mile wes'--on Peace Reever!Dat's curi's!"

"I was tell you nodder story--" went on Achille, after a moment. 

"Never mind, " interrupted the Trader. "I believe you. "

"Maybee, " said Achille cheerfully, "you stan' some show--notmoche--eef he sen' you out pret' queeck. Does small _perdrix_ isyonge, an' dose duck. Maybee you is catch dem, maybee you is keel demwit' bow an' arrow. Dat's not beeg chance. You mus' geev dose_coureurs de bois_ de sleep w'en you arrive. _Voilà_, I geev you myknife!"

He glanced rapidly to right and left, then slipped a small object intothe stranger's hand. 

"_Bâ_, I t'ink does ole man is know dat. I t'ink he kip you here tilltam w'en dose _perdrix_ and duck is all grow up beeg' nuff so he canfly. "

"I'm not watched, " said the young man in eager tones; "I'll slip awayto-night. "

"Dat no good, " objected Picard. "W'at you do? S'pose you do dat, dose_coureurs_ keel you _toute suite_. Dey is have good excuse, an' you ishave nothing to mak' de fight. You sleep away, and dose ole man issen' out plaintee Injun. Dey is fine you sure. _Bâ_, eef he _sen'_ youout, den he sen' onlee two Injun. Maybee you fight dem; I don' know. _Non, mon ami_, eef you is wan' get away w'en dose ole man he don'know eet, you mus' have dose carabine. Den you is have wan leetlechance. _Bâ_, eef you is not have heem dose carabine, you mus' needdose leetle grub he geev you, and not plaintee Injun follow you, onleetwo. "

"And I cannot get the rifle. "

"An' dose ole man is don' sen' you out till eet is too late for mak'de grub on de fores'. Dat's w'at I t'ink. Dat ees not fonny for you. "

Ned Trent's eyes were almost black with thought. Suddenly he threw hishead up. 

"I'll make him send me out now, " he asserted confidently. 

"How you mak' eet him?"

"I'll talk turkey to him till he's so mad he can't see straight. Thenmaybe he'll send me out right away. "

"How you mak' eet him so mad?" inquired Picard, with mild curiosity. 

"Never you mind--I'll do it. "

"_Bâ oui_, " ruminated Picard, "He is get mad pret' queeck. I t'inkp'raps dat plan he go all right. You was get heem mad plaintee easy. Den maybee he is sen' you out _toute suite_--maybee he is shoot you. "

"I'll take the chances--my friend. "

"_Bâ oui_, " shrugged Achille Picard, "eet is wan chance. "

He commenced to roll another cigarette. 

_Chapter Five_

Having sat buried in thought for a full five minutes after the tradersof the winter posts had left him, Galen Albret thrust back his chairand walked into a room, long, low, and heavily raftered, strikinglyunlike the Council Room. Its floor was overlaid with dark rugs; apiano of ancient model filled one corner; pictures and books broke thewall; the lamps and the windows were shaded; a woman's work-basket anda tea-set occupied a large table. Only a certain barbaric profusion offurs, the huge fireplace, and the rough rafters of the ceilingdifferentiated the place from the drawing-room of a well-to-do familyanywhere. 

Galen Albret sank heavily into a chair and struck a bell. A tall, slightly stooped English servant, with correct side whiskers andincompetent, watery blue eyes, answered. To him said the Factor:

"I wish to see Miss Albret. "

A moment later Virginia entered the room. 

"Let us have some tea, O-mi-mi, " requested her father. 

The girl moved gently about, preparing and lighting the lamp, measuring the tea, her fair head bowed gracefully over her task, herdark eyes pensive and but half following what she did. Finally with acertain air of decision she seated herself on the arm of a chair. 

"Father, " said she. 

"Yes. "

"A stranger came to-day with Louis Placide of Kettle Portage. "

"Well?"

"He was treated strangely by our people, and he treated them strangelyin return. Why is that?"

"Who can tell?"

"What is his station? Is he a common trader? He does not look it. "

"He is a man of intelligence and daring. "

"Then why is he not our guest?"

Galen Albret did not answer. After a moment's pause he asked again forhis tea. The girl turned away impatiently. Here was a puzzle, neitherthe _voyageurs_, nor Wishkobun her nurse, nor her father would explainto her. The first had grinned stupidly; the second had drawn her shawlacross her face, the third asked for tea!

She handed her father the cup, hesitated, then ventured to inquirewhether she was forbidden to greet the stranger should the occasionarise. 

"He is a gentleman, " replied her father. 

She sipped her tea thoughtfully, her imagination stirring. Again herrecollection lingered over the clear bronze lines of the stranger'sface. Something vaguely familiar seemed to touch her consciousnesswith ghostly fingers. She closed her eyes and tried to clutch them. Atonce they were withdrawn. And then again, when her attention wandered, they stole back, plucking appealingly at the hem of her recollections. 

The room was heavy-curtained, deep embrasured, for the house, beneathits clap-boards, was of logs. Although out of doors the clear springsunshine still flooded the valley of the Moose; within, the shadowshad begun with velvet fingers to extinguish the brighter lights. Virginia threw herself back on a chair in the corner. 

"Virginia, " said Galen Albret, suddenly. 

"Yes, father. "

"You are no longer a child, but a woman. Would you like to go toQuebec?"

She did not answer him at once, but pondered beneath close-knit brows. 

"Do you wish me to go, father?" she asked at length. 

"You are eighteen. It is time you saw the world, time you learned theways of other people. But the journey is hard. I may not see you againfor some years. You go among strangers. "

He fell silent again. Motionless he had been, except for the mumblingof his lips beneath his beard. 

"It shall be just as you wish, " he added a moment later. 

At once a conflict arose in the girl's mind between her restlessdreams and her affections. But beneath all the glitter of the questionthere was really nothing to take her out. Here was her father, herewere the things she loved; yonder was novelty--and loneliness. 

Her existence at Conjuror's House was perhaps a little complex, but itwas familiar. She knew the people, and she took a daily and unwearyingdelight in the kindness and simplicity of their bearing towardherself. Each detail of life came to her in the round of habit, wearing the garment of accustomed use. But of the world she knewnothing except what she had been able to body forth from her reading, and that had merely given her imagination something tangible withwhich to feed her self-distrust. 

"Must I decide at once?" she asked. 

"If you go this year, it must be with the Abítibi _brigade_. You haveuntil then. "

"Thank you, father, " said the girl, sweetly. 

The shadows stole their surroundings one by one, until only the brightsilver of the tea-service, and the glitter of polished wood, and thesquare of the open door remained. Galen Albret became an inert darkmass. Virginia's gray was lost in that of the twilight. 

Time passed. The clock ticked on. Faintly sounds penetrated from thekitchen, and still more faintly from out of doors. Then the rectangleof the doorway was darkened by a man peering uncertainly. The man worehis hat, from which slanted a slender heron's plume; his shoulderswere square; his thighs slim and graceful. Against the light, onecaught the outline of the sash's tassel and the fringe of hisleggings. 

"Are you there, Galen Albret?" he challenged. 

The spell of twilight mystery broke. It seemed as if suddenly the airhad become surcharged with the vitality of opposition. 

"What then?" countered the Factor's heavy, deliberate tones. 

"True, I see you now, " rejoined the visitor carelessly, as he flunghimself across the arm of a chair and swung one foot. "I do not doubtyou are convinced by this time of my intention. "

"My recollection does not tell me what messenger I sent to ask thisinterview. "

[Illustration: "WHAT YOU WANT DOESN'T CONCERN ME IN THE LEAST. " Scenefrom the play. ]

"Correct, " laughed the young man a little hardly. "You _didn't_ askit. I attended to that myself. What _you_ want doesn't concern me inthe least. What do you suppose I care what, or what not, any of thiscrew wants? I'm master of my own ideas, anyway, thank God. If youdon't like what I do, you can always stop me. " In the tone of hisvoice was a distinct challenge. Galen Albret, it seemed, chose topass it by. 

"True, " he replied sombrely, after a barely perceptible pause to markhis tacit displeasure. "It is your hour. Say on. "

"I should like to know the date at which I take _la Longue Traverse_". 

"You persist in that nonsense?"

"Call my departure whatever you want to--I have the name for it. Whendo I leave?"

"I have not decided. "

"And in the meantime?"

"Do as you please. "

"Ah, thanks for this generosity, " cried the young man, in a tone ofdeclamatory sarcasm so artificial as fairly to scent the elocutionary. "To do as I please--here--now there's a blessed privilege! I may walkaround where I want to, talk to such as have a good word for me, punish those who have not! But do I err in concluding that the stateof your game law is such that it would be useless to reclaim my riflefrom the engaging Placide?"

"You have a fine instinct, " approved the Factor. 

"It is one of my valued possessions, " rejoined the young man, insolently. He struck a match, and by its light selected a cigarette. 

"I do not myself use tobacco in this room, " suggested the olderspeaker. 

"I am curious to learn the limits of your forbearance, " replied theyounger, proceeding to smoke. 

He threw back his head and regarded his opponent with an openchallenge, daring him to become angry. The match went out. 

Virginia, who had listened in growing anger and astonishment, unablelonger to refrain from defending the dignity of her usually autocraticfather, although he seemed little disposed to defend himself, nowintervened from her dark corner on the divan. 

"Is the journey then so long, sir, " she asked composedly, "that it atonce inspires such anticipations--and such bitterness?"

In an instant the man was on his feet, hat in hand, and the cigarettehad described a fiery curve into the empty hearth. 

"I beg your pardon, sincerely, " he cried, "I did not know you werehere!"

"You might better apologize to my father, " replied Virginia. 

The young man stepped forward and, without asking permission, lightedone of the tall lamps. 

"The lady of the guns!" he marvelled softly to himself. 

He moved across the room, looking down on her inscrutably, while shelooked up at him in composed expectation of an apology--and GalenAlbret sat motionless, in the shadow of his great arm-chair. But aftera moment her calm attention broke down. Something there was about thisman that stirred her emotions--whether of curiosity, pity, indignation, or a slight defensive fear she was not introspectiveenough to care to inquire. And yet the sensation was not altogetherunpleasant, and, as at the guns that afternoon, a certain portion ofher consciousness remained in sympathy with whatever it was ofmysterious attraction he represented to her. In him she felt thedominant, as a wild creature of the woods instinctively senses themaster and drops its eyes. Resentment did not leave her, but over itspread a film of confusion that robbed it of its potency. In him, inhis mood, in his words, in his manner, was something that called outin direct appeal the more primitive instincts hitherto dormant beneathher sense of maidenhood, so that even at this vexed moment ofconscious opposition, her heart was ranging itself on his side. Overpoweringly the feeling swept her that she was not acting inaccordance with her sense of fitness. She knew she should strike, butwas unable to give due force to the blow. In the confusion of such adiscovery, her eyelids fluttered and fell. And he saw, and, understanding his power, dropped swiftly beside her on the broaddivan. 

"You must pardon me, mademoiselle, " he begun, his voice sinking to adepth of rich music singularly caressing. "To you I may seem to havesmall excuses, but when a man is vouchsafed a glimpse of heaven onlyto be cast out the next instant into hell, he is not always particularin the choice of words. "

All the time his eyes sought hers, which avoided the challenge, andthe strong masculine charm of magnetism which he possessed in suchvital abundance overwhelmed her unaccustomed consciousness. GalenAlbret shifted uneasily, and shot a glance in their direction. Thestranger, perceiving this, lowered his voice in register and tone, andwent on with almost exaggerated earnestness. 

"Surely you can forgive me, a desperate man, almost anything?"

"I do not understand, " said Virginia, with a palpable effort. 

Ned Trent leaned forward until his eager face was almost at hershoulder. 

"Perhaps not, " he urged; "I cannot ask you to try. But suppose, mademoiselle, you were in my case. Suppose your eyes--like mine--haverested on nothing but a howling wilderness for dear heaven knows howlong; you come at last in sight of real houses, real grass, realdooryard gardens just ready to blossom in the spring, real food, realbeds, real books, real men with whom to exchange the sensible word, and something more, mademoiselle--a woman such as one dreams of in thelong forest nights under the stars. And you know that while others, the lucky ones, may stay to enjoy it all, you, the unfortunate, arecondemned to leave it at any moment for _la Longue Traverse_. Wouldnot you, too, be bitter, mademoiselle? Would not you too mock andsneer? Think, mademoiselle, I have not even the little satisfaction ofrousing men's anger. I can insult them as I will, but they turn asidein pity, saying one to another: 'Let us pleasure him in this, poorfellow, for he is about to take _la Longue Traverse_. ' That is whyyour father accepts calmly from me what he would not from another. "

Virginia sat bolt upright on the divan, her hands clasped in her lap, her wonderful black eyes looking straight out before her, trying toavoid her companion's insistent gaze. His attention was fixed on hermobile and changing countenance, but he marked with evidentsatisfaction Galen Albret's growing uneasiness. This was evidencedonly by a shifting of the feet, a tapping of the fingers, a turningof the shaggy head--in such a man slight tokens are significant. Thesilence deepened with the shadows drawing about the single lamp, whileVirginia attempted to maintain a breathing advantage above the floodof strange emotions which the personality of this man had swept downupon her. 

"It does not seem--" objected the girl in bewilderment, "I do notknow--men are often out in this country for years at a time. Longjourneys are not unknown among us. We are used to undertaking them. "

"But not _la Longue Traverse_, " insisted the young man, sombrely. 

"_La Longue Traverse_, " she repeated in sweet perplexity. 

"Sometimes called the Journey of Death, " he explained. 

She turned to look him in the eyes, a vague expression of puzzled fearon her face. 

"She has never heard of it, " said Ned Trent to himself, and aloud:"Men who undertake it leave comfort behind. They embrace hunger andweariness, cold and disease. At the last they embrace death, and areglad of his coming. "

Something in his tone compelled belief; something in his face told herthat he was a man by whom the inevitable hardships of winter andsummer travel, fearful as they are, would be lightly endured. Sheshuddered. 

"This dreadful thing is necessary?" she asked. 

"Alas, yes. "

"I do not understand--"

"In the North few of us understand, " agreed the young man with a hintof bitterness seeping through his voice. "The mighty order, and so weobey. But that is beside the point. I have not told you these thingsto harrow you; I have tried to excuse myself for my actions. Does ittouch you a little? Am I forgiven?"

"I do not understand how such things can be, " she objected in someconfusion, "why such journeys must exist. My mind cannot comprehendyour explanations. "

The stranger leaned forward abruptly, his eyes blazing with themagnetic personality of the man. 

"But your heart?" he breathed. 

It was the moment. "My heart--" she repeated, as though bewildered bythe intensity of his eyes, "my heart--ah--yes!"

Immediately the blood rushed over her face and throat in a torrent. She snatched her eyes away, and cowered back in the corner, going redand white by turns, now angry, now frightened, now bewildered, untilhis gaze, half masterful, half pleading, again conquered hers. GalenAlbret had ceased tapping his chair. In the dim light he sat, staringstraight before him, massive, inert, grim. 

"I believe you--" she murmured hurriedly at last. "I pity you!"

She rose. Quick as light he barred her passage. 

"Don't! don't!" she pleaded. "I must go--you have shaken me--I--I donot understand myself--"

"I must see you again, " he whispered eagerly. "To-night--by the guns. "

"No, no!"

"To-night, " he insisted. 

She raised her eyes to his, this time naked of defence, so that theman saw down through their depths into her very soul. 

"Oh, " she begged, quivering, "let me pass. Don't you see--I'm going tocry!"

_Chapter Six_

For a moment Ned Trent stared through the darkness into which Virginiahad disappeared. Then he turned a troubled face to the task he had sethimself, for the unexpectedly pathetic results of his fantasticattempt had shaken him. Twice he half turned as though to follow her. Then shaking his shoulders he bent his attention to the old man in theshadow of the chair. 

He was given no opportunity for further speech, however, for at thesound of the closing door Galen Albret's impassivity had fallen fromhim. He sprang to his feet. The whole aspect of the man suddenlybecame electric, terrible. His eyes blazed; his heavy brows drewspasmodically toward each other; his jaws worked, twisting his beardinto strange contortions; his massive frame straightened formidably;and his voice rumbled from the arch of his deep chest in a torrent ofpassionate sound. 

"By God, young man!" he thundered, "you go too far! Take heed! I willnot stand this! Do not you presume to make love to my daughter beforemy eyes!"

And Ned Trent, just within the dusky circle of lamplight, where thebold, sneering lines of his face stood out in relief against thetwilight of the room, threw back his head and laughed. It was a clearlaugh, but low, and in it were all the devils of triumph, and ofinsolence. Where the studied insult of words had failed, this singlecachinnation succeeded. The Trader saw his opponent's eyes narrow. Fora moment he thought the Factor was about to spring on him. 

Then, with an effort that blackened his face with blood, Galen Albretcontrolled himself, and fell to striking the call-bell violently andrepeatedly with the palm of his hand. After a moment Matthews, theEnglish servant, came running in. To him the Factor was at firstphysically unable to utter a syllable. Then finally he managed toejaculate the name of his bowsman with such violence of gesture thatthe frightened servant comprehended by sheer force of terror and ranout again in search of Me-en-gan. 

This supreme effort seemed to clear the way for speech. Galen Albretbegan to address his opponent hoarsely in quick, disjointedsentences, a gasp for breath between each. 

"You revived an old legend--_la Longue Traverse_--the myth. It shallbe real--to--you--I will make it so. By God, you shall not defyme--"

Ned Trent smiled. "You do not deceive me, " he rejoined, coolly. 

"Silence!" cried the Factor. "Silence!--You shall speak no more!--Youhave said enough--"

Me-en-gan glided into the room. Galen Albret at once addressed him inthe Ojibway language, gaining control of himself as he went on. 

"Listen to me well, " he commanded. "You shall make a count of allrifles in this place--at once. Let no one furnish this man with foodor arms. You know the story of _la Longue Traverse_. This man shalltake it. So inform my people. I, the Factor, decree it so. Prepare allthings at once--understand, _at once_!"

Ned Trent waited to hear no more, but sauntered from the roomwhistling gayly a boatman's song. His point was gained. 

Outside, the long Northern twilight with its beautiful shadows ofcrimson was descending from the upper regions of the east. A lightwind breathed up-river from the bay. The Free Trader drew his lungsfull of the evening air. 

"Just the same, I think she will come, " said he to himself. "_LaLongue Traverse_, even at once, is a pretty slim chance. But thissecond string to my bow is better. I believe I'll get the rifle--ifshe comes!"

_Chapter Seven_

Virginia ran quickly up the narrow stairs to her own room, where shethrew herself on the bed and buried her face in the pillows. 

As she had said, she was very much shaken. And, too, she was afraid. 

She could not understand. Heretofore she had moved among the menaround her, pure, lofty, serene. Now at one blow all this crumbled. The stranger had outraged her finer feelings. He had insulted herfather in her very presence;--for this she was angry. He had insultedherself;--for this she was afraid. He had demanded that she meet himagain; but this--at least in the manner he had suggested--should nothappen. And yet she confessed to herself a delicious wonder as to whathe would do next, and a vague desire to see him again in order to findout. That she could not successfully combat this feeling made herangry at herself. And so in mingled fear, pride, anger, and longingshe remained until Wishkobun, the Indian woman, glided in to dress herfor the dinner whose formality she and her father consistentlymaintained. She fell to talking the soft Ojibway dialect, and in theconversation forgot some of her emotion and regained some of her calm. 

Her surface thoughts, at least, were compelled for the moment tooccupy themselves with other things. The Indian woman had to tell herof the silver fox brought in by Mu-hi-ken, an Indian of her own tribe;of the retort Achille Picard had made when MacLane had taunted him;of the forest fire that had declared itself far to the east, and ofthe theories to account for it where no campers had been. Yetunderneath the rambling chatter Virginia was aware of something new inher consciousness, something delicious but as yet vague. In the gayestmoment of her half-jesting, half-affectionate gossip with the Indianwoman, she felt its uplift catching her breath from beneath, so thatfor the tiniest instant she would pause as though in readiness forsome message which nevertheless delayed. A fresh delight in thepresent moment held her, a fresh anticipation of the immediate future, though both delight and anticipation were based on something withouther knowledge. That would come later. 

The sound of rapid footsteps echoed across the lower hall, a whistleran into an air, sung gayly, with spirit:

 _"J'ai perdu ma maîtresse, Sans l'avoir merité, Pour un bouquet de roses Que je lui refusai. Li ya longtemps que je t'aime, Jamais je ne t'oublierai!"_

She fell abruptly silent, and spoke no more until she descended to thecouncil-room where the table was now spread for dinner. 

Two silver candlesticks lit the place. The men were waiting for herwhen she entered, and at once took their seats in the worn, rudechairs. White linen and glittering silver adorned the service, GalenAlbret occupied one end of the table, Virginia the other. On eitherside were Doctor and Mrs. Cockburn; McDonald, the Chief Trader;Richardson, the clerk, and Crane, the missionary of the Church ofEngland. Matthews served with rigid precision in the order ofimportance, first the Factor, then Virginia, then the doctor, hiswife, McDonald, the clerk, and Crane in due order. On entering a roomthe same precedence would have held good. Thus these people, sixhundred miles as the crow flies from the nearest settlement, maintained their shadowy hold on civilization. 

The glass was fine, the silver massive, the linen dainty, Matthewswaited faultlessly: but overhead hung the rough timbers of thewilderness post, across the river faintly could be heard the howlingof wolves. The fare was rice, curry, salt pork, potatoes, and beans;for at this season the game was poor, and the fish hardly yet runningwith regularity. 

Throughout the meal Virginia sat in a singular abstraction. Noconscious thoughts took shape in her mind, but nevertheless sheseemed to herself to be occupied in considering weighty matters. Whendirectly addressed, she answered sweetly. Much of the time she studiedher father's face. She found it old. Those lines were already evidentwhich, when first noted, bring a stab of surprised pain to the breastof a child--the droop of the mouth, the wrinkling of the temples, thepatient weariness of the eyes. Virginia's own eyes filled with tears. The subjective passive state into which a newly born but not yetrecognized love had cast her, inclined her to gentleness. She acceptedfacts as they came to her. For the moment she forgot the merehappenings of the day, and lived only in the resulting mood of themall. The new-comer inspired her no longer with anger nor sorrow, attraction nor fear. Her active emotions in abeyance, she floateddreamily on the clouds of a new estate. 

This very aloofness of spirit disinclined her for the company of theothers after the meal was finished. The Factor closeted himself withRichardson. The doctor, lighting a cheroot, took his way across to hisinfirmary. McDonald, Crane, and Mrs. Cockburn entered the drawing-roomand seated themselves near the piano. Virginia hesitated, then threw ashawl over her head and stepped out on the broad veranda. 

At once the vast, splendid beauty of the Northern night broke over hersoul. Straight before her gleamed and flashed and ebbed and palpitatedthe aurora. One moment its long arms shot beyond the zenith; the nextit had broken and rippled back like a brook of light to its arch overthe Great Bear. Never for an instant was it still. Its restlessnessstole away the quiet of the evening; but left it magnificent. 

In comparison with this coruscating dome of the infinite the earth hadshrunken to a narrow black band of velvet, in which was nothingdistinguishable until suddenly the sky-line broke in calm silhouettesof spruce and firs. And always the mighty River of the Moose, gleaming, jewelled, barbaric in its reflections, slipped by to thesea. 

So rapid and bewildering was the motion of these two great powers--theriver and the sky--that the imagination could not believe in silence. It was as though the earth were full of shoutings and of tumults. Andyet in reality the night was as still as a tropical evening. Thewolves and the sledge-dogs answered each other undisturbed; thebeautiful songs of the white-throats stole from the forest asdivinely instinct as ever with the spirit of peace. 

Virginia leaned against the railing and looked upon it all. Her heartwas big with emotions, many of which she could not name; her eyes werefull of tears. Something had changed in her since yesterday, but shedid not know what it was. The faint wise stars, the pale moon justsinking, the gentle south breeze could have told her, for they areold, old in the world's affairs. Occasionally a flash more thanordinarily brilliant would glint one of the bronze guns beneath theflag-staff. Then Virginia's heart would glint too. She imagined thereflection startled her. 

She stretched her arms out to the night, embracing its glories, sighing in sympathy with its meaning, which she did not know. Shefelt the desire of restlessness; yet she could not bear to go. But nothought of the stranger touched her, for you see as yet she did notunderstand. 

Then, quite naturally, she heard his voice in the darkness close toher knee. It seemed inevitable that he should be there; part of therestless, glorious night, part of her mood. She gave no start ofsurprise, but half closed her eyes and leaned her fair head against apillar of the veranda. He sang in a sweet undertone an old _chanson_of voyage. 

 _"Par derrièr' chez mon père, Vole, mon coeur, vole! Par derrièr' chez mon père Li-ya-t-un pommier doux. "_

"Ah lady, lady mine, " broke in the voice softly, "the night too issweet, soft as thine eyes. Will you not greet me?"

The girl made no sign. After a moment the song went on. 

 _"Trois filles d'un prince, Vole, mon coeur, vole! Trois filles d'un prince Sont endormies dessous. "_

"Will not the princess leave her sisters of dreams?" whispered thevoice, fantastically. "Will she not come?"

Virginia shivered, and half-opened her eyes, but did not stir. Itseemed that the darkness sighed, then became musical again. 

 _"La plus jeun' se réveille, Vole, mon coeur, vole! La plus jeun' se réveille --Ma Soeur, voilà le jour!"_

The song broke this time without a word of pleading. The girl openedher eyes wide and stared breathlessly straight before her at thesinger. 

 _"--Non, ce n'est qu'une étoile, Vole, mon coeur, vole! Non, ce n'est qu'une étoile Qu'éclaire nos amours!"_

The last word rolled out through its passionate throat tones and diedinto silence. 

"Come!" repeated the man again, this time almost in the accents ofcommand. 

She turned slowly and went to him, her eyes childlike and frightened, her lips wide, her face pale. When she stood face to face with him sheswayed and almost fell. 

"What do you want with me?" she faltered, with a little sob. 

The man looked at her keenly, laughed, and exclaimed in an every-day, matter-of-fact voice:

"Why, I really believe my song frightened you. It is only a boatingsong. Come, let us go and sit on the gun-carriages and talk. "

"Oh!" she gasped, a trifle hysterically. "Don't do that again! Pleasedon't. I do not understand it! You must not!"

He laughed again, but with a note of tenderness in his voice, and tookher hand to lead her away, humming in an undertone the last couplet ofhis song:

 _"Non, ce n'est qu'une étoile, Qu'éclaire nos amours!"_

_Chapter Eight_

Virginia went with this man passively--to an appointment which, but anhour ago, she had promised herself she would not keep. Her inmost soulwas stirred, just as before. Then it had been few words, now it was alittle common song. But the strange power of the man held her close, so she realized that for the moment at least she would do as hedesired. In the amazement and consternation of this thought she foundtime to offer up a little prayer: "Dear God, make him kind to me. "

[Illustration: THE HALF-BREED SEEKS TO AVENGE HER FATHER. Scene fromthe play. ]

They leaned against the old bronze guns, facing the river. He pulledher shawl about her, masterfully yet with gentleness, and then, asthough it was the most natural thing in the world, he drew her to himuntil she rested against his shoulder. And she remained there, trembling, in suspense, glancing at him quickly, in birdlike, pleadingglances, as though praying him to be kind. He took no notice afterthat, so the act seemed less like a caress than a matter of course. Hebegan to talk, half-humorously, and little by little, as he went on, she forgot her fears, even her feeling of strangeness, and fellcompletely under the spell of his power. 

"My name is Ned Trent, " he told her, "and I am from Quebec. I am awoods runner. I have journeyed far. I have been to the uttermost endsof the North, even up beyond the Hills of Silence. "

And then, in his gay, half-mocking, yet musical voice he touchedlightly on vast and distant things. He talked of the greatSaskatchewan, of Peace River, and the delta of the Mackenzie, of thewinter journeys beyond Great Bear Lake into the Land of the LittleSticks, and the half-mythical lake of Yamba Tooh. He spoke of lifewith the Dog Ribs and Yellow Knives, where the snow falls inmidsummer. Before her eyes slowly spread, like a panorama, the wholeextent of the great North, with its fierce, hardy men, its dreadfuljourneys by canoe and sledge, its frozen barrens, its mighty forests, its solemn charm. All at once this post of Conjuror's House, a monthin the wilderness as it was, seemed very small and tame and civilizedfor the simple reason that Death did not always compass it about. 

"It was very cold then, " said Ned Trent, "and very hard. _Le grandfrête_[A] of winter had come. At night we had no other shelter thanour blankets, and we could not keep a fire because the spruce burnedtoo fast and threw too many coals. For a long time we shivered, curledup on our snow-shoes; then fell heavily asleep, so that even the dogsfighting over us did not awaken us. Two or three times in the night weboiled tea. We had to thaw our moccasins each morning by thrustingthem inside our shirts. Even the Indians were shivering and saying, 'Ed-sa, yazzi ed-sa'--'it is cold, very cold. ' And when we came to Raeit was not much better. A roaring fire in the fireplace could notprevent the ink from freezing on the pen. This went on for fivemonths. "

[Footnote A: _Froid_--cold. ]

Thus he spoke, as one who says common things. He said little ofhimself, but as he went on in short, curt sentences the picture grewmore distinct, and to Virginia the man became more and more prominentin it. She saw the dying and exhausted dogs, the frost-rimed, wearymen; she heard the quick _crunch, crunch, crunch_ of the snow-shoeshurrying ahead to break the trail; she felt the cruel torture of the_mal de raquette_, the shrivelling bite of the frost, the pain of snowblindness, the hunger that yet could not stomach the frozen fish northe hairy, black caribou meat. One thing she could not conceive--theindomitable spirit of the men. She glanced timidly up at hercompanion's face. 

"The Company is a cruel master, " she sighed at last, standing upright, then leaning against the carriage of the gun. He let her go withoutprotest, almost without thought, it seemed. 

"But not mine, " said he. 

She exclaimed, in astonishment, "Are you not of the Company?"

"I am no man's man but my own, " he answered, simply. 

"Then why do you stay in this dreadful North?" she asked. 

"Because I love it. It is my life. I want to go where no man has setfoot before me; I want to stand alone under the sky; I want to showmyself that nothing is too big for me--no difficulty, nohardship--nothing!"

"Why did you come here, then? Here at least are forests so that youcan keep warm. This is not so dreadful as the Coppermine, and thecountry of the Yellow Knives. Did you come here to try _la LongueTraverse_ of which you spoke to-day?"

He fell suddenly sombre, biting in reflection at his lip. 

"No--yes--why not?" he said, at length. 

"I know you will come out of it safely, " said she; "I feel it. You arebrave and used to travel. Won't you tell me about it?"

He did not reply. After a moment she looked up in surprise. His browswere knit in reflection. He turned to her again, his eyes glowing intohers. Once more the fascination of the man grew big, overwhelmed her. She felt her heart flutter, her consciousness swim, her old terrorreturning. 

"Listen, " said he. "I may come to you to-morrow and ask you to choosebetween your divine pity and what you might think to be your duty. Then I will tell you all there is to know of _la Longue Traverse_. Now it is a secret of the Company. You are a Factor's daughter; youknow what that means. " He dropped his head. "Ah, I am tired--tiredwith it all!" he cried, in a voice strangely unhappy. "But yesterday Iplayed the game with all my old spirit; to-day the zest is gone! I nolonger care. " He felt the pressure of her hand. "Are you just a littlesorry for me?" he asked. "Sorry for a weakness you do not understand?You must think me a fool. "

"I know you are unhappy, " replied Virginia, gently. "I am truly sorryfor that. "

"Are you? Are you, indeed?" he cried. "Unhappiness is worth such pityas yours. " He brooded for a moment, then threw his hands out with whatmight have been a gesture of desperate indifference. Suddenly his moodchanged in the whimsical, bewildering fashion of the man. "Ah, a starshoots!" he exclaimed, gayly. "That means a kiss!"

Still laughing, he attempted to draw her to him. Angry, mortified, outraged, she fought herself free and leaped to her feet. 

"Oh!" she cried, in insulted anger. 

"Oh!" she cried, in a red shame. 

"_Oh!_" she cried, in sorrow. 

Her calm broke. She burst into the violent sobbing of a child, andturned and ran hurriedly to the factory. 

Ned Trent stared after her a minute from beneath scowling brows. Hestamped his moccasined foot impatiently. 

"Like a rat in a trap!" he jeered at himself. "Like a rat in a trap, Ned Trent! The fates are drawing around you close. You need just onelittle thing, and you cannot get it. Bribery is useless! Force isuseless! Craft is useless! This afternoon I thought I saw anotherway. What I could get no other way I might get from this little girl. She is only a child. I believe I could touch her pity--ah, Ned Trent, Ned Trent, can you ever forget her frightened, white face begging youto be kind?" He paced back and forth between the two bronze guns withlong, straight strides, like a panther in a cage. "Her aid is mine forthe asking--but she makes it impossible to ask! I could not do it. Better try _la Longue Traverse_ than take advantage of her pity--she'dsurely get into trouble. What wonderful eyes she has. She thinks I ama brute--how she sobbed, as though her little heart had broken. Well, it was the only way to destroy her interest in me. I had to do it. Nowshe will despise me and forget me. It is better that she should thinkme a brute than that I should be always haunted by those pleadingeyes. " The door of the distant church house opened and closed. Hesmiled bitterly. "To be sure, I haven't tried that, " he acknowledged. "Their teachings are singularly apropos to my case--mercy, justice, humanity--yes, and love of man. I'll try it. I'll call for help on thelove of man, since I cannot on the love of woman. The love ofwoman--ah--yes. "

He set his feet reflectively toward the chapel. 

_Chapter Nine_

After a moment he pushed open the door without ceremony, and entered. He bent his brows, studying the Reverend Archibald Crane, while thelatter, looking up startled, turned pink. 

He was a pink little man, anyway, the Reverend Archibald Crane, andwhy, in the inscrutability of its wisdom, the Church had sent him outto influence strong, grim men, the Church in its inscrutable wisdomonly knows. He wore at the moment a cambric English boating-hat toprotect his bald head from the draught, a full clerical costume as faras the trousers, which were of lavender, and a pair of beadedmoccasins faced with red. His weak little face was pink, and two tuftsof side-whiskers were nearly so. A heavy gold-headed cane stood at hishand. When he heard the door open he exclaimed, before raising hishead, "My, these first flies of the season do bother me so!" and thenlooked startled. 

"Good-evening, " greeted Ned Trent, stopping squarely in the centre ofthe room. 

The clergyman spread his arms along the desk's edge in embarrassment. 

"Good-evening, " he returned, reluctantly. "Is there anything I can dofor you?" The visitor puzzled him, but was dressed as a _voyageur_. The Reverend Archibald immediately resolved to treat him as such. 

"I wish to introduce myself as Ned Trent, " went on the Free Traderwith composure, "and I have broken in on your privacy this eveningonly because I need your ministrations cruelly. "

"I am rejoiced that in your difficulties you turn to the consolationsof the Church, " replied the other in the cordial tones of the man whois always ready. "Pray be seated. He whose soul thirsteth need offerno apology to the keeper of the spiritual fountains. "

"Quite so, " replied the stranger dryly, seating himself as suggested, "only in this case my wants are temporal rather than spiritual. They, however, seem to me fully within the province of the Church. "

"The Church attempts within limits to aid those who are materially inwant, " assured Crane, with official dignity. "Our resources are small, but to the truly deserving we are always ready to give in the spiritof true giving. "

"I am rejoiced to hear it, " returned the young man, grimly; "you willthen have no difficulty in getting me so small a matter as a rifle andabout forty or fifty rounds of ammunition. "

A pause of astonishment ensued. 

"Why, really, " ejaculated Crane, "I fail to see how that falls withinmy jurisdiction in the slightest. You should see our Trader, Mr. McDonald, in regard to all such things. Your request addressed to mebecomes extraordinary. "

"Not so much so when you know who I am. I told you my name is NedTrent, but I neglected to inform you further that I am a captured FreeTrader, condemned to _la Longue Traverse_, and that I have in vaintried to procure elsewhere the means of escape. "

Then the clergyman understood. The full significance of theintruder's presence flashed over his little pink face in a trouble ofuneasiness. The probable consequences of such a bit of charity as hisvisitor proposed almost turned him sick with excitement. 

"You expect to have them of me!" he cried, getting his voice at last. 

"Certainly, " assured his interlocutor, crossing his legs comfortably. "Don't you see the logic of events forces me to think so? What othercourse is open to you? I am in this country entirely within my legalrights as a citizen of the Canadian Commonwealth. Unjustly, I amseized by a stronger power and condemned unjustly to death. Surely youadmit the injustice?"

"Well, of course you know--the customs of the country--it is hardly anabstract question--" stammered Crane, still without grasp on the logicof his argument. 

"But as an abstract question the injustice is plain, " resumed the FreeTrader, imperturbably. "And against plain injustice it strikes methere is but one course open to an acknowledged institution ofabstract--and concrete--morality. The Church must set itself againstimmorality, and you, as the Church's representative, must get me arifle. "

"You forget one thing, " rejoined Crane. 

"What is that?"

"Such an aid would be a direct act of rebellion against authority onmy part, which would be severely punished. Of course, " he asserted, with conscious righteousness, "I should not consider that for a momentas far as my own personal safety is concerned. But my cause wouldsuffer. You forget, sir, that we are doing here a great and good work. We have in our weekly congregational singing over forty regularattendants from the aborigines; next year I hope to build a church atWhale River, thus reaching the benighted inhabitants of that distantregion. All of this is a vital matter in the service of our Lord andSaviour Jesus Christ. You suggest that I endanger all this in order toright a single instance of injustice. Of course we are told to loveone another, but--" he paused. 

"You have to compromise, " finished the stranger for him. 

"Exactly, " said the Reverend Crane. "Thank you; it is exactly that. Inorder to accomplish what little good the Lord vouchsafes to our poorefforts, we are obliged to overlook many things. Otherwise we shouldnot be allowed to stay here at all. "

"That is most interesting, " agreed Ned Trent, with a rather bitingcalm. "But is it not a little calculating? My slight familiarity withreligious history and literature has always led me to believe that youare taught to embrace the right at any cost whatsoever--that, if yougive yourself unreservedly to justice, the Lord will sustain youthrough all trials. I think at a pinch I could even quote a text tothat effect. "

"My dear fellow, " objected the Reverend Archibald in gentle protest, "you evidently do not understand the situation at all. I feel I shouldbe most untrue to my trust if I were to endanger in any way thelife-long labor of my predecessor. You must be able to see that foryourself. It would destroy utterly my usefulness here. They'd send meaway. I couldn't go on with the work. I have to think what is for thebest. "

"There is some justice in what you say, " admitted the stranger, "ifyou persist in looking on this thing as a business proposition. Butit seems to my confessedly untrained mind that you missed the point. 'Trust in the Lord, ' saith the prophet. In fact, certain rivals inyour own field hold the doctrine you expound, and you consider themwrong. 'To do evil that good may come' I seem to recognize as a tenetof the Church of the Jesuits. "

"I protest. I really do protest, " objected the clergyman, scandalized. 

"All right, " agreed Ned Trent, with good-natured contempt. "That isnot the point. Do you refuse?"

"Can't you see?" begged the other. "I'm sure you are reasonable enoughto take the case on its broader side. "

"You refuse?" insisted Ned Trent. 

"It is not always easy to walk straightly before the Lord, and my wayis not always clear before me, but--"

"You refuse!" cried Ned Trent, rising impatiently. 

The Reverend Archibald Crane looked at his catechiser with a trace ofalarm. 

"I'm sorry; I'm afraid I must, " he apologized. 

The stranger advanced until he touched the desk on the other side ofwhich the Reverend Archibald was sitting, where he stood for somemoments looking down on his opponent with an almost amused expressionof contempt. 

"You are an interesting little beast, " he drawled, "and I've seen alot of your kind in my time. Here you preach every Sunday, to whomeverwill listen to you, certain cut-and-dried doctrines you don't believepractically in the least. Here for the first time you have had achance to apply them literally, and you hide behind a lot of words. And while you're about it you may as well hear what I have to sayabout your kind. I've had a pretty wide experience in the North, and Iknow what I'm talking about. Your work here among the Indians is rot, and every sensible man knows it. You coop them up in your log-builthouses, you force on them clothes to which they are unaccustomed untilthey die of consumption. Under your little tin-steepled imitation ofcivilization, for which they are not fitted, they learn to beg, tosteal, to lie. I have travelled far, but I have yet to discover whatyour kind are allowed on earth for. You are narrow-minded, bigoted, intolerant, and without a scrap of real humanity to ornament your mockreligion. When you find you can't meddle with other people's affairsenough at home you get sent where you can get right in thebusiness--and earn salvation for doing it. I don't know just why Ishould say this to you, but it sort of does me good to tell it. Once Iheard one of your kind tell a sorrowing mother that her little childhad gone to hell because it had died before he--the smughypocrite--had sprinkled its little body with a handful of water. There's humanity for you! It may interest you to know that I thrashedthat man then and there. You are all alike; I know the breed. Whenthere is found a real man among you--and there are such--he is sodifferent in everything, including his religion, as to be really ofanother race. I came here without the slightest expectation of gettingwhat I asked for. As I said before, I know your breed, and I know justhow well your two-thousand-year-old doctrines apply to practicalcases. There is another way, but I hated to use it. You'd take itquick enough, I dare say. Here is where I should receive aid. I mayhave to get it where I should not. You a man of God! Why, you poorlittle insect, I can't even get angry at you!"

He stood for a moment looking at the confused and troubled clergyman. Then he went out. 

_Chapter Ten_

Almost immediately the door opened again. 

"You, Miss Albret!" cried Crane. 

"What does this mean?" demanded Virginia, imperiously. "Who is thatman? In what danger does he stand? What does he want a rifle for? Iinsist on knowing. "

She stood straight and tall in the low room, her eyes flashing, herhead thrown back in the assured power of command. 

The Reverend Crane tried to temporize, hesitating over his words. Shecut him short. 

"That is nonsense. Everybody seems to know but myself. I am no child. I came to consult you--my spiritual adviser--in regard to this verycase. Accidentally I overheard enough to justify me in knowing more. "

The clergyman murmured something about the Company's secrets. Againshe cut him short. 

"Company's secrets! Since when has the Company confided in AndrewLaviolette, in Wishkobun, in _you_!"

"Possibly you would better ask your father, " said Crane, with somereturn of dignity. 

"It does not suit me to do so, " replied she. "I insist that you answermy questions. Who is this man?"

"Ned Trent, he says. "

"I will not be put off in this way. _Who_ is he? _What_ is he?"

"He is a Free Trader, " replied the Reverend Crane with the air of aman who throws down a bomb and is afraid of the consequences. To hisastonishment the bomb did not explode. 

"What is that?" she asked, simply. 

The man's jaw dropped and his eyes opened in astonishment. Here was adensity of ignorance in regard to the ordinary affairs of the Postwhich could by no stretch of the imagination be ascribed to chance. IfVirginia Albret did not know the meaning of the term, and all thetragic consequences it entailed, there could be but one conclusion:Galen Albret had not intended that she should know. She had purposelybeen left in ignorance, and a politic man would hesitate long beforedaring to enlighten her. The Reverend Crane, in sheer terror, becamesullen. 

"A Free Trader is a man who trades in opposition to the Company, " saidhe, cautiously. 

"What great danger is he in?" the girl persisted with her catechism. 

"None that I am aware of, " replied Crane, suavely. "He is a veryill-balanced and excitable young man. "

Virginia's quick instincts recognized again the same barrier which, with the people, with Wishkobun, with her father, had shut her soeffectively from the truth. Her power of femininity and position hadto give way before the man's fear for himself and of Galen Albret'sunexpressed wish. She asked a few more questions, received a few moreevasive replies, and left the little clergyman to recover as best hemight from a very trying evening. 

Out in the night the girl hesitated in two minds as to what to donext. She was excited, and resolved to finish the affair, but shecould not bring her courage to the point of questioning her father. That the stranger was in antagonism to the Company, that he believedhimself to be in danger on that account, that he wanted succor, shesaw clearly enough. But the whole affair was vague, disquieting. Shewanted to see it plainly, know its reasons. And beneath her excitementshe recognized, with a catch of the breath, that she was afraid forhim. She had not time now to ask herself what it might mean; she onlyrealized the presence of the fact. 

She turned instinctively in the direction of Doctor Cockburn's house. Mrs. Cockburn was a plain little middle-aged woman with parted grayhair and sweet, faded eyes. In the life of the place she was anonentity, and her tastes were homely and commonplace, but Virginialiked her. 

She proved to be at home, the Doctor still at his dispensary, whichwas well. Virginia entered a small log room, passed through itimmediately to a larger papered room, and sat down in a musty redarm-chair. The building was one of the old régime, which meant thatits floor was of wide and rather uneven painted boards, its ceilinglow, its windows small, and its general lines of an irregular andsagging rule-of-thumb tendency. The white wall-paper evidentlyconcealed squared logs. The present inhabitants, being possessed atonce of rather homely tastes and limited facilities, hadover-furnished the place with an infinitude of little things--littlerugs, little tables, little knit doilies, little racks of photographs, little china ornaments, little spidery what-nots, and shelves forbooks. 

Virginia seated herself, and went directly to the topic. 

"Mrs. Cockburn, " she said, "you have always been very good to me, always, ever since I came here as a little girl. I have not alwaysappreciated it, I am afraid, but I am in great trouble, and I wantyour help. "

"What is it, dearie, " asked the older woman, softly. "Of course I willdo anything I can. "

"I want you to tell me what all this mystery is--about the man whoto-day arrived from Kettle Portage, I mean. I have asked everybody: Ihave tried by all means in my power to get somebody somewhere to tellme. It is maddening--and I have a special reason for wanting to know. "

The older woman was already gazing at her through troubled eyes. 

"It is a shame and a mistake to keep you so in ignorance!" she brokeout, "and I have said so always. There are many things you have theright to know, although some of them would make you very unhappy--asthey do all of us poor women who have to live in this land of dread. But in this I cannot, dearie. "

Virginia felt again the impalpable shadow of truth escaping her. Baffled, confused, she began to lose her self-control. A dozen timesto-day she had reached after this thing, and always her fingers hadclosed on empty air. She felt that she could not stand the suspense ofbewilderment a single instant longer. The tears overflowed and rolleddown her cheeks unheeded. 

"Oh, Mrs. Cockburn!" she cried. "Please! You do not know how dreadfulthis thing has come to be to me just because it is made somysterious. Why has it been kept from me alone? It must have somethingto do with me, and I can't stand this mystery, this double-dealing, another minute. If you won't tell me, nobody will, and I shall go onimagining--Oh, please have pity on me! I feel the shadow of a tragedy. It comes out in everything, in everybody to whom I turn. I see it inWishkobun's avoidance of me, in my father's silence, in Mr. Crane'sconfusion, in your reluctance--yes, in the very reckless insolence ofMr. Trent himself!"--her voice broke slightly. "If you will not tellme, I shall go direct to my father, " she ended, with more firmness. 

Mrs. Cockburn examined the girl's flushed face through kindly butshrewd and experienced eyes. Then, with a caressing little murmur ofpity, she arose and seated herself on the arm of the red chair, takingthe girl's hand in hers. 

"I believe you mean it, " she said, "and I am going to tell you myself. There is much sorrow in it for you; but if you go to your father itwill only make it worse. I am doing what I should not. It is shamefulthat such things happen in this nineteenth century, but happen theydo. The long and short of it is that the Factors of this Post tolerateno competition in the country, and when a man enters it for thepurpose of trading with the Indians, he is stopped and sent out. "

"There is nothing very bad about that, " said Virginia, relieved. 

"No, my dear, not in that. But they say his arms and supplies are takenfrom him, and he is given a bare handful of provisions. He has to make aquick journey, and to starve at that. Once when I was visiting out atthe front, not many years ago, I saw one of those men--they called himJo Bagneau--and his condition was pitiable--pitiable!"

"But hardships can be endured. A man can escape. "

"Yes, " almost whispered Mrs. Cockburn, looking about herapprehensively, "but the story goes that there are some cases--whenthe man is an old offender, or especially determined, or so prominentas to be able to interest the law--no one breathes of these caseshere--but--_he never gets out_!"

"What do you mean?" cried Virginia, harshly. 

"One dares not mean such things; but they are so. The hardships of thewilderness are many, the dangers terrible--what more natural thanthat a man should die of them in the forest? It is no one's fault. "

"What do you mean?" repeated Virginia; "for God's sake speak plainly!"

"I dare not speak plainer than I know; and no one ever really _knows_anything about it--excepting the Indian who fires the shot, or whowatches the man until he dies of starvation, " whispered Mrs. Cockburn. 

"But--but!" cried the girl, grasping her companion's arm. "My father!Does _he_ give such orders? _He?_"

"No orders are given. The thing is understood. Certain runners, whoseturn it is, shadow the Free Trader. Your father is not responsible; noone is responsible. It is the policy. "

"And this man--"

"It has gone about that he is to take _la Longue Traverse_. He knowsit himself. "

"It is barbaric, horrible; it is murder. "

"My dear, it is all that; but this is the country of dread. You haveknown the soft, bright side always--the picturesque men, the laugh, the song. If you had seen as much of the harshness of wilderness lifeas a doctor's wife must you would know that when the storms of theirgreat passions rage it is well to sit quiet at your prayers. "

The girl's eyes were wide-fixed, staring at this first reality oflife. A thousand new thoughts jostled for recognition. Suddenly herworld had been swept from beneath her. The ancient patriarchal, kindlyrule had passed away, and in its place she was forced to see a grimiron bond of death laid over her domain. And her father--no longer thegrave, kindly old man--had become the ruthless tyrant. All thesebright, laughing _voyageurs_, playmates of her childhood, were inreality executioners of a savage blood-law. She could not adjustherself to it. 

She got to her feet with an effort. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Cockburn, " she said, in a low voice. "I--I do notquite understand. But I must go now. I must--I must see that myfather's room is ready for him, " she finished, with the prouddefensive instinct of the woman who has been deeply touched. "You knowI always do that myself. "

"Good-night, dearie, " replied the older woman, understanding well thegirl's desire to shelter behind the commonplace. She leaned forwardand kissed her. "God keep and guide you. I hope I have done right. "

"Yes, " cried Virginia, with unexpected fire. "Yes, you did just right!I ought to have been told long ago! They've kept me a perfect child towhom everything has been bright and care-free and simple. I--I feelthat until this moment I have lacked my real womanhood!"

She bowed her head and passed through the log room into the outer air. 

Her father, _her_ father, had willed this man's death, and so he wasto die! That explained many things--the young fellow's insolence, hiscare-free recklessness, his passionate denunciation of the ReverendCrane and the Reverend Crane's religion. He wanted one littlething--the gift of a rifle wherewith to assure his subsistence shouldhe escape into the forest--and of all those at Conjuror's House towhom he might turn for help, some were too hard to give it to him, andsome too afraid! He should have it! She, the daughter of her father, would see to it that in this one instance her father's sin shouldfail! Suddenly, in the white heat of her emotion, she realized whythese matters stirred her so profoundly, and she stopped short andgasped with the shock of it. It did not matter that she thwarted herfather's will; it would not matter if she should be discovered andpunished as only these harsh characters could punish. For the bravebearing, the brave jest, the jaunty facing of death, the tender, lowvoice, the gay song, the aurora-lit moment of his summons--all thesehad at last their triumph. She knew that she loved him; and that if hewere to die, she would surely die too. 

And, oh, it must be that he loved her! Had she not heard it in themusic of his voice from the first?--the passion of his tones? thedreamy, lyrical swing of his talk by the old bronze guns?

Then she staggered sharply, and choked back a cry. For out of herrecollections leaped two sentences of his--the first careless, imprudent, unforgivable; the second pregnant with meaning. "_Ah, astar shoots!_" he had said. "_That means a kiss!_" and again, to theclergyman, "_I came here without the slightest expectation of gettingwhat I asked for. There is another way, but I hate to use it. _"

She was the other way! She saw it plainly. He did not love her, but hesaw that he could fascinate her, and he hoped to use her as an aid tohis escape. She threw her head up proudly. 

Then a man swung into view across the Northern Lights. Virginiapressed back against the palings among the bushes until he shouldhave passed. It was Ned Trent, returning from a walk to the end of theisland. He was alone and unfollowed, and the girl realized with asudden grip at the heart that the wilderness itself was sufficientsafe-guard against a man unarmed and unequipped. It was not consideredworth while even to watch him. Should he escape, unarmed as he was, sure death by starvation awaited him in the land of dread. 

As he entered the settlement he struck up an air. 

 _"Le fils du roi s'en va chassant, En roulant ma boule, Avec son grand fusil d'argent, Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant. "_

Almost immediately a window slid back, and an exasperated voice criedout:

"_Hólà_ dere, w'at one time dam fool you for mak' de sing so late!"

The voice went on imperturbably:

 "_Avec son grand fusil d'argent, En roulant ma boule, Visa le noir, tua le blanc, Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant_. "

"_Sacrè!_" shrieked the habitant. 

"Hello, Johnny Frenchman!" called Ned Trent, in his acid tones. "Thatyou? Be more polite, or I'll stand here and sing you the whole of it. "

The window slammed shut. 

Ned Trent took up his walk again toward some designated sleeping-placeof his own, his song dying into the distance. 

 _"Visa le noir, tua le blanc, En roulant ma boule, O fils du roi, tu es mêchant! Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant. "_

"And he can _sing_!" cried the girl bitterly to herself. "At such atime! Oh, my dear God, help me, help me! I am the unhappiest girlalive!"

_Chapter Eleven_

Virginia did not sleep at all that night. She was reaching toward hernew self. Heretofore she had ruled those about her proudly, secure inher power and influence. Now she saw that all along her influence hadin not one jot exceeded that of the winsome girl. She had no realpower at all. They went mercilessly on in the grim way of theirfathers, dealing justice even-handed according to their own crudeconceptions of it, without thought of God or man. She turned hot allover as she saw herself in this new light--as she saw those about herindulgently smiling at her airs of the mistress of it. It angeredher--though the smile might be good-humored, even affectionate. 

And she shrank into herself with utter loathing when she rememberedNed Trent. There indeed her woman's pride was hard stricken. Sherecalled with burning cheeks how his intense voice had stirred her;how his wishes had compelled her; she shivered pitifully as sheremembered the warmth of his shoulder touching carelessly her own. Ifhe had come to her honestly and asked her aid, she would have givenit; but this underhand pretence at love! It was unworthy of him; andit was certainly most unworthy of her. What must he think of her? Howhe must be laughing at her--and hoping that his spell was working, sothat he could get the coveted rifle and the forty cartridges. 

"I hate him!" she cried to herself, the backs of her long, slenderhands pressed against her eyes. She meant that she loved him, but forthe purposes in hand one would do as well as the other. 

At earliest daylight she was up. Bathing her face and throat in coldwater, and hastily catching her beautiful light hair under a cap, sheslipped down stairs and out past the stockade to the point. There sheseated herself, a heavy shawl about her, and gave herself up toreflection. She had approached silently, her moccasins giving nosound. Presently she became aware that someone was there before her. Looking toward the river she saw on the next level below her a man, seated on a bowlder, and gazing to the south. 

His very soul was in his eyes. Virginia gasped at the change in himsince last she had seen him. The gay, mocking demeanor which hadseemed an essential part of his very flesh and blood had fallen awayfrom him, leaving a sad and lofty dignity that ennobled hiscountenance. The lines of his face were stern, of his mouth pathetic;his eyes yearned. He stared toward the south with an almost mesmericintensity, as though he hoped by sheer longing to materialize avision. Tears sprang to the girl's eyes at the subtle pathos of hisattitude. 

He stretched his arms wearily over his head, and sighed deeply andlooked up. His eyes rested on the girl without surprise; theexpression of his features did not change. 

"Pardon me, " he said, simply. "To-day is my last of plenty. I am upenjoying it. "

Virginia had anticipated the usual instantaneous transformation of hismanner when he should catch sight of her. Her resentment wasdispelled. In face of the vaster tragedies little considerations gaveway. 

"Do you leave--to-day?" she asked, in a low voice. 

"To-morrow morning, early, " he corrected. "To-day I found myprovisions packed and laid at my door. It is a hint I know how totake. "

"You have everything you need?" asked the girl, with an assumption ofindifference. 

He looked her in the eyes for a moment. 

"Everything, " he lied, calmly. 

Virginia perceived that he lied, and her heart stood still with asudden hope that perhaps, at this eleventh hour, he might haverepented of his unworthy intentions toward herself. She leaned to himover the edge of the little rise. 

"Have you a rifle--for _la Longue Traverse_?" she inquired, withmeaning. 

He stared at her a little the harder. 

"Why--why, surely, " he replied, in a tone less confident. "Nobodytravels without a rifle in the North. "

She dropped swiftly down the slope and stood face to face with him. 

"Listen, " she began, in her superb manner. "I know all there is toknow. You are a Free Trader, and you are to be sent to your death. Itis murder, and it is done by my father. " She held her head proudly, but the notes of her voice were straining. "I knew nothing of thisyesterday. I was a foolish girl who thought all men were good andjust, and that all those whom I knew were noble. My eyes are open now. I see injustice being done by my own household, and"--tears weretrembling near her lashes, but she blinked them back--"and I am nolonger a foolish girl! You need not try to deceive me. You must tellme what I can do, for I cannot permit so great a wrong to be done bymy father without attempting to set it right. " This was not what shehad intended to say, but suddenly the course was clear to her. Theinfluence of the man had again swept over her, drowning her will, filling her with the old fear, which was now for the moment turned topride by the character of the situation. 

But to her surprise the man was thinking of something else. 

"Who told you?" he demanded, harshly. Then, without waiting for areply, "It was that little preacher; I'll have an interview with him!"

"No, no!" protested the girl. "It was not he. It was a friend. I hadthe right to know. "

"You had no right!" he cried, vehemently. "You and life should havenothing to do with each other. There is a look in your eyes that wasnot in them yesterday, and the one who put it there is not yourfriend. " He stood staring at her intently, as one who ponders what isbest to do. Then very quietly he took her hands and drew her to aplace beside him on the bowlder. 

"I am going to tell you something, little girl, " said he, "and youmust listen quietly to the end. Perhaps at the last you may see moreclearly than you do now. 

"This old Company of yours has been established for a great manyyears. Back in old days, over two centuries ago, it pushed up intothis wilderness to trade for its furs. That you know. And then itexplored ever farther to the west and the north, until its servantsstood on the shores of the Pacific and the stretches of the ArcticOcean. And its servants loved it. Enduring immense hardships, cut offfrom their kind, outlining dimly with the eye of faith the structureof a mighty power, they loved it always. Thousands of men were in itsemploy, and so loyal were they that its secrets were safe and itsprestige was defended, often to a lonely death. I have known theCompany and its servants for a long time, and if I had leisure I couldinstance a hundred examples of devotion and sacrifice beside whichmere patriotism would seem a little thing. Men who had no countrycleaved to her desolate posts, her lakes and rivers and forests; menwho had no home ties felt the tug of her wild life at their hearts;men who had no God bowed in awe before her power and grandeur. TheCompany was a living thing. 

"Rivals attempted her supremacy, and were defeated by thesteadfastness of the men who received her meagre wages and looked toher as their one ideal. Her explorers were the bravest, her tradersthe most enterprising and single-minded, her factors and partners themost capable and potent in all the world. No country, no leader, noState ever received half the worship her sons gave her. The fierceNor'westers, the traders of Montreal, the Company of the X Y, Astorhimself, had to give way. For, although they were bold or reckless orcrafty or able, they had not the ideal which raises such qualities toinvincibility. 

"And, little girl, nothing is wrong to men who have such an idealbefore them. They see but one thing, and all means are good that helpthem to assure that one thing. They front the dangers, they overcomethe hardships, they crush the rivals. Bloody wars have taken place inthese forests, ruthless deeds have been done, but the men whoaccomplished them held the deeds good. So for two hundred years, aidedby the charter from the king, they have made good their undisputedright. 

"Then the railroad entered the west. The charter of monopoly ran out. Through the Nipissing, the Athabasca, the Edmonton, came the FreeTraders--men who traded independently. These the Company could notcontrol, so it competed--and to its credit its competition has heldits own. Even far into the Northwest, where the trails are long, theFree Traders have established their chains of supplies, entering intorivalry with the Company for a barter it has always considered itsright. The medicine has been bitter, but the servants of the Companyhave adjusted themselves to the new conditions, and are holding theirown. 

"But one region still remains cut off from the outside world by abroad band of unexplored waste. The life here at Hudson'sBay--although you may not know it--is exactly the same to-day that itwas two hundred years ago. And here the Company makes its stand for amonopoly. 

"At first it worked openly. But in the case of Guillaume Sayer, adaring and pugnacious _mètis_, it got into trouble with the law. Sincethat time it has wrapped itself in secrecy and mystery, carrying onits affairs behind the screen of five hundred miles of forest. Here ithas still the power; no man can establish himself here, can eventravel here, without its consent, for it controls the food and theIndians. The Free Trader enters, but he does not stay for long. TheCompany's servants are mindful of their old fanatical ideal. Nothingis ever known, no orders are ever given, but something happens, andthe man never ventures again. 

"If he is an ordinary _mètis_ or Canadian, he emerges from the foreststarved, frightened, thankful. If his story is likely to be believedin high places, he never emerges at all. The dangers of wildernesstravel are many: he succumbs to them. That is the whole story. Nothingdefinite is known; no instances can be proved; your father denies thelegend and calls it a myth. The Company claims to be ignorant of it, perhaps its greater officers really are, but the legend holds so goodthat the journey has its name--_la Longue Traverse_. 

"But remember this, no man is to blame--unless it is he who ofknowledge takes the chances. It is a policy, a growth of centuries, anidea unchangeable to which the long services of many fierce and loyalmen have given substance. A Factor cannot change it. If he did, thething would be outside of nature, something not to be understood. 

"I am here. I am to take _la Longue Traverse_. But no man is to blame. If the scheme of the thing is wrong, it has been so from the verybeginning, from the time when King Charles set his signature to thecharter of unlimited authority. The history of a thousand men givesthe tradition power, gives it insistence. It is bigger than any oneindividual. It is as inevitable as that water should flow down hill. "

He had spoken quietly, but very earnestly, still holding her twohands, and she had sat looking at him unblinking from eyes behindwhich passed many thoughts. When he had finished, a short pausefollowed, at the end of which she asked unexpectedly, "Last evening you told me that you might come to me and ask me tochoose between my pity and what I might think to be my duty. What areyou going to ask of me?"

"Nothing. I spoke idle words. "

"Last evening I overheard you demand something of Mr. Crane, " shepursued, without commenting on his answer. "When he refused you Iheard you say these words, 'Here is where I should have received aid;I may have to get it where I should not. ' What was the aid you askedof him? and where else did you expect to get it?"

"The aid was something impossible to accord, and I did not expect toget it elsewhere. I said that in order to induce him to help me. "

A wonderful light sprang to the girl's eyes, but still she maintainedher level voice. 

"You asked him for a rifle with which to escape. You expected to getit of me. Deny it if you can. "

Ned Trent looked at her keenly a moment, then dropped his eyes. 

"It is true, " said he. 

"And the pity was to give you this weapon; and the duty was my duty tomy father's house. "

"It is true, " he repeated, dejectedly. 

"And you lied to me when you said you had a rifle with which tojourney _la Longue Traverse_. "

"That too is true, " he acknowledged. 

When next she spoke her voice was not quite so well controlled. 

"Why did you not ask me, as you intended? Why did you tell me theselies?"

The young man hesitated, looked her in the face, turned away, andmurmured, "I could not. "

"Why?" persisted the girl. "Why? You must tell me. "

"Because, " said Ned Trent--"because it could not be done. Every riflein the place is known. Because you would be found out in this, and Ido not know what your punishment might not be. "

"You knew this before?" insisted Virginia, stonily. 

"Yes. "

"Then why did you change your mind?"

"When first I saw you by the gun, " began Ned Trent, in a low voice, "Iwas a desperate man, clutching at the slightest chance. The thoughtcrossed my mind then that I might use you. Then later I saw that I hadsome influence over you, and I made my plan. But last night--"

"Yes, last night?" urged Virginia, softly. 

"Last night I paced the island, and I found out many things. One ofthem was that I could not. "

"Even though this dreadful journey--"

"I would rather take my chances. "

Again there was silence between them. 

"It was a good lie, " then said Virginia, gently--"a noble lie. Andwhat you have told me to comfort me about my father has been noblysaid. And I believe you, for I have known the truth about your fate. "He shut his lips grimly. "Why--why did you come?" she cried, passionately. "Is the trade so good, are your needs then so great, that you must run these perils?"

"My needs, " he replied. "No; I have enough. "

"Then why?" she insisted. 

"Because that old charter has long since expired, and now this countryis as free for me as for the Company, " he explained. "We are in acivilized century, and no man has a right to tell me where I shall orshall not go. Does the Company own the Indians and the creatures ofthe woods?" Something in the tone of his voice brought her eyessteadily to his for a moment. 

"Is that all?" she asked at length. 

He hesitated, looked away, looked back again. 

"No, it is not, " he confessed, in a low voice. "It is a thing I do notspeak of. My father was a servant of this Company, a good, trueservant. No man was more honest, more zealous, more loyal. "

"I am sure of it, " said Virginia, softly. 

"But in some way that he never knew himself he made enemies in highplaces. The cowards did not meet him man to man, and so he never knewwho they were. If he had, he would have killed them. But they workedagainst him always. He was given hard posts, inadequate supplies, scanthelp, and then he was held to account for what he could not do. Finallyhe left the company in disgrace--undeserved disgrace. He became a FreeTrader in the days when to become a Free Trader was worse than attackinga grizzly with cubs. In three years he was killed. But when I grew to bea man"--he clenched his teeth--"by God! how I have _prayed_ to know whodid it. " He brooded for a moment, then went on. "Still, I haveaccomplished something. I have traded in spite of your factors in manydistricts. One summer I pushed to the Coppermine in the teeth of them, and traded with the Yellow Knives for the robes of the musk-ox. And theyknew me and feared my rivalry, these traders of the Company. No districtof the far North but has felt the influence of my bartering. The tradersof all districts--Fort au Liard, Lapierre's House, Fort Rae, Ile à laCrosse, Portage la Loche, Lac la Biche, Jasper's House, the House of theTouchwood Hills--all these, and many more, have heard of Ned Trent. "

"Your father--you knew him well?"

"No, but I remember him--a tall, dark man, with a smile always in hiseyes and a laugh on his lips. I was brought up at a school in Winnipegunder a priest. Two or three times in the year my father used toappear for a few days. I remember well the last time I saw him. I wasabout thirteen years old. 'You are growing to be a man, ' said he;'next year we will go out on the trail. ' I never saw him again. "

"What happened?"

"Oh, he was just killed, " replied Ned Trent, bitterly. 

The girl laid her hand on his arm with an appealing little gesture. 

"I am so sorry, " said she. 

"I have no portrait of him, " continued the Free Trader, after aninstant. "No gift from his hands; nothing at all of his but this. "

He showed her an ordinary little silver match-safe such as men use inthe North country. 

"They brought that to me at the last--the Indians who came to tell mypriest the news; and the priest, who was a good man, gave it to me. Ihave carried it ever since. "

Virginia took it reverently. To her it had all the largeness thatenvelops the symbol of a great passion. After a moment she looked upin surprise. 

"Why!" she exclaimed, "this has a name carved on it!"

"Yes, " he replied. 

"But the name is Graehme Stewart. "

"Of course I could not bear my father's name in a country where it waswell known, " he explained. 

"Of course, " she agreed. Impulsively she raised her face to his, hereyes shining. "To me all this is very fine, " said she. 

He smiled a little sadly. "At least you know why I came. "

"Yes, " she repeated, "I know why you came. But you are in trouble. "

"The chances of war. "

"And they have defeated you after all. "

"I shall start on _la Longue Traverse_ singing 'Rouli roulant. ' It's asmall defeat, that. "

"Listen, " said she, rapidly. "When I was quite a small girl Mr. McTavish, of Rupert's House, gave me a little rifle. I have never usedit, because I do not care to shoot. That rifle has never beencounted, and my father has long since forgotten all about it. You musttake that, and escape to-night. I will let you have it on onecondition--that you give me your solemn promise never to venture intothis country again. "

"Yes, " he agreed, without enthusiasm nor surprise. 

She smiled happily at his gloomy face and listless attitude. 

"But I do not want to give up the little rifle entirely, " she went on, with dainty preciosity, watching him closely. "As I said, it was apresent, given to me when I was quite a small girl. You must return itto me at Quebec, in August. Will you promise to do that?"

He wheeled on her swift as light, the eagerness flashing back into hisface. 

"You are going to Quebec?" he cried. 

"My father wishes me to. I have decided to do so. I shall start withthe Abítibi _brigade_ in July. "

He leaped to his feet. 

"I promise!" he exulted, "I promise! To-night, then! Bring the rifleand the cartridges, and some matches, and a little salt. You must takeme across the river in a canoe, for I want them to guess at where Istrike the woods. I shall cover my trail. And with ten hours' start, let them catch Ned Trent who can!"

She laughed happily. 

"To-night, then. At the south of the island there is a trail, and atthe end of the trail a beach--"

"I know!" he cried. 

"Meet me there as soon after dark as you can do so without danger. "

He threw his hat into the air and caught it, his face boyishlyupturned. Again that something, so vaguely familiar, plucked at herwith its ghostly, appealing fingers. She turned swiftly, and seizedthem, and so found herself in possession of a memory out of herfar-off childhood. 

"I know you!" she cried. "I have seen you before this!"

He bent his puzzled gaze upon her. 

"I was a very little girl, " she explained, "and you but a lad. It wasat a party, I think, a great and brilliant party, for I remember manybeautiful women and fine men. You held me up in your arms for peopleto see, because I was going on a long journey. "

"I remember, of course I do!" he exclaimed. 

A bell clanged, turning over and over, calling the Company's men totheir day. 

"Farewell, " she said, hurriedly. "To-night. "

"To-night, " he repeated. 

She glided rapidly through the grass, noiseless in her moccasinedfeet. And as she went she heard his voice humming soft and low, "_Isabeau s'y promène Le long de son jardin, Le long de son jardin, Sur le bord de l'île, Le long de son jardin_. "

"How could he _help_ singing, " murmured Virginia, fondly. "Ah, dearHeaven, but I am the happiest girl alive!"

Such a difference can one night bring about. 

_Chapter Twelve_

The day rose and flooded the land with its fuller life. All throughthe settlement the Post Indians and half-breeds set about their tasks. Some aided Sarnier with his calking of the bateaux; some worked in thefields; some mended or constructed in the different shops. At eighto'clock the bell rang again, and they ate breakfast. Then a group ofseven, armed with muzzle-loading "trade-guns" bound in brass, set outfor the marshes in hopes of geese. For the flight was arriving, andthe Hudson Bay man knows very well the flavor of goose-flesh, smoked, salted, and barrelled. 

Now the _voyageurs_ began to stroll into the sun. They were men ofleisure. Picturesque, handsome, careless, debonair, they wandered backand forth, smoking their cigarettes, exhibiting their finery. Indianwomen, wrinkled and careworn, plodded patiently about on variousbusinesses. Indian girls, full of fun and mischief, drifted here andthere in arm-locked groups of a dozen, smiling, whispering amongthemselves, ready to collapse toward a common centre of giggles ifaddressed by one of the numerous woods-dandies, Indian men stalkedsingly, indifferent, stolid. Indian children of all sizes and degreesof nakedness darted back and forth, playing strange games. The soundof many voices rose across the air. 

Once the voices moderated, when McDonald, the Chief Trader, walkedrapidly from the barracks building to the trading store; once theydied entirely into a hush of respect, when Galen Albret himselfappeared on the broad veranda of the factory. He stood for amoment--hulked broad and black against the whitewash--his handsclasped behind him, gazing abstractedly toward the distant bay. Thenhe turned into the house to some mysterious and weighty business ofhis own. The hubbub at once broke out again. 

Now about the mouth of the long picketed lane leading to the massivetrading store gathered a silent group, bearing packs. These wereIndians from the more immediate vicinity, desirous of trading theirskins. After a moment McDonald appeared in the doorway, a hundred feetaway, and raised his hand. Two of the savages, and two only, trotteddown the narrow picket lane, their packs on their shoulders. 

McDonald ushered them into a big square room, where the bales wereundone and spread abroad. Deftly, silently the Trader sorted the furs, placing to one side or the other the "primes, " "seconds, " and "thirds"of each species. For a moment he calculated. Then he stepped to a postwhereon hung long strings of pierced wooden counters, worn smooth byuse. Swiftly he told the strings over. To one of the Indians he gaveone with these words:

"Mu-hi-kun, my brother, here be pelts to the value of two hundred'beaver. ' Behold a string, then, of two hundred 'castors, ' and inaddition I give my brother one fathom of tobacco. "

The Indian calculated rapidly, his eye abstracted. He had knownexactly the value of his catch, and what he would receive for it in"castors, " but had hoped for a larger "present, " by which the premiumon the standard price is measured. 

"Ah hah, " he exclaimed, finally, and stepped to one side. 

"Sak-we-su, my brother, " went on McDonald, "here be pelts to the valueof three hundred 'beaver. ' Behold a string, then, of three hundred'castors, ' and because you have brought so fine a skin of the otter, behold also a fathom of tobacco and a half sack of flour. "

"Good!" ejaculated the Indian. 

The Trader then led them to stairs, up which they clambered to whereDavis, the Assistant Trader, kept store. There, barred by a heavywooden grill from the airy loft filled with bright calicoes, sashes, pails, guns, blankets, clothes, and other ornamental and usefulthings, Sak-we-su and Mu-hi-kun made their choice, trading in the wornwooden "castors" on the string. So much flour, so much tea, so muchsugar and powder and lead, so much in clothing. Thus were their simpleneeds supplied for the year to come. Then the remainder theysquandered on all sorts of useless things--beads, silks, sashes, bright handkerchiefs, mirrors. And when the last wooden "castor" wasin they went down stairs and out the picket lane, carrying theirlighter purchases, but leaving the larger as "debt, " to be called forwhen needed. Two of their companions mounted the stairs as theydescended; and two more passed them in the narrow picket lane. So thetrade went on. 

At once Sak-we-su and Mu-hi-kun were surrounded. In detail they toldwhat they had done. Then in greater detail their friends told what_they_ would have done, until after five minutes of bewildering advicethe disconsolate pair would have been only too glad to have exchangedeverything--if that had been allowed. 

Now the bell rang again. It was "smoke time. " Everyone quit work for ahalf-hour. The sun climbed higher in the heavens. The laughing crewsof idlers sprawled in the warmth, gambling, telling stories, singing. Then one might have heard all the picturesque songs of the FarNorth--"A la claire Fontaine"; "Ma Boule Roulant"; "Par derrièr'chez-mon Père"; "Isabeau s'y promène"; "P'tite Jeanneton"; "Luron, Lurette"; "Chante, Rossignol, chante"; the ever-popular "Malbrouck";"C'est la belle Françoise"; "Alouette"; or the beautiful and tender"La Violette Dandine. " They had good voices, these _voyageurs_, withthe French artistic instinct, and it was fine to hear them. 

At noon the squaws set out to gather canoe gum on the mainland. Theysat huddled in the bottom of their old and leaky canoe, reaching farover the sides to dip their paddles, irregularly placed, silent, mysterious. They did not paddle with the unison of the men, but eachjabbed a little short stroke as the time suited her, so that alwayssome paddles were rising and some falling. Into the distance thus theyflapped like wounded birds; then rounded a bend, and were gone. 

The sun swung over and down the slope. Dinner time had passed; "smoketime" had come again. Squaws brought the first white-fish of theseason to the kitchen door of the factory, and Matthews raised thehand of horror at the price they asked. Finally he bought six of aboutthree pounds each, giving in exchange tea to the approximate value oftwelve cents. The Indian women went away, secretly pleased over theirbargain. 

Down by the Indian camp suddenly broke the roar of a dog-fight. Two ofthe sledge _giddés_ had come to teeth, and the friends of both wereassisting the cause. The idlers went to see, laughing, shouting, running impromptu races. They sat on their haunches and cheeredironically, and made small bets, and encouraged the frantic old squawhags who, at imminent risk, were trying to disintegrate the snarling, rolling mass. Over in the high log stockade wherein the Company'ssledge animals were confined, other wolf-dogs howled mournfully, desolated at missing the fun. 

And always the sun swung lower and lower toward the west, untilfinally the long northern twilight fell, and the girl in the littlewhite bedroom at the factory bathed her face and whispered for thehundredth time to her beating heart:

"Night has come!"

_Chapter Thirteen_

That evening at dinner Virginia studied her father's face again. Shesaw the square settled line of the jaw under the beard, the unwaveringfrown of the heavy eyebrows, the unblinking purpose of the cavernous, mysterious eyes. Never had she felt herself very close to this silent, inscrutable man, even in his moments of more affectionate expansion. Now a gulf divided them. 

And yet, strangely enough, she experienced no revulsion, no horror, norecoil even. He had merely become more aloof, more incomprehensible;his purposes vaster, less susceptible to the grasp of such as she. There may have been some basis for this feeling, or it may have beenmerely the reflex glow of a joy that made all other things seeminsignificant. 

As soon as might be after the meal Virginia slipped away, carrying therifle, the cartridges, the matches, and the salt. She was cruellyfrightened. 

The night was providentially dark. No aurora threw its splendor acrossthe dome, and only a few rare stars peeped between the light cirrusclouds. Virginia left behind her the buildings of the Post, she passedin safety the tin-steepled chapel and the church house; there remainedonly the Indian camp between her and the woods trail. At once the dogsbegan to bark and howl, the fierce _giddés_ lifting their pointednoses to the sky. The girl hurried on, swinging far to the rightthrough the grass. To her relief the camp did not respond to thesummons. An old crone or so appeared in the flap of a teepee, eyesdazzled, to throw uselessly a billet of wood or a volley of Cree abuseat the animals nearest. In a moment Virginia entered the trail. 

Here was no light at all. She had to proceed warily, feeling with hermoccasins for the beaten pathway, to which she returned with infinitecaution whenever she trod on grass or leaves. Though her sight wasdulled, her hearing was not. A thousand scurrying noises swirled abouther; a multitude of squeaks, whistles, snorts, and whines attestedthat she disturbed the forest creatures at their varied businesses;and underneath spoke an apparent dozen of terrifying voices which werein reality only the winds and the trees. Virginia knew that thesethings were not dangerous--that daylight would show them to be onlydeer-mice, hares, weasels, bats, and owls--nevertheless, they hadtheir effect. For about her was cloying velvet blackness--not theclosed-in blackness of a room, where one feels the embrace of the fourwalls, but the blackness of infinite space through which sweepmysterious currents of air. After a long time she turned sharp to theleft. After a long time more she perceived a faint, opalescent glimmerin the distance ahead. This she knew to be the river. 

She felt her way onward, still cautiously; then she choked back ascream and dropped her burden with a clatter to the ground. A darkfigure seemed to have risen mysteriously at her side. 

"I didn't mean to frighten you, " said Ned Trent, in guarded tones. "Iheard you coming. I thought you could hear me. "

He picked up the fallen articles, running his hands over them rapidly. 

"Good, " he whispered. "I got some moccasins to-day--traded a fewthings I had in my pockets for them. I'm fixed. "

"Have you a canoe?" she asked. 

"Yes--here on the beach. "

He preceded her down the few remaining yards of the trail. Shefollowed, already desolated at the thought of parting, for thewilderness was very big. The bulk of the man partly blotted out thelucent spot where the river was--now his arm, now his head, now thebreadth of his shoulders. This silhouette of him was dear to her, thesound of his movements, the faint stir of his breathing borne to heron the light breeze. Virginia's tender heart almost overflowed withlonging and fear for him. 

They emerged on a little slope and at once pushed the canoe into thecurrent. 

She accepted the aid of his hand for a moment, and sank to her place, facing him. He spurned lightly the shore, and so they were adrift. 

In a moment they seemed to be floating on a vast vapor of night, infinitely remote from anywhere, surrounded by the silence that mighthave been before the world's beginning. A faint splash could have beena muskrat near at hand or a caribou far away. The paddle rose anddipped with a faint _swish, swish_, and the steersman's twist of itwas taken up by the man's strong wrist so it did not click against thegunwale; the bow of the craft divided the waters with a murmuring sofaint as to seem but the echo of a silence. Neither spoke. Virginiawatched him, her heart too full for words; watched the full swing ofhis strong shoulders, the balance of his body at the hips, the poiseof his head against the dull sky. In a moment more the parting wouldhave to come. She dreaded it, and yet she looked forward to it with ahungry joy. Then he would say what she had seen in his eyes; then hewould speak; then she would hear the words that should comfort her inthe days of waiting. For a woman lives much for the present, and themoment's word is an important thing. 

The man swung his paddle steadily, throwing into the strokes a wantonexuberance that showed how high his spirits ran. After a time, whenthey were well out from the shore, he took a deep breath of delight. 

"Ah, you don't know how happy I am, " he exulted, "you don't know! Tobe free, to play the game, to match my wits against theirs--ah, thatis life!"

"I am sorry to see you go, " she murmured, "very sorry. The days willbe full of terror until I know you are safe. "

"Oh, yes, " he answered; "but I'll get there, and I shall tell it allto you at Quebec--at Quebec in August. It will be a brave tale! Youwill be there--surely?"

"Yes, " said the girl, softly; "I will be there--surely. "

"Good! Feel the wind on your cheek? It is from the Southland, where Iam going. I have ventured--and I have not lost! It is something not tolose, when one has ventured against many. They have my goods--butI--"

"You?" repeated Virginia, as he hesitated. 

"Ah, I don't go back empty-handed!" he cried. Her heart stood still, then leaped in anticipation of what he would say. Her soul hungeredfor the words, the words that should not only comfort her, but shouldbe to her the excuse for many things. She saw him--shadowy, gracefulagainst the dim gray of the river and sky--lean ever so slightlytoward her. But then he straightened again to his paddle, andcontented himself with repeating merely: "Quebec--in August, then. "

The canoe grated. Ned Trent with an exclamation drove his paddle intothe clay. 

"Lucky the bottom is soft here, " said he; "I did not realize we wereso close ashore. "

He drew the canoe up on the shelving beach, helped Virginia out, tookhis rifle, and so stood ready to depart. 

"Leave the canoe just where we got in, " he advised; "it is around thepoint, you see, and that may fool them a little. "

"You are going, " she said, dully. Then she came close to him andlooked up at him with her wonderful eyes. "Good-by. "

"Good-by, " said he. 

Was this to be all? Had he nothing more to tell her? Was the word tolack, the word she needed so much? She had given herself unreservedlyinto this man's hands, and at parting he had no more to say to herthan "Good-by. " Virginia's eyes were tearful, but she would not lethim know that. She felt that her heart would break. 

"Well, good-by, " he said again after a moment, which he had spentinspecting the heavens. "Ah, you don't _know_ what it is to be free!By to-morrow morning I shall be half-way to the Mattágami. I canhardly wait to see it, for then I am safe! And then next day--why, next day they won't know which of a dozen ways I've gone!" He wasfull of the future, man-fashion. 

He took her hands, leaned over, and lightly kissed her on the mouth. Instantly Virginia became wildly and unreasonably angry. She could nothave told herself why, but it was the lack of the word she had wantedso much, the pain of feeling that he could go like that, the thwartedbitterness of a longing that had grown stronger than she had even yetrealized. 

Instinctively she leaped into the canoe, sending it spinning from thebank. 

"Ah, you had no _right_ to do that!" she cried. "I gave you no_right_!"

Then, heedless of what he was saying, she began to paddle straightfrom the shore, weeping bitterly, her face upraised, her hair in hereyes, and the tears coursing unheeded down her cheeks. 

_Chapter Fourteen_

Slower and slower her paddle dipped, lower and lower hung her head, faster and faster flowed her tears. The instinctive recoil, thepassionate resentment had gone. In the bitterness of her spirit sheknew not what she thought except that she would give her soul to seehim again, to feel the touch of his lips once more. For she could notmake herself believe that this would ever come to pass. He had gonelike a phantom, like a dream, and the mists of life had closed abouthim, showing no sign. He had vanished, and at once she seemed to knowthat the episode was finished. 

The canoe whispered against the soft clay bottom. She had arrived, though how the crossing had been made she could not have told. Slowlyand sorrowfully she disembarked. Languidly she drew the light craftbeyond the stream's eager fingers. Then, her forces at an end, shehuddled down on the ground and gave herself up to sorrow. 

The life of the forest went on as though she were not there. A big owlfar off said hurriedly his _whoo-whoo-whoo_, as though he had themessage to deliver and wanted to finish the task. A smaller owl nearat hand cried _ko-ko-ko-oh_ with the intonation of a tin horn. Acrossthe river a lynx screamed, and was answered at once by the ululationsof wolves. On the island the _giddés_ howled defiance. Then fromabove, clear, spiritual, floated the whistle of shore birds arrivingfrom the south. Close by sounded a rustle of leaves, a sharp squeak;a tragedy had been consummated, and the fierce little mink staredmalevolently across the body of his victim at the motionless figure onthe beach. 

Virginia, drowned in grief, knew of none of these things. She wasseeing again the clear brown face of the stranger, his curly brownhair, his steel eyes, and the swing of his graceful figure. Now hefronted the wondering _voyageurs_, one foot raised against the bow ofthe _brigade_ canoe; now he stood straight and tall against the lightof the sitting-room door; now he emptied the vials of his wrath andcontempt on Archibald Crane's reverend head; now he passed in thedarkness, singing gayly the _chanson de canôt_. But more fondly shesaw him as he swept his hat to the ground on discovering her by theguns, as he bent his impassioned eyes on her in the dim lamplight oftheir first interview, as he tossed his hat aloft in the air when hehad understood that she would be in Quebec. She hugged the visions toher, and wept over them softly, for she was now sure she would neversee him again. 

And she heard his voice, now laughing, now scornful, now mocking, nowindignant, now rich and solemn with feeling. He flouted the people, heturned the shafts of his irony on her father, he scathed the minister, he laughed at Louis Placide awakened from his sleep, he sang, he toldher of the land of desolation, he pleaded. She could hear him callingher name--although he had never spoken it--in low, tender tones, "Virginia! Virginia!" over and over again softly, as though his soulwere crying through his lips. 

Then somehow, in a manner not to be comprehended, it was borne in onher consciousness that he was indeed near her, and that he was indeedcalling her name. And at once she made him out, standing dripping onthe beach. A moment later she was in his arms. 

"Ah!" he cried, in gladness; "you are here!"

He crushed her hungrily to him, unmindful of his wet clothes, kissingher eyes, her cheeks, her lips, her chin, even the fragrant corner ofher throat exposed by the collar of her gown. She did not struggle. 

"Oh!" she murmured, "my dear, my dear! Why did you come back? Why didyou come?"

"Why did I come?" he repeated, passionately. "Why did I come? Can youask that? How could I help but come? You must have known I would come. Surely you must have known! Didn't you hear me calling you when youpaddled away? I came to get the right. I came to get your promise, your kisses, to hear you say the word, to get you! I thought youunderstood. It was all so clear to me. I thought you knew. That waswhy I was so glad to go, so eager to get away that I could not evenrealize I was parting from you--so I could the sooner reachQuebec--reach you! Don't you see how I felt? All this present wasmerely something to get over, to pass by, to put behind us until I gotto Quebec in August--and you. I looked forward so eagerly to that, Iwas so anxious to get away, I was desirous of hastening on to the timewhen things could be _sure_! Don't you understand?"

"Yes, I think I do, " replied the girl, softly. 

"And I thought of course you knew. I should not have kissed youotherwise. "

"How could I know?" she sighed. "You said nothing, and, oh! I _wanted_so to hear!"

And singularly enough he said nothing now, but they stood facing eachother hand in hand, while the great vibrant life they were nowtouching so closely filled their hearts and eyes, and left them faint. So they stood for hours or for seconds, they could not tell, spirit-hushed, ecstatic. The girl realized that they must part. 

"You must go, " she whispered brokenly, at last. "I do not want you to, but you must. "

She smiled up at him with trembling lips that whispered to her soulthat she must be brave. 

"Now go, " she nerved herself to say, releasing her hands. 

"Tell me, " he commanded. 

"What?" she asked. 

"What I most want to hear. "

"I can tell you many things, " said she, soberly, "but I do not knowwhich of them you want to hear. Ah, Ned, I can tell you that you havecome into a girl's life to make her very happy and very much afraid. And that is a solemn thing; is it not?"

"Yes, " said he. 

"And I can tell you that this can never be undone. That is a solemnthing, too, is it not?"

"Yes, " said he. 

"And that, according as you treat her, this girl will believe or notbelieve in the goodness of all men or the badness of all men. Ah, Ned, a woman's heart is fragile, and mine is in your keeping. "

Her face was raised bravely and steadily to his. In the starlight itshone white and pathetic. And her eyes were two liquid wells ofdarkness in the shadow, and her half-parted lips were wistful andchildlike. 

The man caught both her hands, again looking down on her. Then heanswered her, solemnly and humbly. 

"Virginia, " said he, "I am setting out on a perilous journey. As Ideal with you, may God deal with me. "

"Ah, that is as I like you, " she breathed. 

"Good-by, " said he. 

She raised her lips of her own accord, and he kissed them reverently. 

"Good-by, " she murmured. 

He turned away with an effort and ran down the beach to the canoe. 

"Good-by, good-by, " she murmured, under her breath. "Ah, good-by! Ilove you! Oh, I do love you!"

[Illustration: "GO HOME BEFORE THEY SEARCH THE WOODS. " Scene from theplay. ]

Then suddenly from the bushes leaped dark figures. The still night wasbroken by the sound of a violent scuffle--blows--a fall. She heard NedTrent's voice calling to her from the _mêlée_. 

"Go back at once!" he commanded, clearly and steadily. "You can do nogood. I order you to go home before they search the woods. "

But she crouched in dazed terror, her pupils wide to the dim light. She saw them bind him, and stand waiting; she saw a canoe glide outof the darkness; she saw the occupants of the canoe disembark; she sawthem exhibit her little rifle, and heard them explain in Cree, thatthey had followed the man swimming. Then she knew that the cause waslost, and fled as swiftly as she could through the forest. 

_Chapter Fifteen_

Galen Albret had chosen to interrogate his recaptured prisoner alone. He sat again in the arm-chair of the Council Room. The place wasflooded with sun. It touched the high-lights of the time-darkened, rough furniture, it picked out the brasses, it glorified thewhitewashed walls. In its uncompromising illumination Me-en-gan, thebowsman, standing straight and tall and silent by the door, studiedhis master's face and knew him to be deeply angered. 

For Galen Albret was at this moment called upon to deal with a problemmore subtle than any with which his policy had been puzzled in thirtyyears. It was bad enough that, in repeated defiance of his authority, this stranger should persist in his attempt to break the Company'smonopoly; it was bad enough that he had, when captured, borne himselfwith so impudent an air of assurance; it was bad enough that he shouldhave made open love to the Factor's daughter, should have laughedscornfully in the Factor's very face. But now the case had becomegrave. In some mysterious manner he had succeeded in corrupting one ofthe Company's servants. Treachery was therefore to be dealt with. 

Some facts Galen Albret had well in hand. Others eluded himpersistently. He had, of course, known promptly enough of thedisappearance of a canoe, and had thereupon dispatched his Indians tothe recapture. The Reverend Archibald Crane had reported that twofigures had been seen in the act of leaving camp, one by the river, theother by the Woods Trail. But here the Factor's investigationsencountered a check. The rifle brought in by his Indians, to hisbewilderment, he recognized not at all. His repeated cross-questionings, when they touched on the question of Ned Trent's companion, got nofarther than the Cree wooden stolidity. No, they had seen no one, neither presence, sign, nor trail. But Galen Albret, versed in thepsychology of his savage allies, knew they lied. He suspected them ofclan loyalty to one of their own number; and yet they had never failedhim before. Now, his heavy revolver at his right hand, he interviewedNed Trent, alone, except for the Indian by the portal. 

As with the Indians, his cross-examination had borne scant results. The best of his questions but involved him in a maze of bafflingsurmises. Gradually his anger had mounted, until now the Indian at thedoor knew by the wax-like appearance of the more prominent places onhis deeply carved countenance that he had nearly reached the point ofoutbreak. 

Swiftly, like the play of rapiers, the questions and answers brokeacross the still room. 

"You had aid, " the Factor asserted, positively. 

"You think so?"

"My Indians say you were alone. But where did you get this rifle?"

"I stole it. "

"You were alone?"

Ned Trent paused for a barely appreciable instant. It was not possiblethat the Indians had failed to establish the girl's presence, and hefeared a trap. Then he caught the expressive eye of Me-en-gan at thedoor. Evidently Virginia had friends. 

"I was alone, " he repeated, confidently. 

"That is a lie. For though my Indians were deceived, two people wereobserved by my clergyman to leave the Post immediately before I sentout to your capture. One rounded the island in a canoe; the other tookthe Woods Trail. "

"Bully for the Church, " replied Trent, imperturbably. "Better promotehim to your scouts. "

"Who was that second person?"

"Do you think I will tell you?"

"I think I'll find means to make you tell me!" burst out the Factor. 

Ned Trent was silent. 

"If you'll tell me the name of that man I'll let you go free. I'llgive you a permit to trade in the country. It touches myauthority--my discipline. The affair becomes a precedent. It isvital. "

Ned Trent fixed his eyes on the bay and hummed a little air, halfturning his shoulder to the older man. 

The latter's face blazed with suppressed fury. Twice his hand restedalmost convulsively on the butt of his heavy revolver. 

"Ned Trent, " he cried, harshly, at last, "pay attention to me. I'vehad enough of this. I swear if you do not tell me what I want to knowwithin five minutes, I'll hang you to-day!"

The young man spun on his heel. 

"Hanging!" he cried. "You cannot mean that?"

The Free Trader measured him up and down, saw that his purpose wassincere, and turned slowly pale under the bronze of his out-of-doortan. Hanging is always a dreadful death, but in the Far North itcarries an extra stigma of ignominy with it, inasmuch as it isresorted to only with the basest malefactors. Shooting is the usualform of execution for all but the most despicable crimes. He turnedaway with a little gesture. 

"Well!" cried Albret. 

Ned Trent locked his lips in a purposeful straight line of silence. Tosuch an outrage there could be nothing to say. The Factor jerked hiswatch to the table. 

"I said five minutes, " he repeated. "I mean it. "

[Illustration: "GO TO THE DEVIL!" Scene from the play. ]

The young man leaned against the side of the window, his arms folded, his back to the room. Outside, the varied life of the Post wentforward under his eyes. He even noted with a surface interest the factthat out across the river a loon was floating, and remarked thatnever before had he seen one of those birds so far north. Galen Albretstruck the table with the flat of his hand. 

"Done!" he cried, "This is the last chance I shall give you. Speak atthis instant or accept the consequences!"

Ned Trent turned sharply, as though breaking a thread that bound himto the distant prospect beyond the window. For an instant he staredenigmatically at his opponent. Then in the sweetest tones, "Oh, go to the devil!" said he, and began to walk deliberately towardthe older man. 

There lay between the window and the head of the table perhaps a dozenordinary steps, for the room was large. The young man took themslowly, his eyes fixed with burning intensity on the seated figure, the muscles of his locomotion contracting and relaxing with thesmooth, stealthy continuity of a cat. Galen Albret again laid hand onhis revolver. 

"Come no nearer, " he commanded. 

Me-en-gan left the door and glided along the wall. But the tableintervened between him and the Free Trader. 

The latter paid no attention to the Factor's command. Galen Albretsuddenly raised his weapon from the table. 

"Stop, or I'll fire!" he cried, sharply. 

"I mean just that, " said Ned Trent between his clenched teeth. 

But ten feet separated the two men. Galen Albret levelled therevolver. Ned Trent, watchful, prepared to spring. Me-en-gan, near thefoot of the table, gathered himself for attack. 

Then suddenly the Free Trader relaxed his muscles, straightened hisback, and returned deliberately to the window. Facing about inastonishment to discover the reason for this sudden change ofdecision, the other two men looked into the face of Virginia Albret, standing in the doorway of the other room. 

"Father!" she cried. 

"You must go back, " said Ned Trent, speaking clearly and collectedly, in the hope of imposing his will on her obvious excitement. "This isnot an affair in which you should interfere. Galen Albret, send heraway. "

The Factor had turned squarely in his heavy arm-chair to regard thegirl, a frown on his brows. 

"Virginia, " he commanded, in deliberate, stern tones of authority, "leave the room. You have nothing to do with this case, and I do notdesire your interference. "

Virginia stepped bravely beyond the portals, and stopped. Her fingerswere nervously interlocked, her lip trembled, in her cheeks the colorcame and went, but her eyes met her father's, unfaltering. 

"I have more to do with it than you think, " she replied. 

Instantly Ned Trent was at the table. "I really think this has gonefar enough, " he interposed. "We have had our interview, and come to adecision. Miss Albret must not be permitted to exaggerate a slightsentiment of pity into an interest in my affairs. If she knew thatsuch a demonstration only made it worse for me I am sure she would sayno more. " He looked at her appealingly across the Factor's shoulder. 

Me-en-gan was already holding open the door. "You come, " he smiled, beseechingly. 

But the Factor's suspicions were aroused. 

[Illustration: "I HAVE MORE TO DO WITH IT THAN YOU THINK!" Scene fromthe play. ]

"There is something in this, " he decided. "I think you may stay, Virginia. "

"You are right, " broke in the young man, desperately. "There issomething in it. Miss Albret knows who gave me the rifle, and she wasabout to inform you of his identity. There is no need in subjectingher to that distasteful ordeal. I am now ready to confess to you. Ibeg you will ask her to leave the room. "

Galen Albret, in the midst of these warring intentions, had sunk intohis customary impassive calm. The light had died from his eyes, theexpression from his face, the energy from his body. He sat, an inertmass, void of initiative, his intelligence open to what might bebrought to his notice. 

"Virginia, this is true?" his heavy, dead voice rumbled through hisbeard. "You know who aided this man?"

Ned Trent mutely appealed to her; her glance answered his. 

"Yes, father, " she replied. 

"Who?"

"I did. "

A dead silence fell on the room. Galen Albret's expression andattitude did not change. Through dull, lifeless eyes, from behind theheavy mask of his waxen face and white beard, he looked steadily outupon nothing. Along either arm of the chair stretched his own armslimp and heavy with inertia. In suspense the other three inmates ofthe place watched him, waiting for some change. It did not come. Finally his lips moved. 

"You?" he muttered, questioningly. 

"I, " she repeated. 

Another silence fell. 

"Why?" he asked at last. 

"Because it was an unjust thing. Because we could not think of takinga life in that way, without some reason for it. "

"Why?" he persisted, taking no account of her reply. 

Virginia let her gaze slowly rest on the Free Trader, and her eyesfilled with a world of tenderness and trust. 

"Because I love him, " said she, softly. 

_Chapter Sixteen_

After an instant Galen Albret turned slowly his massive head andlooked at her. He made no other movement, yet she staggered back asthough she had received a violent blow on the chest. 

"Father!" she gasped. 

Still slowly, gropingly, he arose to his feet, holding tight to theedge of the table. Behind him unheeded the rough-built arm-chaircrashed to the floor. He stood there upright and motionless, lookingstraight before him, his face formidable. At first his speech wasdisjointed. The words came in widely punctuated gasps. Then, as thewave of his emotion rolled back from the poise into which the firstshock of anger had thrown it, it escaped through his lips in aconstantly increasing stream of bitter words. 

"You--you love him, " he cried. "You--my daughter! You have been--atraitor--to me! You have dared--dared--deny that which my whole lifehas affirmed! My own flesh and blood--when I thought the nearest_mètis_ of them all more loyal! You love this man--this man who hasinsulted me, mocked me! You have taken his part against me! You havedeliberately placed yourself in the class of those I would hang forsuch an offence! If you were not my daughter I would hang you. Hang myown child!" Suddenly his rage flared. "You little fool! Do you dareset your judgment against mine? Do you dare interfere where I thinkwell? Do you dare deny my will? By the eternal, I'll show you, old asyou are, that you have still a father! Get to your room! Out of mysight!" He took two steps forward, and so his eye fell on Ned Trent. He uttered a scream of rage, and reached for the pistol. Fortunatelythe abruptness of his movement when he arose had knocked it to thefloor, so now in the blindness of a red anger he could not see it. Heshrieked out an epithet and jumped forward, his arm drawn to strike. Ned Trent leaped back into an attitude of defence. 

All three of those present had many times seen Galen Albret possessedby his noted fits of anger, so striking in contrast to his ordinarycontained passivity. But always, though evidently in a white heat ofrage and given to violent action and decision, he had retained theclearest command of his faculties, issuing coherent and dreadedorders to those about him. Now he had become a raging wild beast. Andfor the spectators the sight had all the horror of the unprecedented. 

But the younger man, too, had gradually heated to the point where hisordinary careless indifference could give off sparks. The interviewhad been baffling, the threats real and unjust, the turn of affairswhen Virginia Albret entered the room most exasperating on the side ofthe undesirable and unforeseen. In foiled escape, in thwartedexpedient, his emotions had been many times excited, and then eddiedback on themselves. The potentialities of as blind an anger as that ofGalen Albret were in him. It only needed a touch to loose the flood. The physical threat of a blow supplied that touch. As the two menfaced each other both were ripe for the extreme of recklessness. 

But while Galen Albret looked to nothing less than murder, theFree-Trader's individual genius turned to dead defiance and resistanceof will. While Galen Albret's countenance reflected the height ofpassion, Trent was as smiling and cool and debonair as though he hadat that moment received from the older man an extraordinary andparticular favor. Only his eyes shot a baleful blue flame, and hiswords, calmly enough delivered, showed the extent to which his passionhad cast policy to the winds. 

"Don't go too far! I warn you!" said he. 

As though the words had projected him bodily forward, Galen Albretsprang to deliver his blow. The Free Trader ducked rapidly, threw hisshoulder across the middle of the older man's body, and by the verysuperiority of his position forced his antagonist to give ground. Thatthe struggle would have then continued body to body there can be nodoubt, had it not been for the fact that the Factor's retrogressivemovement brought his knees sharply against the edge of a chairstanding near the side of the table. Albret lost his balance, wavered, and finally sat down violently. Ned Trent promptly pinned him by theshoulder into powerless immobility. Me-en-gan had possessed himself ofthe fallen pistol, but beyond keeping a generally wary eye out fordangerous developments, did not offer to interfere. Your Indian is insuch a crisis a disciplinarian, and he had received no orders. 

"Now, " said Ned Trent, acidly, "I think this will stop right here. Youdo not cut a very good figure, my dear sir, " he laughed a little. "You haven't cut a very good figure from the beginning, you know. Youforbade me to do various things, and I have done them all. I tradedwith your Indians. I came and went in your country. Do you think Ihave not been here often before I was caught? And you forbade me tosee your daughter again. I saw her that very evening, and the nextmorning and the next evening. "

He stood, still holding Galen Albret immovably in the chair, lookingsteadily and angrily into the Factor's eyes, driving each word homewith the weight of his contained passion. The girl touched his arm. 

"Hush! oh, hush!" she cried in a panic. "Do not anger him further!"

"When you forbade me to make love to her, " he continued, unheeding, "Ilaughed at you. " With a sudden, swift motion of his left arm he drewher to him and touched her forehead with his lips. "Look! Yourcommands have been rather ridiculous, sir. I seem to have had theupper hand of you from first to last. Incidentally you have my life. Oh, welcome! That is small pay and little satisfaction. "

He threw himself from the Factor and stepped back. 

Galen Albret sat still without attempting to renew the struggle. Theenforced few moments of inaction had restored to him his self-control. He was still deeply angered, but the insanity of rage had left him. Outwardly he was himself again. Only a rapid heaving of his chestanswered Ned Trent's quick breathing, as the two men glared defiantlyat each other in the pause that followed. 

"Very well, sir, " said the Factor, curtly, at last. "Your time isover. I find it unnecessary to hang you. You will start on your_Longue Traverse_ to-day. "

"Oh!" cried Virginia, in a low voice of agony, and fluttered to herlover's side. 

"Hush! hush!" he soothed her. "There is a chance. "

"You think so?" broke in Galen Albret, harshly. And looking at his setface and blazing eyes, they saw that there was no chance. The FreeTrader shrugged his shoulders. 

"You are going to do this thing, father, " appealed Virginia, "afterwhat I have told you?"

"My mind is made up. "

"I shall not survive him, father!" she threatened, in a low voice. Then, as the Factor did not respond, "Do not misunderstand me. I donot intend to survive him. "

"Silence! silence! silence!" cried Galen Albret, in a crescendooutburst. "Silence! I will not be gainsaid! You have made your choice!You are no longer a daughter of mine!"

"Father!" cried Virginia, faintly, her lips going pale. 

"Don't speak to me! Don't look at me! Get out of here! Get out of theplace! I won't have you here another day--another hour! By--"

The girl hesitated for a moment, then ran to him, sinking on herknees, and clasping his hand. 

"Father, " she pleaded, "you are not yourself. This has been verytrying to you. To-morrow you will be sorry. But then it will be toolate. Think, while there is yet time. He has not committed a crime. You yourself told me he was a man of intelligence and daring--agentleman; and surely, though he has been hasty, he has acted with abrave spirit through it all. See, he will promise you to go awayquietly, to say nothing of all this, never to come into this countryagain without your permission. He will do this if I ask him, for heloves me. Look at me, father. Are you going to treat your little girlso--your Virginia? You have never refused me anything before. And thisis the greatest thing in all my life. " She held his hand to her cheekand stroked it, murmuring little feminine, caressing phrases, securein her power of witchery, which had never failed her before. The soundof her own voice reassured her, the quietude of the man she pleadedwith. A lifetime of petting, of indulgence, threw its soothinginfluence over her perturbation, convincing her that somehow all thisstorm and stress must be phantasmagoric--a dream from which she waseven now awakening into a clearer day of happiness. "For you love me, father, " she concluded, and looked up daintily, with a pathetic, coquettish tilt of her fair head, to peer into his face. 

Galen Albret snarled like a wild beast, throwing aside the girl, as hedid the chair in which he had been sitting. Ned Trent caught her, reeling, in his arms. 

For, as is often the case with passionate but strong temperaments, though the Factor had attained a certain calm of control, the turmoilof his deeper anger had not been in the least stilled. Over it a crustof determination had formed--the determination to make an end by thedirectest means in his autocratic power of this galling opposition. The girl's pleading, instead of appealing to him, had in reality butstirred his fury the more profoundly. It had added a new fuel elementto the fire. Heretofore his consciousness had felt merely thethwarting of his pride, his authority, his right to loyalty. Now hisdaughter's entreaty brought home to him the bitter realization that hehad been attained on another side--that of his family affection. Thisman had also killed for him his only child. For the child hadrenounced him, had thrust him outside herself into the lonely andruined temple of his pride. At the first thought his face twisted withemotion, then hardened to cold malice. 

"Love you!" he cried. "Love you! An unnatural child! An ingrate! Onewho turns from me so lightly!" He laughed bitterly, eyeing her withchilling scrutiny. "You dare recall my love for you!" Suddenly hestood upright, levelling a heavy, trembling arm at her. "You think anappeal to my love will save him! Fool!"

Virginia's breath caught in her throat. She straightened, clutched theneckband of her gown. Then her head fell slowly forward. She hadfainted in her lover's arms. 

They stood exactly so for an appreciable interval, bewildered by thesuddenness of this outcome; Galen Albret's hand out-stretched indenunciation; the girl like a broken lily, supported in the youngman's arms; he searching her face passionately for a sign of life;Me-en-gan, straight and sorrowful, again at the door. 

Then the old man's arm dropped slowly. His gaze wavered. The lines ofhis face relaxed. Twice he made an effort to turn away. All at oncehis stubborn spirit broke; he uttered a cry, and sprang forward tosnatch the unconscious form hungrily into his bear clasp, searchingthe girl's face, muttering incoherent things. 

"Quick!" he cried, aloud, the guttural sounds jostling one another inhis throat. "Get Wishkobun, quick!"

Ned Trent looked at him with steady scorn, his arms folded. 

"Ah!" he dropped distinctly in deliberate monosyllables across thesurcharged atmosphere of the scene. "So it seems you have found yourheart, my friend!"

Galen Albret glared wildly at him over the girl's fair head. 

"She is my daughter, " he mumbled. 

_Chapter Seventeen_

They carried the unconscious girl into the dim-lighted apartment ofthe curtained windows, and laid her on the divan. Wishkobun, hastilysummoned, unfastened the girl's dress at the throat. 

"It is a faint, " she announced in her own tongue. "She will recover ina few minutes; I will get some water. "

Ned Trent wiped the moisture from his forehead with his handkerchief. The danger he had undergone coolly, but this overcame his ironself-control. Galen Albret, like an anxious bear, weaved back andforth the length of the couch. In him the rumble of the storm was butjust echoing into distance. 

"Go into the next room, " he growled at the Free Trader, when finallyhe noticed the latter's presence. 

Ned Trent hesitated. 

"Go, I say!" snarled the Factor. "You can do nothing here. " Hefollowed the young man to the door, which he closed with his own hand, and then turned back to the couch on which his daughter lay. In themiddle of the floor his foot clicked on some small object. Mechanically he picked it up. 

It proved to be a little silver match-safe of the sort universallyused in the Far North. Evidently the Free Trader had flipped it fromhis pocket with his handkerchief. The Factor was about to thrust itinto his own pocket, when his eye caught lettering roughly carvedacross one side. Still mechanically, he examined it more closely. Thelettering was that of a man's name. The man's name was GraehmeStewart. 

Without thinking of what he did, he dropped the object on the smalltable, and returned anxiously to the girl's side, cursing thetardiness of the Indian woman. But in a moment Wishkobun returned. 

"Will she recover?" asked the Factor, distracted at the woman'sdeliberate examination. 

The latter smiled her indulgent, slow smile. "But surely, " she assuredhim in her own tongue, "it is no more than if she cut her finger. In afew breaths she will recover. Now I will go to the house of theCockburn for a morsel of the sweet wood[A] which she must smell. " Shelooked her inquiry for permission. 

[Footnote A: Camphor. ]

"Sagaamig--go, " assented Albret. 

Relieved in mind, he dropped into a chair. His eye caught the littlesilver match-safe. He picked it up and fell to staring at the rudelycarved letters. 

He found that he was alone with his daughter--and the thoughts arousedby the dozen letters of a man's name. 

All his life long he had been a hard man. His commands had beenautocratic; his anger formidable; his punishments severe, andsometimes cruel. The quality of mercy was with him tenuous and weak. He knew this, and if he did not exactly glory in it, he was at leastindifferent to its effect on his reputation with others. But always hehad been just. The victims of his displeasure might complain that hisretributive measures were harsh, that his forgiveness could not beevoked by even the most extenuating of circumstances, but not thathis anger had ever been baseless or the punishment undeserved. Thus hehad held always his own self-respect, and from his self-respect hadproceeded his iron and effective rule. 

So in the case of the young man with whom now his thoughts wereoccupied. Twice he had warned him from the country without thepunishment which the third attempt rendered imperative. The eventssucceeding his arrival at Conjuror's House warmed the Factor's angerto the heat of almost preposterous retribution perhaps--for after alla man's life is worth something, even in the wilds--but it wasactually retribution, and not merely a ruthless proof of power. Itmight be justice as only the Factor saw it, but it was stillessentially justice--in the broader sense that to each act hadfollowed a definite consequence. Although another might havecondemned his conduct as unnecessarily harsh, Galen Albret'sconscience was satisfied and at rest. 

Nor had his resolution been permanently affected by either the girl'sthreat to make away with herself or by his momentary softening whenshe had fainted. The affair was thereby complicated, but that was all. In the sincerity of the threat he recognized his own iron nature, andwas perhaps a little pleased at its manifestation. He knew sheintended to fulfil her promise not to survive her lover, but at themoment this did not reach his fears; it only aroused further hisdogged opposition. 

The Free Trader's speech as he left the room, however, had touched theone flaw in Galen Albret's confidence of righteousness. Wearied withthe struggles and the passions he had undergone, his brain numbed, his will for the moment in abeyance, he seated himself andcontemplated the images those two words had called up. 

Graehme Stewart! That man he had first met at Fort Rae over twentyyears ago. It was but just after he had married Virginia's mother. Atonce his imagination, with the keen pictorial power of those who havedwelt long in the Silent Places, brought forward the other scene--thatof his wooing. He had driven his dogs into Fort la Cloche after a hardday's run in seventy-five degrees of frost. Weary, hungry, half-frozen, he had staggered into the fire-lit room. Against theblaze he had caught for a moment a young girl's profile, lost as sheturned her face toward him in startled question of his entrance. Menhad cared for his dogs. The girl had brought him hot tea. In thecorner of the fire they two had whispered one to the other--thealready grizzled traveller of the silent land, the fresh, bravenorth-maiden. At midnight, their parkas drawn close about their facesin the fearful cold, they had met outside the inclosure of the Post. An hour later they were away under the aurora for Qu'Apelle. GalenAlbret's nostrils expanded as he heard the _crack, crack, crack_ ofthe remorseless dog-whip whose sting drew him away from the vainpursuit. After the marriage at Qu'Apelle they had gone a weary journeyto Rae, and there he had first seen Graehme Stewart. 

Fort Rae is on the northwestward arm of the Great Slave Lake in thecountry of the Dog Ribs, only four degrees under the Arctic Circle. Itis a dreary spot, for the Barren Grounds are near. Men see only thegreat lake, the great sky, the great gray country. They become moody, fanciful. In the face of the silence they have little to say. At FortRae were old Jock Wilson, the Chief Trader; Father Bonat, the priest;Andrew Levoy, the _mètis_ clerk; four Dog Rib teepees; Galen Albretand his bride; and Graehme Stewart. 

Jock Wilson was sixty-five; Father Bonat had no age; Andrew Levoypossessed the years of dour silence. Only Graehme Stewart and Elodie, bride of Albret, were young. In the great gray country their liveswere like spots of color on a mist. Galen Albret finally becamejealous. 

At first there was nothing to be done; but finally Levoy brought tothe older man proof of the younger's guilt. The harsh traveller bowedhis head and wept. But since he loved Elodie more than himself whichwas perhaps the only redeeming feature of this sorry business--he saidnothing, nor did more than to journey south to Edmonton, leaving theyounger man alone in Fort Rae to the White Silence. But his soul wasstirred. 

In the course of nature and of time Galen Albret had a daughter, butlost a wife. It was no longer necessary for him to leave his wrongunavenged. Then began a series of baffling hindrances which resultedfinally in his stooping to means repugnant to his open sense of whatwas due himself. At the first he could not travel to his enemy becauseof the child in his care; when finally he had succeeded in placing thelittle girl where he would be satisfied to leave her, he himself wassuddenly and peremptorily called east to take a post in Rupert's Land. He could not disobey and remain in the Company, and the Company wasmore to him than life or revenge. The little girl he left in SacréCoeur of Quebec; he himself took up his residence in the Hudson Baycountry. After a few years, becoming lonely for his own flesh andblood, he sent for his daughter. There, as Factor, he gained a vastpower; and this power he turned into the channels of his hatred. Graehme Stewart felt always against him the hand of influence. Hisposts in the Company's service became intolerable. At length, inindignation against continued injustice, oppression, and insult, heresigned, broken in fortune and in prospects. He became one of theearliest Free Traders on the Saskatchewan, devoting his energies toenraged opposition of the Company which had wronged him. In the spaceof three short years he had met a violent and striking death; for theearly days of the Free Trader were adventurous. Galen Albret'srevenge had struck home. 

Then in after years the Factor had again met with Andrew Levoy. Theman staggered into Conjuror's House late at night. He had started fromWinnipeg to descend the Albany River, but had met with mishap andstarvation. One by one his dogs had died. In some blind fashion hepushed on for days after his strength and sanity had left him. Mu-hi-kun had brought him in. His toes and fingers had frozen anddropped off; his face was a mask of black frost-bitten flesh, in whichdeep fissures opened to the raw. He had gone snow-blind. Scarcely washe recognizable as a human being. 

From such a man in extremity could come nothing but the truth, soGalen Albret believed him. Before Andrew Levoy died that night he toldof his deceit. The Factor left the room with the weight of a crime onhis conscience. For Graehme Stewart had been innocent of any wrongtoward him or his bride. 

Such was the story Galen Albret saw in the little silver match-box. That was the one flaw in his consciousness of righteousness; the oneinstance in a long career when his ruthless acts of punishment orreprisal had not rested on rigid justice, and by the irony of fate theone instance had touched him very near. Now here before him was hisenemy's son--he wondered that he had not discovered the resemblancebefore--and he was about to visit on him the severest punishment inhis power. Was not this an opportunity vouchsafed him to repair hisancient fault, to cleanse his conscience of the one sin of the kind itwould acknowledge?

But then over him swept the same blur of jealousy that had resulted inGraehme Stewart's undoing. This youth wooed his daughter; he had wonher affections away. Strangely enough Galen Albret confused the newand the old; again youth cleaved to youth, leaving age apart. Age feltfiercely the desire to maintain its own. The Factor crushed the silvermatch-box between his great palms and looked up. His daughter laybefore him, still, lifeless. Deliberately he rested his chin on hishands and contemplated her. 

The room, as always, was full of contrast; shafts of light, dust-moted, bewildering, crossed from the embrasured windows, throwinghigh-lights into prominence and shadows into impenetrable darkness. They rendered the gray-clad figure of the girl vague and ethereal, like a mist above a stream; they darkened the dull-hued couch on whichshe rested into a liquid, impalpable black; they hazed the drapedbackground of the corner into a far-reaching distance; so that finallyto Galen Albret, staring with hypnotic intensity, it came to seem thathe looked upon a pure and disembodied spirit sleeping sweetly--cradledon illimitable space. The ordinary and familiar surroundings alldisappeared. His consciousness accepted nothing but the cameo profileof marble white, the nimbus of golden haze about the head, themist-like suggestion of a body, and again the clear marble spot of thehands. All else was a background of modulated depths. 

So gradually the old man's spirit, wearied by the stress of the lasthour, turned in on itself and began to create. The cameo profile, themist-like body, the marble hands remained; but now Galen Albret sawother things as well. A dim, rare perfume was wafted from some unseenspace; indistinct flashes of light spotted the darknesses; faintswells of music lifted the silence intermittently. These things weresmall and still, and under the external consciousness--like the voicesone may hear beneath the roar of a tumbling rapid--but gradually theydefined themselves. The perfume came to Galen Albret's nostrils on thewings of incensed smoke; the flashes of light steadied to the ovals ofcandle flames; the faint swells of music blended into grand-breathedorgan chords. He felt about him the dim awe of the church, he saw thetapers burning at head and foot, the clear, calm face of the dead, smiling faintly that at last it should be no more disturbed. So had helooked all one night and all one day in the long time ago. The Factorstretched his arms out to the figure on the couch, but he called uponhis wife, gone these twenty years. 

"Elodie! Elodie!" he murmured, softly. 

She had never known it, thank God, but he had wronged her too. In allsorrow and sweet heavenly pity he had believed that her youth hadturned to the youth of the other man. It had not been so. Did he notowe her, too, some reparation?

As though in answer to his appeal, or perhaps that merely the sound ofa human voice had broken the last shreds of her swoon, the girl movedslightly. Galen Albret did not stir. Slowly Virginia turned her head, until finally her wandering eyes met his, fixed on her with passionateintensity. For a moment she stared at him, then comprehension came toher along with memory. She cried out, and sat upright in one violentmotion. 

"He! He!" she cried. "Is he gone?"

Instantly Galen Albret had her in his arms. 

"It is all right, " he soothed, drawing her close to his great breast. "All right. You are my own little girl. "

_Chapter Eighteen_

For perhaps ten minutes Ned Trent lingered near the door of theCouncil Room until he had assured himself that Virginia was in noserious danger. Then he began to pace the room, examining minutely thevarious objects that ornamented it. He paused longest at thefull-length portrait of Sir George Simpson, the Company's greattraveller, with his mild blue eyes, his kindly face, denying thepotency of his official frown, his snowy hair and whiskers. Thepainted man and the real man looked at each other inquiringly. Thelatter shook his head. 

"You travelled the wild country far, " said he, thoughtfully. "Youknew many men of many lands. And wherever you went they tell me youmade friends. And yet, as you embodied this Company to all thesepeople, and so made for the fanatical loyalty that is destroying me, Isuppose you and I are enemies!" He shrugged his shoulders whimsicallyand turned away. 

Thence he cast a fleeting glance out the window at the long reach ofthe Moose and the blue bay gleaming in the distance. He tried theoutside door. It was locked. Taken with a new idea he proceeded atonce to the third door of the apartment. It opened. 

He found himself in a small and much-littered room containing a desk, two chairs, a vast quantity of papers, a stuffed bird or so, and a rowof account-books. Evidently the Factor's private office. 

Ned Trent returned to the main room and listened intently for severalminutes. After that he ran back to the office and began hastily toopen and rummage, one after another, the drawers of the desk. Hediscovered and concealed several bits of string, a desk-knife, and abox of matches. Then he uttered a guarded exclamation of delight. Hehad found a small revolver, and with it part of a box of cartridges. 

"A chance!" he exulted: "a chance!"

The game would be desperate. He would be forced first of all to seekout and kill the men detailed to shadow him--a toy revolver againstrifles; white man against trained savages. And after that he wouldhave, with the cartridges remaining, to assure his subsistence. Stillit was a chance. 

He closed the drawers and the door, and resumed his seat in thearm-chair by the council table. 

For over an hour thereafter he awaited the next move in the game. Hewas already swinging up the pendulum arc. The case did not appearutterly hopeless. He resolved, through Me-en-gan, whom he divined as afriend of the girl's, to smuggle a message to Virginia bidding herhope. Already his imagination had conducted him to Quebec, when inAugust he would search her out and make her his own. 

Soon one of the Indian servants entered the room for the purpose ofconducting him to a smaller apartment, where he was left alone forsome time longer. Food was brought him. He ate heartily, for heconsidered that wise. Then at last the summons for which he had beenso long in readiness. Me-en-gan himself entered the room, and motionedhim to follow. 

[Illustration: "DO SO NOW!" Scene from the play. ]

Ned Trent had already prepared his message on the back of anenvelope, writing it with the lead of a cartridge. He now pressed thebit of paper into the Indian's palm. 

"For O-mi-mi, " he explained. 

Me-en-gan bored him through with his bead-like eyes of the surfacelights. 

"Nin nissitotam, " he agreed after a moment. 

He led the way. Ned Trent followed through the narrow, uncarpeted hallwith the faded photograph of Westminster, down the crooked steepstairs with the creaking degrees, and finally into the Council Roomonce more, with its heavy rafters, its two fireplaces, its long table, and its narrow windows. 

"Beka--wait!" commanded Me-en-gan, and left him. 

Ned Trent had supposed he was being conducted to the canoe whichshould bear him on the first stage of his long journey, but now heseemed condemned again to take up the wearing uncertainty of inaction. The interval was not long, however. Almost immediately the other dooropened and the Factor entered. 

His movements were abrupt and impatient, for with whatever grace sucha man yields to his better instincts the actual carrying out of theirconditions is a severe trial. For one thing it is a species ofemotional nakedness, invariably repugnant to the self-contained. NedTrent, observing this and misinterpreting its cause, hugged the littlerevolver to his side with grim satisfaction. The interview was likelyto be stormy. If worst came to worst, he was at least assured ofreprisal before his own end. 

The Factor walked directly to the head of the table and his customaryarm-chair, in which he disposed himself. 

"Sit down, " he commanded the younger man, indicating a chair at hiselbow. 

The latter warily obeyed. 

Galen Albret hesitated appreciably. Then, as one would make a plungeinto cold water, quickly, in one motion, he laid on the tablesomething over which he held his hand. 

"You are wondering why I am interviewing you again, " said he. "It isbecause I have become aware of certain things. When you left me a fewhours ago you dropped this. " He moved his hand to one side. The silvermatch-safe lay on the table. 

"Yes, it is mine, " agreed Ned Trent. 

"On one side is carved a name. "

"Yes. "

"Whose?"

The Free Trader hesitated. "My father's, " he said, at last. 

"I thought that must be so. You will understand when I tell you thatat one time I knew him very well. "

"You knew my father?" cried Ned Trent, excitedly. 

"Yes. At Fort Rae, and elsewhere. But I do not remember you. "

"I was brought up at Winnipeg, " the other explained. 

"Once, " pursued Galen Albret, "I did your father a wrong, unintentionally, but nevertheless a great wrong. For that reason andothers I am going to give you your life. "

"What wrong?" demanded Ned Trent, with dawning excitement. 

"I forced him from the Company. "

"You!"

"Yes, I. Proof was brought me that he had won from me my young wife. It could not be doubted. I could not kill him. Afterward the man whodeceived me confessed. He is now dead. "

Ned Trent, gasping, rose slowly to his feet. One hand stole inside hisjacket and clutched the butt of the little pistol. 

"You did that, " he cried, hoarsely. "You tell me of it yourself? Doyou wish to know the real reason for my coming into this country, whyI have traded in defiance of the Company throughout the whole FarNorth? I have thought my father was persecuted by a body of men, andthough I could not do much, still I have accomplished what I could toavenge him. Had I known that a single man had done this--and you arethat man!"

He came a step nearer. Galen Albret regarded him steadily. 

"If I had known this before, I should never have rested until I hadhunted you down, until I had killed you, even in the midst of your ownpeople!" cried the Free Trader at last. 

Galen Albret drew his heavy revolver and laid it on the table. 

"Do so now, " he said, quietly. 

A pause fell on them, pregnant with possibility. The Free Traderdropped his head. 

"No, " he groaned. "No, I cannot. She stands in the way!"

"So that, after all, " concluded the Factor, in a gentler tone than hehad yet employed, "we two shall part peaceably. I have wronged yougreatly, though without intention. Perhaps one balances the other. Wewill let it pass. "

"Yes, " agreed Ned Trent with an effort, "we will let it pass. "

They mused in silence, while the Factor drummed on the table with thestubby fingers of his right hand. 

"I am dispatching to-day, " he announced curtly at length, "the Abítibi_brigade_. Matters of importance brought by runner from Rupert's Houseforce me to do so a month earlier than I had expected. I shall sendyou out with that _brigade_. "

"Very well. "

"You will find your packs and arms in the canoe, quite intact. "

"Thank you. "

The Factor examined the young man's face with some deliberation. 

"You love my daughter truly?" he asked, quietly. 

"Yes, " replied Ned Trent, also quietly. 

"That is well, for she loves you. And, " went on the old man, throwinghis massive head back proudly, "my people love well! I won her motherin a day, and nothing could stay us. God be thanked, you are a man andbrave and clean. Enough of that! I place the _brigade_ under yourcommand! You must be responsible for it, for I am sending no otherwhite--the crew are Indians and _mètis_. "

"All right, " agreed Ned Trent, indifferently. 

"My daughter you will take to Sacré Coeur at Quebec. "

"Virginia!" cried the young man. 

"I am sending her to Quebec. I had not intended doing so until July, but the matters from Rupert's House make it imperative now. "

"Virginia goes with me?"

"Yes. "

"You consent? You--"

"Young man, " said Galen Albret, not unkindly, "I give my daughter inyour charge; that is all. You must take her to Sacré Coeur. And youmust be patient. Next year I shall resign, for I am getting old, andthen we shall see. That is all I can tell you now. "

He arose abruptly. 

"Come, " said he, "they are waiting. "

They threw wide the door and stepped out into the open. A breeze fromthe north brought a draught of air like cold water in its refreshment. The waters of the North sparkled and tossed in the silvery sun. NedTrent threw his arms wide in the physical delight of a new freedom. 

But his companion was already descending the steps. He followed acrossthe square grass plot to the two bronze guns. A noise of peoples camedown the breeze. In a moment he saw them--the varied multitude of thePost--gathered to speed the _brigade_ on its distant journey. 

The little beach was crowded with the Company's people and withIndians, talking eagerly, moving hither and yon in a shiftingkaleidoscope of brilliant color. Beyond the shore floated the longcanoe, with its curving ends and its emblazonment of the five-pointedstars. Already its baggage was aboard, its crew in place, ten men inwhose caps slanted long, graceful feathers, which proved them boatmenof a factor. The women sat amidships. 

When Galen Albret reached the edge of the plateau he stopped, and laidhis hand on the young man's arm. As yet they were unperceived. Then asingle man caught sight of them. He spoke to another; the twoinformed still others. In an instant the bright colors were dottedwith upturned faces. 

"Listen, " said Galen Albret, in his resonant chest-tones of authority. "This is my son, and he must be obeyed. I give to him the command ofthis _brigade_. See to it. "

Without troubling himself further as to the crowd below, Galen Albretturned to his companion. 

"I will say good-by, " said he, formally. 

"Good-by, " replied Ned Trent. 

"All is at peace between us?"

The Free Trader looked long into the man's sad eyes. The hard, proudspirit, bowed in knightly expiation of its one fault, for the firsttime in a long life of command looked out in petition. 

"All is at peace, " repeated Ned Trent. 

They clasped hands. And Virginia, perceiving them so, threw them awonderful smile. 

_Chapter Nineteen_

Instantly the spell of inaction broke. The crowd recommenced its babelof jests, advices, and farewells. Ned Trent swung down the bank to theshore. The boatmen fixed the canoe on the very edge of floating free. Two of them lifted the young man aboard to a place on the furs byVirginia Albret's side. At once the crowd pressed forward, filling upthe empty spaces. 

Now Achille Picard bent his shoulders to lift into free water the stemof the canoe from its touch on the bank. It floated, caught gently bythe back wash of the stronger off-shore current. 

"Good-by, dear, " called Mrs. Cockburn. "Remember us!"

She pressed the Doctor's arm closer to her side. The Doctor waved hishand, not trusting his masculine self-control to speak. McDonald, too, stood glum and dour, clasping his wrist behind his back. Richardsonwas openly affected. For in Virginia's person they saw sailing awayfrom their bleak Northern lives the figure of youth, and they knewthat henceforth life must be even drearier. 

"Som' tam' yo' com' back sing heem de res' of dat song!" shouted LouisPlacide to his late captive. "I lak' hear heem!"

But Galen Albret said nothing, made no sign. Silently and steadily, run up by some invisible hand, the blood-red banner of the Companyfluttered to the mast-head. Before it, alone, bulked huge against thesky, dominating the people in the symbolism of his position there ashe did in the realities of every-day life, the Factor stood, his handsbehind his back. Virginia rose to her feet and stretched her arms outto the solitary figure. 

"Good-by! good-by!" she cried. 

A renewed tempest of cheers and shouts of adieu broke from thoseashore. The paddles dipped once, twice, thrice, and paused. With oneaccord those on shore and those in the canoe raised their caps andsaid, "Que Dieu vous benisse. " A moment's silence followed, duringwhich the current of the mighty river bore the light craft a few yardsdown stream. Then from the ten _voyageurs_ arose a great shout. 

"Abítibi! Abítibi!"

Their paddles struck in unison. The water swirled in white, circulareddies. Instantly the canoe caught its momentum and began to slipalong against the sluggish current. Achille Picard raised a high tenorvoice, fixing the air, "_En roulant ma boule roulante, En roulant ma boule_. "

And the _voyageurs_ swung into the quaint ballad of the fairy ducksand the naughty prince with his magic gun. 

 _"Derrièr' chez-nous y-a-t-un 'ètang, En roulant ma boule. "_

The girl sank back, dabbing uncertainly at her eyes. "I shall neversee them again, " she explained, wistfully. 

The canoe had now caught its speed. Conjuror's House was droppingastern. The rhythm of the song quickened as the singers told of howthe king's son had aimed at the black duck but killed the white. 

 _"Ah fils du roi, tu es mèchant, En roulant ma boule, Toutes les plumes s'en vont au vent, Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant. "_

"Way wik! way wik!" commanded Me-en-gan, sharply, from the bow. 

The men quickened their stroke and shot diagonally across the currentof an eddy. 

"Ni-shi-shin, " said Me-en-gan. 

They fell back to the old stroke, rolling out their full-throatedmeasure. 

 _"Toutes les plumes s'en vont au vent, En roulant ma boule, Trois dames s'en vont les ramassant, Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant. "_

The canoe was now in the smooth rush of the first stretch of swifterwater. The men bent to their work with stiffened elbows. AchillePicard flashed his white teeth back at the passengers, "Ah, mademoiselle, eet is wan long way, " he panted. "C'est une longuetraverse!"

The term was evidently descriptive, but the two smiled significantlyat each other. 

"So you do take _la Longue Traverse_, after all!" marvelled Virginia. 

Ned Trent clasped her hand. 

"We take it together, " he replied. 

Into the distance faded the Post. The canoe rounded a bend. It wasgone. Ahead of them lay their long journey. 

THE END

BOOKS ON NATURE STUDY BY CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS

Handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents per volume, postpaid. 

THE KINDRED OF THE WILD. A Book of Animal Life. With illustrations byCharles Livingston Bull. 

Appeals alike to the young and to the merely youthful-hearted. Closeobservation. Graphic description. We get a sense of the great wild andits denizens. Out of the common. Vigorous and full of character. Thebook is one to be enjoyed; all the more because it smacks of theforest instead of the museum. John Burroughs says: "The volume is inmany ways the most brilliant collection of Animal Stories that hasappeared. It reaches a high order of literary merit. "

THE HEART OF THE ANCIENT WOOD. Illustrated. 

This book strikes a new note in literature. It is a realistic romanceof the folk of the forest--a romance of the alliance of peace betweena pioneer's daughter in the depths of the ancient wood and the wildbeasts who felt her spell and became her friends. It is not fanciful, with talking beasts; nor is it merely an exquisite idyl of the beaststhemselves. It is an actual romance, in which the animal charactersplay their parts as naturally as do the human. The atmosphere of thebook is enchanting. The reader feels the undulating, whimpering musicof the forest, the power of the shady silences, the dignity of thebeasts who live closest to the heart of the wood. 

THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAILS. A companion volume to the "Kindred of theWild. " With 48 full page plates and decorations from drawings byCharles Livingston Bull. 

These stories are exquisite in their refinement, and yet robust intheir appreciation of some of the rougher phases of woodcraft. "Thisis a book full of delight. An additional charm lies in Mr. Bull'sfaithful and graphic illustrations, which in fashion all their owntell the story of the wild life, illuminating and supplementing thepen pictures of the authors. "--_Literary Digest_. 

RED FOX. The Story of His Adventurous Career in the Ringwaak Wilds, and His Triumphs over the Enemies of His Kind. With 50 illustrations, including frontispiece in color and cover design by Charles LivingstonBull. 

A brilliant chapter in natural history. Infinitely more wholesomereading than the average tale of sport, since it gives a glimpse ofthe hunt from the point of view of the hunted. "True in substance butfascinating as fiction. It will interest old and young, city-bound andfree-footed, those who know animals and those who do not. "--_ChicagoRecord-Herald_. 

FAMOUS COPYRIGHT BOOKS IN POPULAR PRICED EDITIONS

Re-issues of the great literary successes of the time, library size, printed on excellent paper--most of them finely illustrated. Full andhandsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents a volume, postpaid. 

NEDRA, by George Barr McCutcheon, with color frontispiece, and otherillustrations by Harrison Fisher. 

The story of an elopement of a young couple from Chicago, who decideto go to London, travelling as brother and sister. Their difficultiescommence in New York and become greatly exaggerated when they areshipwrecked in mid-ocean. The hero finds himself stranded on theisland of Nedra with another girl, whom he has rescued by mistake. Thestory gives an account of their finding some of the other passengers, and the circumstances which resulted from the strange mix-up. 

POWER LOT, by Sarah P. McLean Greene. Illustrated. 

The story of the reformation of a man and his restoration toself-respect through the power of honest labor, the exercise of honestindependence, and the aid of clean, healthy, out-of-door life andsurroundings. The characters take hold of the heart and win sympathy. The dear old story has never been more lovingly and artistically told. 

MY MAMIE ROSE. The History of My Regeneration, by Owen Kildare. Illustrated. 

This _autobiography_ is a powerful book of love and sociology. Readslike the strangest fiction. Is the strongest truth and deals with thestory of a man's redemption through a woman's love and devotion. 

JOHN BURT, by Frederick Upham Adams, with illustrations. 

John Burt, a New England lad, goes West to seek his fortune and findsit in gold mining. He becomes one of the financial factors andpitilessly crushes his enemies. The story of the Stock Exchangemanipulations was never more vividly and engrossingly told. A lovestory runs through the book, and is handled with infinite skill. 

THE HEART LINE, by Gelett Burgess, with halftone illustrations byLester Ralph, and inlay cover in colors. 

A great dramatic story of the city that was. A story of Bohemian lifein San Francisco, before the disaster, presented with mirror-likeaccuracy. Compressed into it are all the sparkle, all the gayety, allthe wild, whirling life of the glad, mad, bad, and most delightfulcity of the Golden Gate. 

CAROLINA LEE. By Lillian Bell. With frontispiece by Dora WheelerKeith. 

Carolina Lee is the Uncle Tom's Cabin of Christian Science. Itskeynote is "Divine Love" in the understanding of the knowledge of allgood things which may be obtainable. When the tale is told, the sickhealed, wrong changed to right, poverty of purse and spirit turnedinto riches, lovers made worthy of each other and happily united, including Carolina Lee and her affinity, it is borne upon the readerthat he has been giving rapid attention to a free lecture on ChristianScience; that the working out of each character is an argument for"Faith;" and that the theory is persuasively attractive. 

A Christian Science novel that will bring delight to the heart ofevery believer in that faith. It is a well told story, entertaining, and cleverly mingles art, humor and sentiment. 

HILMA, by William Tillinghast Eldridge, with illustrations byHarrison Fisher and Martin Justice, and inlay cover. 

It is a rattling good tale, written with charm, and full of remarkablehappenings, dangerous doings, strange events, jealous intrigues andsweet love making. The reader's interest is not permitted to lag, butis taken up and carried on from incident to incident with ingenuityand contagious enthusiasm. The story gives us the _Graustark_ and _ThePrisoner of Zenda_ thrill, but the tale is treated with freshness, ingenuity, and enthusiasm, and the climax is both unique andsatisfying. It will hold the fiction lover close to every page. 

THE MYSTERY OF THE FOUR FINGERS, by Fred M. White, with halftoneillustrations by Will Grefe. 

A fabulously rich gold mine in Mexico is known by the picturesque andmysterious name of _The Four Fingers_. It originally belonged to anAztec tribe, and its location is known to one surviving descendant--aman possessing wonderful occult power. Should any person unlawfullydiscover its whereabouts, four of his fingers are mysteriouslyremoved, and one by one returned to him. The appearance of the finalfourth betokens his swift and violent death. 

Surprises, strange and startling, are concealed in every chapter ofthis completely engrossing detective story. The horrible fascinationof the tragedy holds one in rapt attention to the end. And through itruns the thread of a curious love story. 

MEREDITH NICHOLSON'S FASCINATING ROMANCES

Handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents per volume, postpaid. 

THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CANDLES. With a frontispiece in colors byHoward Chandler Christy. 

A novel of romance and adventure, of love and valor, of mystery andhidden treasure. The hero is required to spend a whole year in theisolated house, which according to his grandfather's will shall thenbecome his. If the terms of the will be violated the house goes to ayoung woman whom the will, furthermore, forbids him to marry. Nobodycan guess the secret, and the whole plot moves along with an excitingzip. 

THE PORT OF MISSING MEN. With illustrations by Clarence F. Underwood. 

There is romance of love, mystery, plot, and fighting, and abreathless dash and go about the telling which makes one quite forgetabout the improbabilities of the story; and it all ends in theold-fashioned healthy American way. Shirley is a sweet, courageousheroine whose shining eyes lure from page to page. 

ROSALIND AT REDGATE. Illustrated by Arthur I. Keller. 

The author of "The House of a Thousand Candles" has here given us abouyant romance brimming with lively humor and optimism; with mysterythat breeds adventure and ends in love and happiness. A mostentertaining and delightful book. 

THE MAIN CHANCE. With illustrations by Harrison Fisher. 

A "traction deal" in a Western city is the pivot about which the actionof this clever story revolves. But it is in the character-drawing of theprincipals that the author's strength lies. Exciting incidents developtheir inherent strength and weakness, and if virtue wins in the end, itis quite in keeping with its carefully-planned antecedents. The N. Y. _Sun_ says: "We commend it for its workmanship--for its smoothness, itssensible fancies, and for its general charm. "

ZELDA DAMERON. With portraits of the characters by John Cecil Clay. 

"A picture of the new West, at once startlingly and attractively true. * * * The heroine is a strange, sweet mixture of pride, wilfulness andlovable courage. The characters are superbly drawn; the atmosphere isconvincing. There is about it a sweetness, a wholesomeness and asturdiness that commends it to earnest, kindly and wholesomepeople. "--_Boston Transcript_. 

BRILLIANT AND SPIRITED NOVELS AGNES AND EGERTON CASTLE

Handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents per volume, postpaid. 

THE PRIDE OF JENNICO. Being a Memoir of Captain Basil Jennico. 

"What separates it from most books of its class is its distinction ofmanner, its unusual grace of diction, its delicacy of touch, and thefervent charm of its love passages. It is a very attractive piece ofromantic fiction relying for its effect upon character rather thanincident, and upon vivid dramatic presentation. "--_The Dial_. "Astirring, brilliant and dashing story. "--_The Outlook_. 

THE SECRET ORCHARD. Illustrated by Charles D. Williams. 

The "Secret Orchard" is set in the midst of the ultra modern society. The scene is in Paris, but most of the characters are Englishspeaking. The story was dramatized in London, and in it the Kendallsscored a great theatrical success. 

"Artfully contrived and full of romantic charm * * * it possessesingenuity of incident, a figurative designation of the unhallowedscenes in which unlicensed love accomplishes and wrecks faith andhappiness. "--_Athenaeum_. 

YOUNG APRIL. With illustrations by A. B. Wenzell. 

"It is everything that a good romance should be, and it carries aboutit an air or distinction both rare and delightful. "--_ChicagoTribune_. "With regret one turns to the last page of this delightfulnovel, so delicate in its romance, so brilliant in its episodes, sosparkling in its art, and so exquisite in its diction. "--_WorcesterSpy_. 

FLOWER O' THE ORANGE. With frontispiece. 

We have learned to expect from these fertile authors novels gracefulin form, brisk in movement, and romantic in conception. This carriesthe reader back to the days of the bewigged and beruffled gallants ofthe seventeenth century and tells him of feats of arms and adventuresin love as thrilling and picturesque, yet delicate, as the utmostseeker of romance may ask. 

MY MERRY ROCKHURST. Illustrated by Arthur E. Becher. 

"In the eight stories of a courtier of King Charles Second, which arehere gathered together, the Castles are at their best, reviving allthe fragrant charm of those books, like _The Pride of Jennico_, inwhich they first showed an instinct, amounting to genius, for sunnyromances. The book is absorbing * * * and is as spontaneous in feelingas it is artistic in execution. "--_New York Tribune_. 

FAMOUS COPYRIGHT BOOKS IN POPULAR PRICED EDITIONS

Re-issues of the great literary successes of the time, library size, printed on excellent paper--most of them finely illustrated. Full andhandsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents a volume, postpaid. 

THE CATTLE BARON'S DAUGHTER. A Novel. By Harold Bindloss. Withillustrations by David Ericson. 

A story of the fight for the cattle-ranges of the West. Intenseinterest is aroused by its pictures of life in the cattle country atthat critical moment of transition when the great tracts of land usedfor grazing were taken up by the incoming homesteaders, with theinevitable result of fierce contest, of passionate emotion on bothsides, and of final triumph of the inevitable tendency of the times. 

WINSTON OF THE PRAIRIE. With illustrations in color by W. HerbertDunton. 

A man of upright character, young and clean, but badly worsted in thebattle of life, consents as a desperate resort to impersonate for aperiod a man of his own age--scoundrelly in character but of anaristocratic and moneyed family. The better man finds himself barredfrom resuming his old name. How, coming into the other man'spossessions, he wins the respect of all men, and the love of afastidious, delicately nurtured girl, is the thread upon which thestory hangs. It is one of the best novels of the West that hasappeared for years. 

THAT MAINWARING AFFAIR. By A. Maynard Barbour. With illustrations byE. Plaisted Abbott. 

A novel with a most intricate and carefully unraveled plot. Anaturally probable and excellently developed story and the reader willfollow the fortunes of each character with unabating interest * * *the interest is keen at the close of the first chapter and increasesto the end. 

AT THE TIME APPOINTED. With a frontispiece in colors by J. H. Marchand. 

The fortunes of a young mining engineer who through an accident loseshis memory and identity. In his new character and under his new name, the hero lives a new life of struggle and adventure. The volume willbe found highly entertaining by those who appreciate a thoroughly goodstory. 

GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, New York

[Transcriber's note:

The following spelling inconsistencies and possible typographical errorswere left uncorrected:

stolidilyMissináibe/Missináibiequeek/queeckmêchant/mèchantbouyantComma at end of paragraph: Picard flashed his white teeth back at thepassengers, ]