hind the shoulder of a hill, he discovered another house, not so
large as Mr. Hickson's, but neat and comfortably looking. The blue
smoke of a wood fire was rising from the chimney. A girl was vigorously
shoveling a path from the house to the wood-pile. She was dressed in big
boots, a sweater, and a red hood. She did not see Dorian until he came
near the small clearing by the house. Straightening from her work,
she stood for a moment looking intently at him. Then with a low, yet
startled cry, she let the shovel fall, and sped swiftly back along the
newly-made path and into the house.

It was Carlia.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Dorian stood knee-deep in the snow and watched the girl run back into
the house. In his surprise, he forgot his immediate errand. He had found
Carlia, found her well and strong; but why had she run from him with a
cry of alarm? She surely had recognized him; she would not have acted
thus toward a stranger. Apparently, she was not glad to see him. He
stood looking at the closed door, and a feeling of resentment came
to him. Here he had been searching for her all this time, only to be
treated as if he were an unwelcome intruder. Well, he would not force
himself on her. If she did not want to see him, why annoy her? He could
go back, tell her father where she was, and let him come for her. He
stood, hesitating.

The door opened again and a woman looked out inquiringly at the young
man standing in the snow with an axe on his shoulder. Dorian would have
to offer a word of explanation to the woman, at least, so he stepped
into the path toward the house.

"Good morning," he said, lifting his hat. "I'm out to get a Christmas
tree for the children over there, and it seems I have startled the young
lady who just ran in."

"Yes," said the woman.

"I'm sorry to have frightened her, but I'm glad to have found her. You
see, I've been searching for her."

The woman stood in the doorway, saying nothing, but looking with some
suspicion at the young man.

"I should like to see her again," continued Dorian. "Tell her it's
Dorian Trent."

"I'll tell her," said the woman as she withdrew and closed the door.

The wait seemed long, but it was only a few minutes when the door opened
and Dorian was invited to come in. They passed through the kitchen into
the living room where a fire was burning in a grate. Dorian was given a
chair. He could not fail to see that he was closely observed. The woman
went into a