leep. She couldn't have
understood why her pulse quickened as he knelt beside her, looking so
earnestly and soberly into her face. Then she felt the touch of his
fingers on her shoulder.

"Wake up, Beatrice," he commanded, with pretended gruffness. "It's after
ten, and you've got to cook my breakfast."

She stirred, pretending difficulty in opening her eyes.

"Get right up," he commanded again. "D'ye think I'm going to wait all
morning?"

She opened her eyes to find him regarding her with boyish glee. Then--as
a surprise--he proffered the filled plate, meanwhile raising his arm in
feigned fear of a blow.

She laughed; then began upon her breakfast with genuine relish. Then he
brought her hot water and the meager toilet articles; and left the cave
to prepare his own breakfast.

"I'm going on a little hunt," he said, when this rite was over. "We
can't depend on grouse and bear forever. I hate to ask you to go--"

His tone was hopeful; and she could not doubt but that the lonely spirit
of these solitudes had hold of him. They were two human beings in a vast
and uninhabited wilderness, and although they were foes, they felt the
primitive need of each other's companionship. "I don't mind going," she
told him. "I'd rather, than stay in the cave."

"It's a fine morning. And what's your favorite meat--moose or caribou?"

"Caribou--although I like both."

He might have expected this answer. There are few meats in this
imperfect earth to compare in flavor with that of the great, woodland
caribou, monarch of the high park-lands.

"That means we do some climbing, instead of watching in the beaver
meadows. I'm ready--any time."

They took the game trail up the ridge, venturing at once into the heavy
spruce; but curiously enough, the mysterious hush, the dusky shadows did
not appall Beatrice greatly to-day. The miles sped swiftly under her
feet. Always there were creatures to notice or laugh at,--a squirrel
performing on a branch, a squawking Canada Jay surprised and utterly
baffled by their tall forms, a porcupine hunched into a spiny ball and
pretending a ferociousness that deceived not even such hairbrained folk
as the chipmunks in the tree roots, or those queens of stupidity, the
fool hens on the branch. In the way of more serious things sometimes
they paused to gaze down on some particularly beautiful glen--watered,
perhaps, by a gleaming stream--or a long, dark valley steeped deeply in
the ancient mysticism of th