the answer should be.
He experienced no conflict of mind; no hesitation; for the moment, no
regret. During all his woods life he had been following diligently
the trail he had blazed for his conduct. Now his feet carried him
unconsciously to the same end. There was no other way out. In the winter
of his trouble the clipped trees alone guided him, and at the end of
them he found his decision. It is in crises of this sort, when a little
reflection or consideration would do wonders to prevent a catastrophe,
that all the forgotten deeds, decisions, principles, and thoughts of a
man's past life combine solidly into the walls of fatality, so that in
spite of himself he finds he must act in accordance with them. In answer
to Hilda's question he merely inclined his head.

"I have seen a vision," said she simply, and lowered her head to conceal
her eyes. Then she looked at him again. "There can be nothing better
than love," she said.

"Yes, one thing," said Thorpe, "the duty of success."

The man had stated his creed; the woman hers. The one is born perfect
enough for love; the other must work, must attain the completeness of a
fulfilled function, must succeed, to deserve it.

She left him then, and did not see him again. Four days later the
camping party left. Thorpe sent Tim Shearer over, as his most efficient
man, to see that they got off without difficulty, but himself retired
on some excuse to Camp Four. Three weeks gone in October he received a
marked newspaper announcing the engagement of Miss Hilda Farrand to Mr.
Hildreth Morton of Chicago.

He had burned his ships, and stood now on an unfriendly shore. The first
sacrifice to his jealous god had been consummated, and now, live or die,
he stood pledged to win his fight.

Chapter XLV

Winter set in early and continued late; which in the end was a good
thing for the year's cut. The season was capricious, hanging for days
at a time at the brink of a thaw, only to stiffen again into severe
weather. This was trying on the nerves. For at each of these false
alarms the six camps fell into a feverish haste to get the job finished
before the break-up. It was really quite extraordinary how much was
accomplished under the nagging spur of weather conditions and the cruel
rowelling of Thorpe.

The latter had now no thought beyond his work, and that was the thought
of a madman. He had been stern and unyielding enough before, goodness
knows, but now he was terrible. His