by me through the trial," he began,
reproachfully, "I thought--"

"Oh, you do not understand," she said, hopelessly. "You do not
understand. Look at me, Gregory, and see if I can make you understand.
Your presence is painful to me. Your kisses hurt me. The memory of
them still burns my cheek, and my lips feel unclean. And why? Because
of women, which you may explain away? How little do you understand!
But shall I tell you?"

Voices of men came to her from down the river-bank, and the splashing
of water. She glanced quickly and saw Del Bishop guiding a poling-boat
against the current, and Corliss on the bank, bending to the tow-rope.

"Shall I tell you why, Gregory St. Vincent?" she said again. "Tell you
why your kisses have cheapened me? Because you broke the faith of food
and blanket. Because you broke salt with a man, and then watched that
man fight unequally for life without lifting your hand. Why, I had
rather you had died in defending him; the memory of you would have been
good. Yes, I had rather you had killed him yourself. At least, it
would have shown there was blood in your body."

"So this is what you would call love?" he began, scornfully, his
fretting, fuming devil beginning to rouse. "A fair-weather love,
truly. But, Lord, how we men learn!"

"I had thought you were well lessoned," she retorted; "what of the
other women?"

"But what do you intend to do?" he demanded, taking no notice. "I am
not an easy man to cross. You cannot throw me over with impunity. I
shall not stand for it, I warn you. You have dared do things in this
country which would blacken you were they known. I have ears. I have
not been asleep. You will find it no child's play to explain away
things which you may declare most innocent."

She looked at him with a smile which carried pity in its cold mirth,
and it goaded him.

"I am down, a thing to make a jest upon, a thing to pity, but I promise
you that I can drag you with me. My kisses have cheapened you, eh?
Then how must you have felt at Happy Camp on the Dyea Trail?"

As though in answer, Corliss swung down upon them with the tow-rope.

Frona beckoned a greeting to him. "Vance," she said, "the mail-carrier
has brought important news to father, so important that he must go
outside. He starts this afternoon with Baron Courbertin in La Bijou.
Will you take me down to Dawson? I should like to go at once, to-day.

"He . . . he suggested you," she added