her, he, too, gave up his life to those who
could not help themselves. Well, I want to do the same in however humble
fashion. These men, these wonderful men of the forests whom you spend
your life in succouring. Can I not serve them, too? Is there no place
for me under your leadership? Can I not go out into the forests? I am
strong. I am strong to face anything, any hardship. I have no fear. The
call of these forests has got right into my blood. Don't deny me," she
appealed. "Don't tell me I'm just a woman with no strength to withstand
the rigours of the winter. I couldn't stand that. I have the strength,
and I have the will. Can you? Will you help me?"

The girl's appeal was spoken with all the ardour of youthful passion.
There was no sham in it. No hysterical impulse. It was irresistibly
real.

The man's eyes were deeply regarding her. But he was thinking far less
of her words than of the girl herself. Her amazing beauty, the
passionate youth and strength. The perfection of her splendid womanhood.
These things held him, and his mind travelled swiftly back over years to
other scenes and other emotions.

When at last he spoke his words came slowly and were carefully
considered.

"I think, perhaps, I can help you," he said. "You are determined? You
want to help those who need help? The men of the forests?" He shook his
head. "I don't see why you shouldn't help the men of these forests
who--need your help."

Nancy drew a deep breath. A wonderful smile sprang into her pretty eyes.
It was a glad smile of thanks such as no words of hers could have
expressed.

"Oh, thank you, Father--thank you."

Again came the man's restless movement at the word "Father." He abruptly
leant forward and held his cup out for replenishment.

"May I?" he asked. Then his smile broke out again. "But tell me," he
went on. "What have you done about the Skandinavia?"

"Nothing."

Nancy returned him his cup with an unsteady hand.

"Nothing? But you must communicate with them. You should write and tell
them of your decision. You should tell them you don't intend to return
to them."

Father Adam sipped his tea. He was watching intently but unobtrusively
the transparent display of emotions which his words had conjured.

"I hadn't thought about it," Nancy said at last, not without some
disappointment. "Do you really think I should write? But it will take so
long to reach them. I can't wait for that. It--"

"Wire."

"Yes. I suppose I co