north. We never can tell about him, when he will
turn up or where he will be to-morrow. He may walk in any minute. We
never feel uneasy. He always has such luck, and comes out safe and sound
wherever he is. Father says Val's a hustler, and that nothing can keep
in the road with him. But he's a little wild--a little. Still, we don't
hector him, Sergeant Tom; hectoring never does any good, does it?"

"No, hectoring never does any good. And as for the wildness, if the
heart of him's right, why that's easy out of him whin he's older. It's a
fine lad I thought him, the time I saw him here. It's his freedom I wish
I had--me that has to travel all day and part of the night, and thin
part of the day and all night back again, and thin a day of sleep and
the same thing over again. And that's the life of me, sayin' nothin' of
the frost and the blizzards, and no home to go to, and no one to have a
meal for me like this whin I turn up." And the sergeant wound up with,
"Whooroo! there's a speech for you, Miss!" and laughed good-humouredly.
For all that, there was in his eyes an appeal that went straight to
Jen's heart.

But, woman-like, she would not open the way for him to say anything more
definite just yet. She turned the subject. And yet again, woman-like,
she knew it would lead to the same conclusion:

"You must go to-night?"

"Yes, I must."

"Nothing--nothing would keep you?"

"Nothing. Duty is duty, much as I'd like to stay, and you givin' me the
bid. But my orders were strict. You don't know what discipline means,
perhaps. It means obeyin' commands if you die for it; and my commands
were to take a letter to Inspector Jules at Archangel's Rise to-night.
It's a matter of murder or the like, and duty must be done, and me that
sleepy, not forgettin' your presence, as ever a man was and looked the
world in the face."

He drank the rest of the coffee and mechanically set the cup down,
his eyes closing heavily as he did so. He made an effort, however, and
pulled himself together. His eyes opened, and he looked at Jen steadily
for a moment. Then he leaned over and touched her hand gently with his
fingers,--Pierre's glove of kindness,--and said: "It's in my heart to
want to stay; but a sight of you I'll have on my way back. But I must
go on now, though I'm that drowsy I could lie down here and never stir
again."

Jen said to herself: "Poor fellow, poor fellow, how tired he is! I
wish"--but she withdrew her hand. He put his h