ow
was small and low. Even in this light she could see that a spider had
spun a huge web across it. In the dark corners of the room all sorts of
objects seemed to be piled without any pretense of order.

She lowered the lamp and listened. Yes, she could still hear the pump.
With a furtive, guilty air she hurried to complete her examination
before he should surprise her.

One of the corners contained a battered suitcase and a nondescript pile
of old clothes, the other was piled high with yellowing copies of what
she saw was the Winnipeg _Free Press_ and a few old magazines.

"The library!" she said bitterly, and was surprised to find that she had
spoken aloud. Insane people did that, she had heard. Was she----?

She ran over to a shelf that had escaped her notice, and the ill-fitting
lamp chimney rattled as she moved. It was stacked high with the same
empty syrup cans that at Gertie's did the duty of flower-pots. But these
held flour, now quite mouldy, and various other staple supplies all
spoiled and useless. She started to say "the larder," but, remembering
in time, put her hand over her lips that she might only think it.

And now she had come to that other door. She must see what was there.

"Having a look at the shack?"

She gave a stifled scream and for a moment turned so pale that he
hastily set down his pail and went over to her.

"I guess you're all tuckered out," he said kindly. "No wonder. You've
had quite a little excitement the last day or two."

With a tremendous effort, Nora recovered her self-control. She walked
steadily over to one of the packing-box stools and sat down.

"It was silly of me, but you don't know how you startled me. Don't think
I usually have nerves, but--but the place was strange last night and I
didn't sleep very well."

"Do you mind if I open the door a moment?" she asked after a short
pause. "It isn't really cold and it looks so beautiful outside. One
can't see anything out of the window, you know, it's so cobwebby. I must
clean it--to-morrow."

Try as she would, her voice faltered on the last word.

She threw open the door and stood a moment looking out into the bright
Canadian night brilliant with stars. It was all so big, so open, so
free--and so lonely! You could fairly hear the stillness. But she must
not think of that. Ah, there was the light that she had been told was
the Sharp's farm. Somehow, it brought her comfort. But even as she
watched, the light went out. S