ired an eagerness for action in his own
mind he saw at a glance that something equally exciting had possessed
Celie Armin. Spread out on the table were the bits of paper she had
brought from her room, and, pointing to them, she again called him by
name. That she was laboring under a new and unusual emotion impressed
him immediately. He could see that she was fighting to restrain an
impulse to pour out in words what would have been meaningless to him,
and that she was telling him the bits of paper were to take the place
of voice. For one swift moment as he advanced to the table the papers
meant less to him than the fact that she had twice spoken his name. Her
soft lips seemed to whisper it again as she pointed, and the look in
her eyes and the poise of her body recalled to him vividly the picture
of her as he had first seen her in the cabin. He looked at the bits of
paper. There were fifteen or twenty pieces, and on each was sketched a
picture.

He heard a low catch in Celie's breath as he bent over them, and his
own pulse quickened. A glance was sufficient to show him that with the
pictures Celie was trying to tell him what he wanted to know. They told
her own story--who she was, why she was at Bram Johnson's cabin, and
how she had come. This, at least, was the first thought that impressed
him. He observed then that the bits of paper were soiled and worn as
though they had been handled a great deal. He made no effort to
restrain the exclamation that followed this discovery.

"You drew these pictures for Bram," he scanning them more carefully.
"That settles one thing. Bram doesn't know much more about you than, I
do. Ships, and dogs, and men--and fighting--a lot of fighting--and--"

His eyes stopped at one of the pictures and his heart gave a sudden
excited thump. He picked up the bit of paper which had evidently been
part of a small sack. Slowly he turned to the girl and met her eyes.
She was trembling in her eagerness for him to understand.

"That is YOU," he said, tapping the central figure in the sketch, and
nodding at her. "You--with your hair down, and fighting a bunch of men
who look as though they were about to beat your brains out with clubs!
Now--what in God's name does it mean? And here's a ship up in the
corner. That evidently came first. You landed from that ship, didn't
you? From the ship--the ship--the ship--"

"Skunnert!" she cried softly, touching the ship with her finger.
"Skunnert--Sibirien!"

"