er lips repeated slowly, "after all that has
happened--even after--that part of a letter--which Stampede brought to
you last night--"

He was surprised. How had she discovered what he thought was a secret
between himself and Stampede? His mind leaped to a conclusion, and she
saw it written in his face.

"No, it wasn't Stampede," she said. "He didn't tell me. It--just
happened. And after this letter--you still believe in me?"

"I must. I should be unhappy if I did not. And I am--most perversely
hoping for happiness. I have told myself that what I saw over John
Graham's signature was a lie."

"It wasn't that--quite. But it didn't refer to you, or to me. It was
part of a letter written to Rossland. He sent me some books while I was
on the ship, and inadvertently left a page of this letter in one of them
as a marker. It was really quite unimportant, when one read the whole of
it. The other half of the page is in the toe of the slipper which you
did not return to Ellen McCormick. You know that is the conventional
thing for a woman to do--to use paper for padding in a soft-toed
slipper."

He wanted to shout; he wanted to throw up his arms and laugh as Tautuk
and Amuk Toolik and a score of others had laughed to the beat of the
tom-toms last night, not because he was amused, but out of sheer
happiness. But Mary Standish's voice, continuing in its quiet and
matter-of-fact way, held him speechless, though she could not fail to
see the effect upon him of this simple explanation of the presence of
Graham's letter.

"I was in Nawadlook's room when I saw Stampede pick up the wad of paper
from the floor," she was saying. "I was looking at the slipper a few
minutes before, regretting that you had left its mate in my cabin on the
ship, and the paper must have dropped then. I saw Stampede read it, and
the shock that came in his face. Then he placed it on the table and went
out. I hurried to see what he had found and had scarcely read the few
words when I heard him returning. I returned the paper where he had laid
it, hid myself in Nawadlook's room, and saw Stampede when he carried it
to you. I don't know why I allowed it to be done. I had no reason. Maybe
it was just--intuition, and maybe it was because--just in that hour--I
so hated myself that I wanted someone to flay me alive, and I thought
that what Stampede had found would make you do it. And I deserve it! I
deserve nothing better at your hands."

"But it isn't true," he pr