in all his splendid youth to be dragged down, down to those backwaters
of vice in which her life was spent. Or, having achieved her purpose,
would she meet him again? Would she not rather have gone to receive the
reward of her betrayal? Anyway it mattered so little. Her mischief was
complete. Body and soul, this youth was doubtless hers. What manner of
man would he return?

This it was that haunted Steve throughout the long hours of each passing
day. Mind and heart had been set on one great purpose of selfishness. He
had gambled his life against overwhelming odds for the sake of this
youth. He had won out at terrific cost to himself. And now the joy of
his thought was submerged in the prospect of that moral destruction
which the evil scheming of Lorson Harris had brought about.

The hopelessness of it all was in simple proportion to the strength and
depth of the love and parental affection of the man's heart. But he knew
that until the naked truth, however hideous, was revealed he must
continue the labours that were his. If the merciless hand of Lorson
Harris had destroyed the simple soul of Marcel, then Lorson should pay
as he little dr----

Steve started. His depressed brows lightened. His eyes, so full of
brooding, widened as he listened. The sound of a voice, big, strong,
reached him over the guttural buzz of the trading Sleepers' tones.

"Uncle Steve? He's back. He's--safe?"

The tone was urgent. It was Marcel. And there was that note of force and
anxiety in his voice which Steve never remembered to have heard before.

Impulse urged him. It was quite beyond his power to restrain it. He
waited not a moment for An-ina's reply. Snatching his pipe from his
mouth he shouted swift response as he made for the store.

"Why, surely, boy," he cried. "It don't seem to me there's a thing north
of 60 deg. to do me hurt."

* * * * *

The two men were standing in the doorway of the store, just where they
had met. Outside were two dog trains newly drawn up, and four figures,
stranger figures, were moving about them.

Inside the store the clamour of traffic went on undisturbed by the new
arrival. Oolak, with his club, continued to shepherd the queer, squat
creatures he despised. Julyman was at the rough counter at the command
of An-ina, whose outward calm was a perfect mask for the feelings
stirred at the unexpected return of Marcel. It was all so characteristic
of these people, for all th