he left her the next moment to join Margaret. Her
husband trudged on under his heavy pack in front of the Clown; he
spoke encouragingly to those in front and behind him--and to her.
Once in a while, when they came to a halt in a difficult place, he
supported her with his arm and a cheery word. She would have marvelled
at his grit had she not overheard his talk to Dollard. Now and then
she could see Margaret, her ankles incased in rough woollen socks
showing above the tops of the Clown's brogans. Margaret followed
Holcomb when it was possible, and the two often walked abreast talking
low and earnestly. Twice Alice was about to call her maid. The fatigue
was telling terribly on this woman accustomed to luxury. Then she
remembered her husband's words: "Whatever is in store for us we must
share in common." Farther on Blakeman noticed his mistress turn her
white face over her shoulder and look at him appealingly. He came
toward her lurching under his load.

"What is it, madam?" he asked.

"Oh, Blakeman, I'm so tired! Stand here with me a minute--and you--do
the straps cut your shoulders?"

A curious expression--one of intense surprise, followed instantly by
one of tenderness and pity--crossed his countenance. Never before, in
all their intercourse, had she spoken to him one word of kindness--one
personal to himself.

"No, madam," he answered quietly, "I'm all right, thank you."

When he overtook Holcomb later on he related the incident, at which
Holcomb's eyes filled. "It is the Margaret in her," Billy had said
to himself. Perhaps, after all, he had misjudged her. The butler said
nothing of what he had seen and heard behind the pantry door. She had
confirmed his diagnosis made to Holcomb that day in the woods--"She's
a fool but I don't think she's crooked." Better let well enough alone.

Night began to settle. The monotonous forest of trees became
indistinct; for half an hour the rain fell in sheets--ghostly white
in the dusk. It became difficult now to evade the roots and holes. It
grew colder, yet there was no breeze. Still the gaunt figure of
the trapper ahead of them led on without pity. They followed him
blindly--now stumbling in the shadows--some of these proved to be
mud--others water--still others the soaked underbrush. Whatever they
stumbled into now the sensation was the same.

"Sam!" called Alice feebly.

"Yes, dear," came his voice ahead. He fell out of line and waited for
her, bent and dripping under h