nd follow him. With this thought her face paled with anger.
Instantly her husband rose clear in her mind; he who, never once in
all his life, had asked her, or anyone else, to do a dishonourable
thing. She wondered at his patience and his pluck, even when she
remembered their many quarrels in which he had lost control of
himself.

With a low moan she buried her face in her hands as little by little
her mind reverted to her own cruelty; to the days of her domination
over him; to her outbursts of temper: he, a man of strength, with the
courage of his convictions. This he had proved during their
forced march in a hundred different ways--was proving it to-day,
magnificently. One ray of comfort shone through it all--that, foolish
and vain as she had been, she could still look her husband in the
face.

At length she rose shakily, and moving slowly crossed the small space
about the fire to where the trapper was chopping firewood for the
night.

"And he is not back yet?" she said to the trapper in a hopeless tone.

"No, marm, not yet," he answered gloomily. "It'll be night 'fore long;
thar ain't much daylight left him to travel in."

Alice caught her breath. "But you think he'll come, don't you, Mr.
Holt?" "Yes, marm, I do," he answered, laying down his axe. "'T ain't
hardly possible he won't; I cal'late they'll both git in 'fore dark.
It won't do to borry trouble 'fore it comes. It was my fault, marm--I
shouldn't hev let him go--it warn't right--but he would hev his way."

"And you don't think they're lost?" she ventured timidly.

"Not so long as he stays by my son, marm--no, 't ain't likely they're
lost; it warn't _that_ I was thinkin' of." He saw the sudden terror in
her eyes.

"But you think he will be back, don't you? Oh! you do, Mr. Holt--don't
you?"

"Yes, marm, I tell ye I do. He had grit 'nough to go, and I cal'late
he'll hev grit 'nough to git back. He seemed to know what he was
doin'."

She turned away that he might not see her tears. She could hear the
dull whack of the old man's axe as she retraced her steps to her place
by the crackling fire.

For another anxious hour she sat shivering before it, then the Clown
announced apologetically that supper was ready. Blakeman handed her
a cup of tea, but she did not taste it. Annette put to rights the few
comforts within the lean-to and re-folded the blankets. Margaret and
Holcomb whispered together. All moved as if in the shadow of a great
calamity.

It