me in over it.
Its hard crust bore the marks of the sledges of Jean Croisset and the
men from the Lac la Ronge country. Since the big snow, which had fallen
four feet deep ten days before, a forest man had now and then used this
trail on his way down to the edge of civilization; but none from Prince
Albert had traveled it in the other direction. Howland had been told
this at the hotel, and he shrugged his shoulders in candid bewilderment
as he stared down into the girl's face. She seemed to understand his
thoughts, and again her mouth rounded itself into that bewitching red O,
which gave to her face an expression of tender entreaty, of pathetic
grief that the soft lips were powerless to voice, the words which she
wished to speak. Then, suddenly, she darted a few steps from Howland and
with the toe of her shoe formed a single word in the surface of the
snow. She rested her hand lightly on Howland's shoulder as he bent over
to make it out in the elusive starlight.

"Camp!" he cried, straightening himself. "Do you mean to say you're
camping out here?"

She nodded again and again, delighted that he understood her. There was
something so childishly sweet in her face, in the gladness of her eyes,
that Howland stretched out both his hands to her, laughing aloud. "You!"
he exclaimed. "_You_--camping out here!" With a quick little movement
she came to him, still laughing with her eyes and lips, and for an
instant he held both her hands tight in his own. Her lovely face was
dangerously near to him. He felt the touch of her breath on his face,
for an instant caught the sweet scent of her hair. Never had he seen
eyes like those that glowed up at him softly, filled with the gentle
starlight; never in his life had he dreamed of a face like this, so near
to him that it sent the blood leaping through his veins in strange
excitement. He held the hands tighter, and the movement drew the girl
closer to him, until for no more than a breath he felt her against his
breast. In that moment he forgot all sense of time and place; forgot his
old self--Jack Howland--practical, unromantic, master-builder of
railroads; forgot everything but this presence of the girl, the warm
pressure against his breast, the lure of the great brown eyes that had
come so unexpectedly into his life. In another moment he had recovered
himself. He drew a step back, freeing the girl's hands.

"I beg your pardon," he said softly. His cheeks burned hotly at what he
had