had business at the post that day, and without wakening them had made an
early start. This note Nada read to McKay when they sat at breakfast.

"Quite frequently he has gone like that," Nada explained. "He loves the
forests at night--in the light of the moon."

"But last night there was no moon," said Roger.

"Yes--"

"And when Father John left the cabin the sky was clouded, and it was
very dark."

"You heard him go?"

"Yes, and saw him. There was a worried look in his face when he wrote
that note in the candle-glow."

"Roger, what do you mean?"

McKay went behind her chair, and tilted up her face, and kissed her
shining hair and questioning eyes.

"It means, precious little wife, that Father John is hurrying to the
post to get news of Breault if he can. It means that deep in his heart
he wants us to follow Yellow Bird's advice to the end. For he is sure
that he knows what Yellow Bird meant by 'The Country Beyond.' It is the
great big world outside the forests, a world so big that if need be we
can put ourselves ten thousand miles away from the trails of the mounted
police. That is the thought which is urging him to the post to look for
Breault."

Her arms crept up to his neck, and in a little voice trembling with
eagerness she said,

"Roger, my bundle is ready. I prepared it last night--and it is under
the bed."

He held her more closely.

"And you are willing to go with me--anywhere?"

"Yes, anywhere."

"To the end of the earth?"

Her crumpled head nodded against his breast.

"And leave Father John?"

"Yes, for you. But I think--sometime--he will come to us."

Her fingers touched his cheek.

"And there must be forests, big, beautiful forests, in some other part
of the world, Roger."

"Or a desert, where they would never think of looking for us," he
laughed happily.

"I'd love the desert, Roger."

"Or an uninhabited island?"

Against him her head nodded again.

"I'd love life anywhere--WITH YOU."

"Then--we'll go," he said, trying to speak very calmly in spite of the
joy that was consuming him like a fire. And then he went on, steadying
his voice until it was almost cold. "But it means giving up everything
you've dreamed of, Nada--these forests you love, Father John, Yellow
Bird, Sun Cloud--"

"I have only one dream," she interrupted him softly.

"And five years will pass very quickly," he continued. "Possibly it will
not be as bad as that, and afterward all this land we love wil