creep, and the whole world grew dark, and the songs of the birds were
hushed to silence. Then, from her room, Kate came down with face serene,
and but for the eyes that somehow made one think of tears, without a
sign of the storm that had swept her soul. She did not go home. She was
too brave for that. She would stay and fight her battle to the end.

That was a dreary week for Ranald. He was lonely and heartsick for the
woods and for his home and friends, but chiefly was he oppressed with
the sense of having played the fool in his quarrel with De Lacy, whom he
was beginning to admire and like. He surely might have avoided that; and
yet whenever he thought of the game that had swept away from Rouleau all
his winter's earnings, and of the cruel blow that had followed, he felt
his muscles stiffen and his teeth set tight in rage. No, he would do it
all again, nor would he retreat one single step from the position he had
taken, but would see his quarrel through to the end. But worst of all
he had not seen Maimie all the week. His experience with Harry in the
ordering of his suit had taught him the importance of clothes, and he
now understood as he could not before, Maimie's manner to him. "That
would be it," he said to himself, "and no wonder. What would she do with
a great, coarse tyke like me!" Then, in spite of all his loyalty,
he could not help contrasting with Maimie's uncertain and doubtful
treatment of him, the warm, frank friendliness of Kate. "SHE did not
mind my clothes," he thought, with a glow of gratitude, but sharply
checking himself, he added, "but why should she care?" It rather pleased
him to think that Maimie cared enough to feel embarrassed at his rough
dress. So he kept away from the Hotel de Cheval Blanc till his new
suit should be ready. It was not because of his dress, however, that he
steadily refused Harry's invitation to the picnic.

"No, I will not go," he said, with blunt decision, after listening to
Harry's pleading. "It is Lieutenant De Lacy's picnic, and I will have
nothing to do with him, and indeed he will not be wanting me!"

"Oh, he's forgotten all about that little affair," cried Harry.

"Has he? Indeed then if he is a man he has not!"

"I guess he hasn't remembered much of anything for the last week," said
Harry, with a slight laugh.

"Why not?"

"Oh, pshaw, he's been on a big tear. He only sobered up yesterday."

"Huh!" grunted Ranald, contemptuously. He had little respect for a m