ds
in frosty weather is not pleasant employment for a youth of soft
up-bringing. Protracted bachelordom was also losing its charms; but
that may have resulted from a new influence, which came into my life and
seemed ever present.

At Christmas, Hamilton was threatened with violent insanity. As the
Mandanes' provisions dwindled, the Indians grew surlier toward us; and I
was as deep in despondency as a man could sink. Frequently, I wondered
whether Father Holland would find us alive in the spring, and I
sometimes feared ours would be the fate of Athabasca traders whose
bodies satisfied the hunger of famishing Crees.

How often in those darkest hours did a presence, which defied time and
space, come silently to me, breathing inspiration that may not be
spoken, healing the madness of despair and leaving to me in the midst of
anxiety a peace which was wholly unaccountable! In the lambent flame of
the rough stone fireplace, in the darkness between Hamilton's hut and
mine, through which I often stole, dreading what I might
find--everywhere, I felt and saw, or seemed to see, those gray eyes with
the look of a startled soul opening its virgin beauty and revealing its
inmost secrets.

A bleak, howling wind, with great piles of storm-scud overhead, raved
all the day before Christmas. It was one of those afternoons when the
sombre atmosphere seems weighted with gloom and weariness. On Christmas
eve Hamilton's brooding brought on acute delirium. He had been more
depressed than usual, and at night when we sat down to a cheerless
supper of hare-skin soup and pemmican, he began to talk very fast and
quite irrationally.

"See here, old boy," said I, "you'd better bunk here to-night. You're
not well."

"Bunk!" said he icily, in the grand manner he sometimes assumed at the
Quebec Club for the benefit of a too familiar member. "And pray, Sir,
what might 'bunk' mean?"

"Go to bed, Eric," I coaxed, getting tight hold of his hands. "You're
not well, old man; come to bed!"

"Bed!" he exclaimed with indignation. "Bed! You're a madman, Sir! I'm to
meet Miriam on the St. Foye road." (It was here that Miriam lived in
Quebec, before they were married.) "On the St. Foye road! See the lights
glitter, dearest, in Lower Town," and he laughed aloud. Then followed
such an outpouring of wild ravings I wept from very pity and
helplessness.

"Rufus! Rufus, lad!" he cried, staring at me and clutching at his
forehead as lucid intervals broke the c