"What's up, comrades?" I inquired in a whisper.

"Ah, it's you, Denzil?" replied one looking around. "Didn't you know?
Vallee and Maignon, the voyageurs who came in a bit ago have just
started back to Fort York on snowshoes, taking a letter from the factor
in regard to the row here this morning."

"They will go as they came," added another, "and I believe they will get
through all right. They are out on the river by this time, and they
would scarcely have been permitted to pass yonder timber had any Indians
been on the watch."

"I agree with you," said I. "Let us hope that the brave fellows will
meet with no mishap."

I lingered for a moment, but the quiet of the night remained unbroken.
Then I turned back across the yard, taking care that none observed me,
and made my way to a small grove of fir trees that lay in the rear of
the trading house and some distance to the right of the factor's
residence. In the heart of the copse was a rude wooden bench, built some
years before by the factor's orders. I made my way to it over the frozen
snow crust, and sat down to meditate and smoke.

I had no more than settled myself when I heard the light, crunching
patter of feet. The sounds came nearer, and of a sudden, by the dim glow
of the moon, I saw the figure of a woman within six feet of me. It was
Flora Hatherton. She was bareheaded, and a long cloak was thrown over
her shoulders. As she advanced, her hands clasped in front of her, a
stifled sob broke from her lips.

I had been on the point of retreating, but the girl's distress altered
my mind. By an irresistible impulse I rose and stood before her.

"Flora!" I exclaimed.

She shrank back with a smothered scream.

"Hush! do not be alarmed!" I added. "Surely you know me?"

"Denzil!" she whispered. "Oh, what a fright you gave me!"

"Why are you here?" I asked.

"The house was so warm--they have the stove red hot," she stammered
confusedly. "I slipped out for a breath of fresh air. And you?"

"I came for the same purpose," said I. "This is a favorite spot of mine.
But you have been weeping Flora."

"No--oh, no," she answered, in a tone that belied her words. "You are
mistaken, Denzil. I--came here to think."

"Of what?"

"Of my wedding day," she replied half-defiantly. "Surely you know that
the priest has arrived. I am to be married to-morrow morning."

"To-morrow morning!" I gasped.

"Yes, unless the world ends before then. Oh, Denzil, I have such wicked