r senses when the vessel was at
last moored alongside the quay and the gangway rattled down almost at my
feet.

I stuck to my place in spite of pressure and crowding. The first to come
ashore were all men--English merchants, returning Canadians, a couple of
uniformed officers, Frenchmen decked out in lace and fine clothing, and
a motley sprinkling of others. They passed on, some being met and
embraced by waiting friends; and next came an elderly, sour-looking
dame, who regarded me with ill-favor. I followed her a few paces beyond
the crowd, never doubting that I was right. Then I stepped boldly up to
her and doffed my cap.

"Do I address Miss Hatherton?" I began.

"No!" she snapped. "Wretch, how dare you?"

I fell back in confusion, with a titter of mocking laughter ringing in
my ears. I longed to hide my face, and I vowed that I would make no more
rash ventures. I was about to stride away when a hand touched me on the
shoulder, and a sweet voice asked:

"Pardon me, sir, but did I hear you inquire for Miss Hatherton?"

I turned round quickly, and what I saw brought my heart to my mouth and
the hot blood to my cheeks and temples. Before me stood a young girl of
no more than nineteen, slight and graceful of figure, with eyes of a
purple hue, a complexion like a ripe peach, and little curls of brown
hair straying from under her dainty bonnet. By her fine clothing and her
clear-cut features I knew that her station in life was of the best. I,
who had given no second thought to a woman in all my life, felt a thrill
of admiration. I stared at this fair creature as though she had been a
goddess, for I had never seen anything so lovely before. For a moment I
was speechless, and the girl repeated the question with some spirit,
accompanying it by a tap of the little foot.

"I--I did ask for Miss Hatherton," I stammered, "but surely you are
not--"

"I am Flora Hatherton," she interrupted; and as she spoke she made a
sudden and strange sign that puzzled me. "Who sent you to meet me, sir?"
she added impatiently.

Again I was at a loss for words. A great pity and resentment swelled up
in my heart. I still hoped that there might be a mistake somewhere. I
shrank from picturing this young and beautiful girl as the wife of old
Griffith Hawke, sharing with him the uncouth and half-barbarous life of
a wilderness trading post. It was too cruel for belief!

"Who sent you, stupid?" she repeated.

"Are you truly Miss Hatherton?" I