preach to me."

"Mrs. Falchion," I said firmly, "I wish to please you--so well that some
day you will feel that I have been a good friend to you as well as to
him--"

Again she interrupted me. "You talk in foolish riddles. No good can come
of this."

"I cannot believe that," I urged; "for when once your heart is moved by
the love of a man, you will be just, and then the memory of another man
who loved you and sinned for you--"

"Oh, you coward!" she broke out scornfully--"you coward to persist in
this!"

I made a little motion of apology with my hand, and was silent. I was
satisfied. I felt that I had touched her as no words of mine had ever
touched her before. If she became emotional, was vulnerable in her
feelings, I knew that Roscoe's peace might be assured. That she loved
Roscoe now I was quite certain. Through the mists I could see a
way, even if I failed to find Madras and arrange another surprising
situation. She was breathing hard with excitement.

Presently she said with incredible quietness, "Do not force me to do
hard things. I have a secret."

"I have a secret too," I answered. "Let us compromise."

"I do not fear your secret," she answered. She thought I was referring
to her husband's death. "Well," I replied, "I honestly hope you never
will. That would be a good day for you."

"Let us go," she said; then, presently: "No, let us sit here and forget
that we have been talking."

I was satisfied. We sat down. She watched the scene silently, and I
watched her. I felt that it would be my lot to see stranger things
happen to her than I had seen before; but all in a different fashion. I
had more hope for my friend, for Ruth Devlin, for--!

I then became silent even to myself. The weltering river, the fishers
and their labour and their songs, the tall dark hills, the deep gloomy
pastures, the flaring lights, were then in a dream before me; but I was
thinking, planning.

As we sat there, we heard noises, not very harmonious, interrupting the
song of the salmon-fishers. We got up to see. A score of river-drivers
were marching down through the village, mocking the fishers and making
wild mirth. The Indians took little notice, but the half-breeds and
white fishers were restless.

"There will be trouble here one day," said Mrs. Falchion.

"A free fight which will clear the air," I said.

"I should like to see it--it would be picturesque, at least," she added
cheerfully; "for I suppose no lives would