s
only one cabin in the settlement, and that belonged to Fitzpatrick.

Yes, it belonged to Fitzpatrick, and now it belonged to some one
else also--some one for whom longing had gnawed at McTavish's heart
all day. Once, during the afternoon, when he was secretly arranging
for Peter Rainy's supplies, he had seen her at a distance, and she
had waved to him, happily. What did she know? he wondered. Had
her father done his worst, and told her? Now, his arms yearned for
the feel of her slim, straight body; he yearned to hear her voice,
to look into her face.

Suddenly, some one bending to the storm as he had done, bumped full
into him, and he heard a sweet voice:

"Oh, I beg your pardon!

"Jean!" he cried joyously, and she raised her head.

"Donald!"

The next Instant, she was in his arms, clinging to him with an
abandon of passion he had never suspected in her. It thrilled him
from head to foot. Presently, he led her from the proximity of
the cabin to the shelter of a large tree at the edge of the camp.

"Oh, I couldn't sleep; I couldn't even try, so I told father I was
going to take a turn or two down the main 'street' of tents," she
cried, in answer to Donald's question. "And to think of meeting
you! I'm so glad!"

"Are you really glad, princess?" he asked, trying to pierce the
gloom and the storm to see the expression of her face. "Hasn't he
told you?"

"Who told me? What?"

"Your father. This morning, he and I had a very unpleasant interview,
in which he opened up all his big guns. He finally silenced me
entirely. What the trouble was, and what influences he brought to
bear, I can't tell you, Jean. If he wants you to know, he'll tell
you. It is his object to ruin me in your sight. He has the facts,
and, I fear, the proofs, that make marriage between us almost an
impossibility; at any rate I'm sure your father would shoot me
before he would let the event take place."

"Oh, what is it, Donald? You frighten me!" cried the girl. "You
frighten me with these indefinite hints and uncertainties. I beg
of you to tell me what the trouble is. I'll stand by you through
anything. Do you suppose I care whether my father will allow us to
marry or not? No, no, Donald; I think for myself now, as you once
said I should. Perhaps, I think too much. I--I--"

"What do you mean, dearest?" The girl had stopped, as though
embarrassed.

"I mean--I know you'll be ashamed of me, I mean--couldn't we,
to-night--Mr. Gates is in cam