long, circular detour. Half an
hour brought him to a spot behind the Hudson Bay camp, where a
considerable hill, with a few scattered trees, sheltered it from
the northern storm blasts. Cautiously, and without a sound, Seguis
climbed this hill, dodging from tree to tree. At last, he reached
the summit, and, lying down on his stomach, peered over... His
heart stood still. Not twenty yards away from him, slightly down
the declivity, stood Jean Fitzpatrick. Her back was to him, and
her eyes were glued to a pair of field-glasses. Evidently, she was
trying to discern signs of the pursuit in a clear space several
miles away.

Seguis looked beyond her interestedly. There was not a sign of life
in the camp. The men who had stayed behind to right the storehouse
were now in the woods, picking up any supplies that might have been
dropped. Fortune had again favored him. Very cautiously, he stood
upright, then slowly advanced. So intent was the girl upon the
pursuit that she did not hear the delicate crunching of the
snow-shoes. When ten feet away, he drew himself to his full height,
and spoke her name, softly:

"Miss Jean."

She whirled upon him swiftly, and shrank back Into herself, as
though he had aimed a blow at her. He, on his part, could hardly
believe his eyes when he looked into her face. This was not the
happy, care-free, girlish Jean Fitzpatrick, who had laughed her
way through the brief summer months. He saw, now, the face of a
woman, who had learned much and suffered much. There were gravity
in the eyes and a seriousness across the brow that served as the
badges of this new realization; but there was no fear. After the
first shrinking of surprise, she looked him coldly up and down.

"What do you want?" she said.

"To speak with you."

"Did you come for that purpose especially?"

"Yes." Seguis smiled a little, with satisfaction. In searching
Timmins, he had found a letter addressed to Jean, in McTavish's
handwriting. He might have to use it, and he might not.

"Keep your distance, sir," the girl commanded, haughtily, "and we
will talk. If you make a step nearer to me than you are now, I'll
scream, and those men in the woods will hear me. And, if they hear
me, and learn the trouble, it will go hard with you. Now, what do
you want?"

Seguis had expected to find a fluttering, fearful youngling, somewhat
impressed with his graces and courage. This businesslike disposal
of his case caused his active mind to chan