ge its tack, as soon as
it sensed the veer of the wind.

"I am here," he said, "to present my compliments to you, along with
those of a certain other man."

"Whom do you mean?" Jean's voice was now a little tremulous, despite
her discipline of it.

"Captain McTavish."

"Oh!" she said, and she was silent for a moment, collecting herself.
"But why do you, of all people, come with this message?" she added.

"No reason at all, except that I saved his life this morning, and
thought you might want to learn the facts, and perhaps an inkling
of his whereabouts."

"Was that really your reason?" she asked, more kindly.

"It was one of them," he answered, significantly.

It was now Jean's turn to look at her companion with some interest.
He spoke with a certain dignity and reserve that she had never
noticed in him before. His eyes were firm and steady when they
met hers; his bearing was courteous. With a sort of horrible
pleasure, she recognized that this was Donald's half-brother, and
looked for a family resemblance. She found a very strong one, in
the eyes and general stature. Mercifully for her feelings, the
shape of the head was hidden in the swathed _capote_ and fur cap.
She wondered vaguely if he knew of the relationship.

"Where is--Captain McTavish?" she asked, finally.

"On his way to Sturgeon Lake."

"Did he leave any message for me?"

"A letter that I have in my pocket."

"May I see it?" she asked eagerly, involuntarily stretching forth
her hand.

"How can I hand it to you, if I have to keep this distance?" Seguis
asked, quizzically, and met her stare with humorous eyes.

"I'll come and get it," she announced, "when you have it in your
hand, ready for me to take."

"You haven't thanked me yet for saving his life," the half-breed
reminded her. "If it hadn't been for me, he would now be--"

"Don't!" she cried sharply, going pale of a sudden. "Don't ever
make any reference to that!" She paused, then added: "I can't thank
you enough though, Seguis, for the fact that you saved his life.
Why did you do it?"

"I'll tell you later," was the non-committal reply. "In the
meantime, here is your letter." He reached inside his shirt, and
drew forth a dirty envelope, on which the girl's name was inscribed
in pencil. He held it toward her without a word, and the girl
clutched at it eagerly.

"Just a moment," he said, withholding it. "You must read it here
and now. I want to take it away with me. I must ask y