un towards
the wharf, whilst from the factor's house came a boy and girl, followed
by a white woman and a couple of Indian servants, all of whom followed
in the wake of the others.

The man in the Square did not move. Having turned towards the river as
the bugle-call floated clear and silvery, and being unable to see
upstream because of the fort buildings, he remained where he was,
keeping one eye on the store. The man who had passed him in the Square
had not emerged. Stane stood there for two or three minutes watching
first the river and then the door. At the end of that time, with a
resolute look on his face, he began to stride towards the store. He was
half-way there when the sound of a thin cheer reached him from the
wharf. He turned and looked round. His change of position had given him
an enlarged view of the river, and distant perhaps a quarter of a mile
or so away he saw a brigade of boats. He stood and stared at them
wonderingly for a moment, then resumed his way towards the store.

As he entered he looked round, and, standing near the parchment window
he caught sight of the man for whom he was looking. Ainley was rather
white of face, but his eyeglass was in its place, and outwardly he was
collected and cool. Hubert Stane regarded him silently for a moment,
then he laughed mirthlessly.

"Well, Ainley," he said abruptly, "this is a strange meeting place."

"Ah!" said the other quickly. "It is you, Stane, after all!"

"Surely you knew that just now?" was the reply in a cutting voice.

"No, you wrong me there! I was not sure. You must remember that I was
not expecting to see you up here. You had dropped out, and I had never
heard a word of you since--since----"

"Since I went to Dartmoor," Stane laughed again his cold, mirthless
laugh. "There is no need to mince matters, Ainley. All the world knows
I went there, and you need not go to any trouble to spare my feelings.
When a man has been through hell nothing else matters, you know."

Gerald Ainley did not reply. He stood there with an embarrassed look on
his face, obviously ill at ease, and the other continued: "You do not
seem pleased to see me--an old friend--you cut me just now. Why?"

"Well--er--really, Stane you--you ought to--er--be able to guess!"

"Perhaps I can," answered Stane ruthlessly. "Things are different now.
I am a discharged convict, down and out, and old friendship counts for
nothing. Is that it?"

"Well," replied Ainley, half-apolo