The principal piece of furniture was a birch desk or
table, put together with infinite patience with no other tools but an
axe and a knife, and rubbed with oil to a satiny finish. On it stood a
pair of carved wooden candlesticks holding candles of bears' tallow, a
wooden inkwell, and a carved frame displaying a little photograph--of
Clare!

Seeing it, her eyes filled with tears. "I'm glad I came," she murmured.

Stonor turned away.

A pen lay on the desk where it had been dropped, and beside it was a red
leather note-book or diary, of which Clare possessed herself. More than
anything else, what lent the room its air of amenity was a little shelf
of books and magazines above the table. There was no glass in the
window, of course, but a piece of gauze had been stretched over the
opening to keep out the insects at night. For cold weather there was a
heavy shutter swung on wooden hinges. The fireplace, built of stones and
clay, was in the corner. The arch was cunningly contrived out of thin
slabs of stone standing on edge. Stonor immediately noticed that the
ashes were still giving out heat.

The room they were in comprised only half the shack. There was a door
communicating with the other half. Opening it, they saw that this part
evidently served the owner as a work-room and store-room. Cut wood was
neatly piled against one wall. Snowshoes, roughly-fashioned fur
garments, steel traps and other winter gear were hanging from pegs.
There was a window facing the river, this one uncovered, and under it
was a work-bench on which lay the remains of a meal and unwashed
dishes--humble testimony to the near presence of another fellow-creature
in the wilderness. On the floor at one side was a heap of supplies; that
is to say, store-grub; evidently what Imbrie had lately brought down,
and had not yet put away. There was a door in the back wall of this
room, the side of the shack away from the river.

Stonor, looking around, said: "I suppose he used this as a sort of
vestibule in the winter, to keep the wind and the snow out of his
living-room."

"Where can he be?" said Clare nervously.

They both spoke instinctively in subdued tones, like intruders fearful
of being overheard.

"He can't have been gone long. He was smoking here just now. The
fireplace is still warm."

"He can't have intended to stay long, for he left everything open."

"Well, he would hardly expect to be disturbed up here."

"But animals?"

"No wild thi