the centre, he scratched
the man's name on it and the date. He spoke no articulate prayer, but
thought one perhaps.

"Sleep well, old fellow. It seems I was never to know you, though you
haunted me--and may perhaps haunt me still."

Dragging himself wearily back to the shack, Stonor found that Clare
still slept.

"Fine!" he said with clearing face. "There's no doctor like sleep!"

His secret dread was that she might become seriously ill. What would he
do in that case, so far away from help?

He sat himself down to watch beside Clare while Mary prepared the
evening meal. There were still some three hours more of daylight, and he
decided to be guided as to their start up-river by Clare's condition
when she awoke. If she had a horror of the place they could start at
once, provided she were able to travel, and sleep under canvas.
Otherwise it would be well to wait until morning, for he was pretty
nearly all in himself. Indeed, while he waited with the keenest anxiety
for Clare's eyes to open, his own closed. He slept with his head fallen
forward on his breast.

He awoke to find Clare's wide-open eyes wonderingly fixed on him.

"Who are you?" she asked.

It struck a chill to his breast. Was she mad? This was a more dreadful
horror than he had foreseen. Yet there was nothing distraught in her
gaze, merely that same look of perplexed annoyance. It was an
appreciable moment before he could collect his wits sufficiently to
answer.

"Your friend," he said, forcing himself to smile.

"Yes, I think you are," she said slowly. "But it's funny I don't quite
know you."

"You soon will."

"What is your name?"

"Martin Stonor."

"And that uniform you are wearing?"

"Mounted police."

She raised herself a little, and looked around. The puzzled expression
deepened. "What a strange-looking room! What am I doing in such a
place?"

To Stonor it was like a conversation in a dream. It struck awe to his
breast. Yet he forced himself to answer lightly and cheerfully. "This
is a shack in the woods where we are camping temporarily. We'll start
for home as soon as you are able."

"Home? Where is that?" she cried like a lost child.

A great hard lump rose in Stonor's throat. He could not speak.

After a while she said: "I feel all right. I could eat."

"That's fine!" he cried from the heart. "That's the main thing. Supper
will soon be ready."

The next question was asked with visible embarrassment. "You are not my
bro