arcely realized that since the previous evening
two of the five human creatures left in this wilderness had escaped
from it. As he did realize it, he began to wonder whose turn it would be
next.

Mrs. Vickers, worn out by the fatigue and excitement of the day, retired
to rest early; and Sylvia, refusing to speak to Frere, followed her
mother. This manifestation of unaccountable dislike on the part of the
child hurt Maurice more than he cared to own. He felt angry with her for
not loving him, and yet he took no pains to conciliate her. It was with
a curious pleasure that he remembered how she must soon look up to him
as her chief protector. Had Sylvia been just a few years older, the
young man would have thought himself in love with her.

The following day passed gloomily. It was hot and sultry, and a dull
haze hung over the mountains. Frere spent the morning in scooping a
grave in the sand, in which to inter poor Bates. Practically awake to
his own necessities, he removed such portions of clothing from the body
as would be useful to him, but hid them under a stone, not liking to let
Mrs. Vickers see what he had done. Having completed the grave by midday,
he placed the corpse therein, and rolled as many stones as possible to
the sides of the mound. In the afternoon he cast the fishing line from
the point of a rock he had marked the day before, but caught nothing.
Passing by the grave, on his return, he noticed that Mrs. Vickers had
placed at the head of it a rude cross, formed by tying two pieces of
stick together.

After supper--the usual salt meat and damper--he lit an economical pipe,
and tried to talk to Sylvia. "Why won't you be friends with me, missy?"
he asked.

"I don't like you," said Sylvia. "You frighten me."

"Why?"

"You are not kind. I don't mean that you do cruel things; but you
are--oh, I wish papa was here!" "Wishing won't bring him!" says Frere,
pressing his hoarded tobacco together with prudent forefinger.

"There! That's what I mean! Is that kind? 'Wishing won't bring him!' Oh,
if it only would!"

"I didn't mean it unkindly," says Frere. "What a strange child you are."

"There are persons," says Sylvia, "who have no Affinity for each other.
I read about it in a book papa had, and I suppose that's what it is. I
have no Affinity for you. I can't help it, can I?"

"Rubbish!" Frere returned. "Come here, and I'll tell you a story."

Mrs. Vickers had gone back to her cave, and the two were alon