an he had misjudged himself. His farming had been a rash
experiment and the contract a reckless gamble; the one threatened to end
as badly as the other. Then Bob had somehow kept his wife's love, and
he, with senseless obstinacy, had estranged Helen.

His thoughts were depressing, but they drove him on. Hope was dead; he
had made a horrible mess of things. All that was left was to take his
punishment and hold on until he was knocked out, but he meant to do
this. He did not stop for dinner with the rest, but occupied himself
with something that needed doing, and forgot that he had gone without
the meal. Afterwards a pain began in his left side, but he had other
aches, and the extra discomfort did not trouble him much. In the
afternoon he worked with a kind of sudden fury, and when at length the
tired men dropped their tools found some difficulty in straightening
his back. He had never used his muscles as he had done for the past few
days, but the strain would soon be over.

It was unusually dark when he went up the hill to the shack. The pines
rose in blurred masses from the shadowy snow and he could not see the
hollow of the path. Supper was a melancholy meal, but he ate because he
was hungry, and afterwards dragged his chair to the fire. There was a
great pile of crackling logs and the blaze flickered about the room, but
bitter draughts came in beneath the door.

"An open fire's of no use; I thought about getting a stove," he said,
and paused with a dreary smile. "It's lucky I didn't send the order!"

"You may need it yet," Charnock replied. "Somehow we'll put the rails
down in time."

Festing did not answer and picked up a newspaper. He did not want to
read, but could not sleep, although he was very tired, and felt he
must have some relief from his anxious thoughts. The newspaper was
a _Colonist_ that had left Victoria some days before, and he read it
methodically from the first column, trying to fix his attention on
things that had happened in remote mining settlements and market
reports. His efforts were mechanical, but he long afterwards remembered
what he read and how he dully followed the arguments in an article on
political reform. Indeed, when he saw the _Colonist_ his imagination
carried him back to the log-walled hut, and he felt something of the
dazed hopelessness that blunted his senses then.

In the meantime, Charnock, half asleep, lounged with his legs stretched
out to the fire. The logs snapped and