ther you got hurt or not! We won't go back to
Dawson. I'll send word down for a couple of the boys to outfit and pole
a boat up the Yukon. We'll cross the divide and raft down the Indian
River to meet them. Then--' 'And then?' Her head was on his shoulder.

Their voices sank to softer cadences, each word a caress. The Jesuit
fidgeted nervously.

'And then?' she repeated.

'Why we'll pole up, and up, and up, and portage the White Horse Rapids
and the Box Canon.' 'Yes?' 'And the Sixty-Mile River; then the lakes,
Chilcoot, Dyea, and Salt Water.' 'But, dear, I can't pole a boat.' 'You
little goose! I'll get Sitka Charley; he knows all the good water and
best camps, and he is the best traveler I ever met, if he is an Indian.
All you'll have to do, is to sit in the middle of the boat, and sing
songs, and play Cleopatra, and fight--no, we're in luck; too early for
mosquitoes.'

'And then, O my Antony?' 'And then a steamer, San Francisco, and the
world! Never to come back to this cursed hole again. Think of it! The
world, and ours to choose from! I'll sell out. Why, we're rich! The
Waldworth Syndicate will give me half a million for what's left in the
ground, and I've got twice as much in the dumps and with the P. C.
Company. We'll go to the Fair in Paris in 1900. We'll go to Jerusalem,
if you say so.

'We'll buy an Italian palace, and you can play Cleopatra to your
heart's content. No, you shall be Lucretia, Acte, or anybody your
little heart sees fit to become. But you mustn't, you really mustn't-'
'The wife of Caesar shall be above reproach.' 'Of course, but--' 'But I
won't be your wife, will I, dear?' 'I didn't mean that.' 'But you'll
love me just as much, and never even think--oh! I know you'll be like
other men; you'll grow tired, and--and-'

'How can you? I--' 'Promise me.' 'Yes, yes; I do promise.' 'You say it
so easily, dear; but how do you know?--or I know? I have so little to
give, yet it is so much, and all I have. O, Clyde! promise me you
won't?'

'There, there! You mustn't begin to doubt already. Till death do us
part, you know.'

'Think! I once said that to--to him, and now?' 'And now, little
sweetheart, you're not to bother about such things any more.

Of course, I never, never will, and--' And for the first time, lips
trembled against lips.

Father Roubeau had been watching the main trail through the window, but
could stand the strain no longer.

He cleared his throat and turned around.

'Your