hen the sober, solid gentleman came out across the porch
and waved his hand to them. Pete hastened his steps without replying.
Then came a summons in a loud, full, authoritative voice: "Hi, there!
One moment, please."

It was already evening; the lake was ruffled rosily under a sunset
light. Pete stopped and turned. He waited, pale, tightlipped, and
formidable; Sylvie moved a little closer to him. This mysterious summons
gave her a first little spasm of distrust and fear. The man's square
body and square, serious face bore down upon them, freighted with
incongruous judgments. He came sturdily, defying the unspoken threat of
loneliness.

He spoke when he came up to them--spoke with evident effort.

"My friends," he said, "I am a minister of the gospel, and though
my mission in this wilderness does not rightly include you in its
ministrations, still, my conscience, the commands of my Master, will not
allow me to neglect so obvious and urgent a call for spiritual aid."

He cleared his throat. "Your name I didn't catch," he said doubtfully,
and Pete did not supply the knowledge, "but I heard you introduce this
young woman as your wife. I watched her very closely; I watched you,
too, sir; I took the liberty of making some inquiries about you. I have
had much and varied experience in the study of human nature." Here he
put out a broad, clean hand with square finger-tips and lifted Sylvie's
brown, unwilling left hand high from her side. "I am a minister of the
gospel," he repeated. "In a land where such a symbol is thought much of,
this woman has no wedding-ring. There is no register of your marriage
here in the one spot where such a registration might have been most
conveniently made--"

Sylvie jerked away her fingers; Pete laid down his load and slowly drew
his right hand into a terrible fist.

"No, no!" The square-tipped fingers were lifted deprecatingly. "You must
not be angry with me, my children. I am not here to judge you. I have
no knowledge of your temptation, of your difficulties; you have met and
loved in a wild and difficult land. I was not even sure of my surmise.
Now, however; your silence and your anger confirm my opinion. I want
only to offer you my services. Will you continue in your life and love
as I have seen them to be, or will you, if only for the sake of other
lives not yet your responsibility--perhaps, will you take advantage of
this opportunity which God has now given you and let me make you inde