y made, Lisle fancied that it was precious to her, in
which he was correct. Indeed, she was then wondering why she had
volunteered to show it to this stranger when only two of her intimate
friends had seen it.

"Thank you," he said, when she gave it to him; and drawing his chair
nearer the window he began to read.

Though he was already acquainted with most of it, the story gripped him.
On the surface, it was merely a plain record of a hazardous and laborious
journey; but to one gifted with understanding it was more than this--a
vivid narrative of a struggle waged against physical suffering, weakness,
and hunger, by optimistic human nature. An odd word here, a line or two
in another place, was eloquent of simple, steadfast courage and
endurance; and even when the weakening man clearly knew that his end was
near there was no outbreak of desperation or sign of faltering. He had
dragged himself onward to the last, indomitable.

Then Lisle proceeded to examine the book more closely. It showed the
effects of exposure to the weather to an unusual degree, considering that
the covers were thick and that the rescue party had recovered it shortly
after its owner's death. Moreover, Lisle did not think that George
Gladwyne would have left it in the snow. Several pages were missing, and
having been over the ground, he knew that they recorded the part of the
journey during which the two caches of provisions had been made, and he
had already decided that there would be a list of their contents. This
conclusion was confirmed by the fact that Gladwyne had enumerated the
stores they started with, and had once or twice made a reduced list when
they had afterward taken stock. The abstraction of the records was
clearly Clarence's work. Then he realized that he had spent some time in
perusing the diary and he handed it back to Millicent with something that
implied a respect for it. She noticed the sparkle in his eyes and her
heart warmed toward him.

"It's the greatest story I've ever read," he declared.

She made no answer, but he knew that she was pleased and it filled him
with a wish to tell her that she was very much like her dead brother.
More he could not have said, but remembering that he had already gone as
far as was permissible he had sense enough to repress the inclination. He
saw the girl's lips close firmly, as if she were conscious of some
emotion, but there was silence for a minute or two. He broke it at
length.

"I kno