hing to be
done."

Nasmyth made a sign of agreement.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Horribly sore all over, left side particularly. Struck a big boulder,
and then drove in among a nest of stones before my senses left me. Tried
to get up a while ago, but couldn't manage it. What's as much to the
purpose, I'm feeling hungry."

"Unfortunately, there's nothing left for breakfast. One of us had better
go up-stream and look out for the canoes."

Lisle nodded.

"That's your duty--I don't envy you. Make them camp a little higher up.
It would be better, in several ways, and I'd rather be on my feet again
before they come here."

Nasmyth set off, jaded and hungry, and he was feeling very limp when, as
he plodded along a high ridge, he saw the canoes sliding down the river.
He had hard work to reach the bank and he shrank from the task before him
when the first canoe grounded upon the stones. Millicent and Bella were
in it, and Millicent gazed at the lonely man with fixed, anxious eyes. He
was ragged and looked very weary; his face was worn and haggard.

"Where are the rest?" she asked in a strained voice. "Something has
happened--what is it?"

"Three of them are some miles down the river."

"Three!" cried Millicent, in dismay. "Haven't you found Clarence yet?"

Nasmyth hesitated, regarding her compassionately, but she made a sign of
protest.

"Go on! Don't keep me in suspense!"

"Clarence," said Nasmyth quietly, "is dead. Lisle is rather badly
damaged."

Millicent left the canoe and sat down, very white in face, upon a
neighboring stone. In the meanwhile the other canoes had grounded and her
companions gathered about her. She did not speak to them and some time
passed before she turned to Nasmyth.

"Tell me all," she begged.

He briefly related what had happened, and there was an impressive silence
when he finished. Then Millicent slowly rose.

"And Lisle's badly hurt," she said. "We must go on!"

They relaunched the canoes and Nasmyth had no further speech with her,
for as they floated down-river she sat, still and silent, in another
canoe. She was conscious chiefly of an unnerving horror and a sense of
contrition. Clarence was dead, and she had been coldly hypercritical;
hardly treating him as a lover, thinking of his failings. She blamed
herself bitterly in a half-dazed fashion, but it was only afterward she
realized that she had not been troubled by any very poignant sense of
loss.

After a while N