mall branches and throwing them into the river.
She ceased all movement, and scarcely seemed to breathe.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"He is staying with me here."

Maggie glanced toward the canoe. She drew a short, sharp breath, but she
did not move.

"Mademoiselle," said Steinmetz earnestly, "I am an old man, and in my
time I have dabbled pretty deeply in trouble. But taking it all around,
even my life has had its compensations. And I have seen lives which,
taken as a mere mortal existence, without looking to the hereafter at
all, have been quite worth the living. There is much happiness in life
to make up for the rest. But that happiness must be firmly held. It is
so easily slipped through the fingers. A little irresolution--a little
want of moral courage--a little want of self-confidence--a little pride,
and it is lost. You follow me?"

Maggie nodded. There was a great tenderness in her eyes--such a
tenderness as, resting on men, may bring them nearer to the angels.

Steinmetz laid his large hand over hers.

"Mademoiselle," he went on, "I believe that the good God sent you along
this lonely river in your boat. Paul leaves me to-morrow. His
arrangements are to go to India and shoot tigers. He will sail in a
week. There are things of which we never speak together--there is one
name that is never mentioned. Since Osterno you have avoided meeting
him. God knows I am not asking for him any thing that he would be afraid
to ask for himself. But he also has his pride. He will not force himself
in where he thinks his presence unwelcome."

Steinmetz rose somewhat ponderously and stood looking down at her. He
did not, however, succeed in meeting her eyes.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "I beg of you most humbly--most
respectfully--to come through the garden with me toward the house, so
that Paul may at least know that you are here."

He moved away and stood for a moment with his back turned to her,
looking toward the house. The crisp rustle of her dress came to him as
she rose to her feet.

Without looking round, he walked slowly on. The path through the trees
was narrow, two could not walk abreast. After a few yards Steinmetz
emerged on to a large, sloping lawn with flower beds, and a long, low
house above it. On the covered terrace a man sat writing at a table. He
was surrounded by papers, and the pen in his large, firm hand moved
rapidly over the sheet before him.

"We still administer the estate," said Steinm