hollow cheeks came a darker color, and he closed his eyes.
Then, with a glance of resentment, he took a step or two in her
direction as if to speak. But instead of speaking, he turned toward the
open door and walked slowly out.

For a long time she remained in the same position, boiling with
resentment, yet keeping back her tears. She knew this coast was wild,
almost uninhabited, neither to the east nor west a sign of life: behind
them, northward, the unending forest. And the owner of this mysterious
habitation,--what manner of man was he? Perhaps there were several. And
she, a woman, alone with these men! From such bitter reflections she was
recalled, slowly, by the realization that her eyes were resting upon a
little portrait about twice the size of an ordinary miniature--a woman's
face--confronting her from across the table. It hung against the back of
the opposite chair, on a level with her own eyes, and was suspended by a
narrow black ribbon,--an odd place for a portrait, but in glancing at
the table in front of her she thought she guessed the reason. Before the
place in which she had thrown herself she noticed for the first time a
plate, a pewter mug, a napkin, and a knife and fork. Evidently the host
expected to eat alone, for there were no other dishes on the table. And
the portrait, of course, must be his wife, or his mother, perhaps, or
daughter. It proved a pleasant face as it, in turn, regarded her from
the little oval frame,--rather plump and youthful, with a curious little
mouth and large dark eyes, with a peculiar droop at the outer corners.
The hair was drawn up, away from the forehead; the shoulders were bare,
and a string of pearls encircled the neck. She was dark, with good
features, not strictly beautiful, but gentle and somewhat melancholy, in
spite of the mirthful eyes.

So this was the romance of their mysterious host! She of the miniature,
whatever her title--wife, mother, daughter, or sweetheart,--was ever
present at his table, looking into his eyes across the board.

The American girl felt a quickening interest in this host. Was it love
that drove him to the wilderness? And why did he bring into it such a
wealth of household goods?

As she leaned back in the old-fashioned chair, her eyes wandering over
the various objects in this unaccountable abode, her imagination began
to play, giving a life and history to the people in the tapestries and
portraits. The outside world was almost forgotten