en's name is the poor old Mrs.
Colonel going to do?"

"Got a bed for her?"

"A bunk--hard as nails!"

"Good grub?"

"Rotten!" groaned the factor. "Every trapper's son of them took out big
supplies this fall and we're stripped. Beans, flour, sugar'n'prunes--and
caribou until I feel like turning inside out every time I smell it. I'd
give a month's commission for a pound of pork. Look here! If this letter
ain't 'quality' you can cut me into jiggers. Bet the Mrs. Colonel wrote
it for her hubby."

From an inside pocket Breed drew forth a square white envelope with
a broken seal of red wax, and from it extracted a folded sheet of
cream-tinted paper. Scarcely had Steele taken the note in his hands when
a quick thrill passed through him. Before he had read the first line
he was conscious again of that haunting sweetness in the air he
breathed--the perfume of hyacinth. There was not only this perfume, but
the same paper, the same delicately pretty writing of the letter he
had burned more than a week before. He made no effort to suppress the
exclamation of astonishment that broke from his lips. Breed was staring
at him when he lifted his eyes.

"This is a mighty strange coincidence, Breed," he said, regaining his
composure. "I could almost swear that I know this writing, and yet of
course such a thing is impossible. Still, it's mighty queer. Will you
let me keep the letter until to-night? I'd like to take it over to the
cabin and compare it--"

"Needn't return it at all," interrupted the factor. "Hope you find
something interesting to tell me at supper--five sharp. It will be a
blessing if you know 'em."

Ten minutes later Steele was in the little cabin which he and Nome
occupied while at Lac Bain. Jack, the Cree, had built a rousing fire in
the long sheet-iron stove, and as Steele opened its furnace-like door,
a flood of light poured out into the gathering gloom of early evening.
Drawing a chair full into the light, he again opened the letter. Line
for line and word for word he scrutinized the writing, and with each
breath that he drew he found himself more deeply thrilled by a curious
mental excitement which it was impossible for him to explain. According
to the letter. Colonel and Mrs. Becker had arrived at Churchill aboard
the London ship a little over a month previously. He remembered that the
date on the letter from the girl was six weeks old. At the time it was
written, Colonel Becker and his wife were either in