rass of her
Southland."

He ceased speaking and unconsciously stooped and plucked a few spears
of grass which he held in his palm and examined intently.

"Why should one die calling for the sight of grass?" he asked abruptly,
gazing into Chloe's eyes with a puzzled look.

The girl gazed directly, searchingly into MacNair's eyes. The naive
frankness of him--his utter simplicity--astounded her.

"Oh!" she cried, impulsively stepping forward. "It wasn't the
_grass_--it was--oh! _can't_ you _see_?" The man regarded her
wonderingly and shook his head.

"No," he answered gravely. "I can not see."

"It was--everything! Life--friends--home! The grass was only the
symbol--the tangible emblem that stood for life!" MacNair nodded, but,
by the look in his eye, Chloe knew that he did not understand and that
pride and a certain natural reserve sealed his lips from further
questioning.

"It is far to the Mackenzie," ventured the girl.

"Aye, far. After my father died I brought her here."

"You! Brought her here!" she exclaimed, staring in surprise into the
strong emotionless face.

The man nodded slowly. "In the winter it was--and I came
alone--dragging her body upon a sled----"

"But why----"

"Because I think she would have wished it so. If one hated the wild,
rugged cliffs and the rock-tossed rapids, would one wish to lie upon a
cliff with the rapids roaring, for ever and ever? I do not think that,
so I brought her here--away from the grey hills and the ceaseless roar
of the rapids."

"But the grass?"

"I brought that from the Southland. I failed many times before I found
a kind that would grow. It is little I can do for her, and she does
not know, but, somehow, it has made me feel--easier--I cannot tell you
exactly. I come here often."

"I think she _does_ know," said Chloe softly, and brushed hot tears
from her eyes. Could _this_ be the man whose crimes against the poor,
ignorant savages were the common knowledge of the North? Could this be
he whom men called Brute--this simple-spoken, straightforward, boyish
man who had endured hardships and spared no effort, that the mother he
had never known might lie in her eternal rest beneath the green sod of
her native land, far from the sights, and sounds that, in life, had
become a torture to her soul, and worn her, at last, to the grave?

"Mr.--MacNair." The hard note--the note of uncompromising
antagonism--had gone from her voice, and the man loo