shattered frame upon the wall. The eyes of the portrait
seemed to bore deep into her own, and the words of MacNair flashed
through her brain--the words he had used as he gazed into the eyes of
that selfsame portrait.

Unconsciously--fiercely she repeated those words aloud: "By God! Yon is
the face of a _man_!" She started at the sound of her own voice. And
then, like liquid flame, it seemed to the girl the blood of Tiger
Elliston seethed and boiled in her veins--spurring her on to _do_!

"Do what?" she questioned. "What was there left to _do_, for one who had
blundered so miserably?"

Like a flash came the answer. She had done MacNair a great wrong. She
must right that wrong, or at least admit it. She must own her error and
offer an apology.

Seating herself at the table, she seized a pen and wrote rapidly for a
long, long time. And then for a long time more she sat buried in
thought, and at the end of an hour she arose and tore up the pages she
had written, and sat down again and penned another letter which she
placed in an envelope addressed with the name of MacNair. This done she
took the letter, tiptoed across the living-room, and pushing open the
Louchoux girl's door entered and seated herself upon the edge of the bed.
The Indian girl was wide awake. A brown hand stole from beneath the
covers and clasped reassuringly about Chloe's fingers.

She handed the girl the letter.

"I can trust you," she said, "to place this in MacNair's hands. Go to
sleep now, I will talk further with you tomorrow." And with a hurried
good-night, Chloe returned to her own room.

She blew out the lamp and threw herself fully dressed upon the bed.
Sleep would not come. She stared long at the little patch of moonlight
that showed upon the bare floor. She tried to think, but her heart was
filled with a strange restlessness. Arising from the bed, she crossed to
the window and stared out across the moonlit clearing toward the dark
edge of the forest--the mysterious forest whose depths seemed black with
sinister mystery--whose trees bed-coned, stretching out their branches
like arms.

A strange restlessness came over her. The confines of the little room
seemed smothering--crushing her. Crossing to the row of pegs she drew on
her _parka_ and heavy mittens, and tiptoeing to the outer door, passed
out into the night, crossed the moonlit clearing, and stepped
half-fearfully into the deep shadow of the forest--to the call of