ng at
the Dover bookstall the day he had returned from Paris with Maas. As
he recalled the circumstances he could see again the eager, bustling
crowd upon the platform, the porters in their dingy uniforms, the
bright lamps around the bookstalls, and the cheery clerk who had handed
the novel to him, with a remark about the weather. How different was
his position now! He opened the book and tried to interest himself in
it; the effort, however, was in vain. Do what he would, he could not
rivet his attention upon the story. The perilous adventures of the
hero in the forests of Upper Canada only served to remind him of his
own unenviable position. Little by little the sentences ran into each
other; at length his cigar dropped from his fingers, his head fell
forward, and he was fast asleep. How long he slept it would be
impossible to tell, but when he rose again and went to the door the fog
had drawn off, darkness had fallen, and the brilliant northern stars
were shining in the firmament above. Once more his hopes had proved
futile. Another day had passed, and still he had received no news of
the fugitives. How long was this to go on? Feeling hungry, he shut
the door and set about preparing his evening meal. Taking a large
piece of drift-wood from the heap in the corner, he placed it upon the
fire, and soon the flame went roaring merrily up the chimney. He had
made his tea, and was in the act of opening one of his cans of
preserved meat, when a sound reached him from outside, and caused him
to stop suddenly and glance round, as if in expectation of hearing
something further. It certainly sounded like the step of some one who
was carefully approaching the hut. Who could it be? The nearest
civilization was the township of Dui, which was upwards of a hundred
versts away. He had been warned, also, that the forest was in many
places tenanted by outlaws, whose presence would be far from desirable
at any time. Before he went to the door to draw the bolts he was
careful to feel in the pocket of his coat for his revolver. He
examined it and satisfied himself that it was fully loaded and ready
for use. Then, turning up the lamp, he approached the door, and called
out in English, "Who is there?"

"The powers be thanked, it's you!" said a voice, which he plainly
recognised as that of MacAndrew. "Open the door and let us in, for
we're more dead than alive."

"Thank God you're come at last," exclaimed Browne, as he d