that one of them might
be my enemy; for I hated him and I would have joyed at his death. When I
loved Berna most exquisitely, when I gazed with tender joy upon her
sweetness, when, with glad, thankful eyes, I blessed her for the
sympathy and sunshine of her presence, then between us would come a
shadow, dark, menacing and mordant. So the joy-light would vanish from
my eyes and a great sadness fall upon me.

What would I do if he returned? I wondered. Perhaps if he left us alone
I might let by-gones be by-gones; but if he ever came near her
again--well, I oiled the chambers of my Colt and heard its joyous click
as it revolved. "That's for him," I said, "that's for him, if by look,
by word, or by act he ever molests her again." And I meant it, too.
Suffering had hardened me, made me dangerous. I would have killed him.

Then, as the months went past and the suspicion of his fate deepened
almost to a certainty, I began to breathe more freely. I noticed, too, a
world of difference in Berna. She grew light-hearted. She sang and
laughed a good deal. The sunshine came back to her eyes, and the shadow
seldom lingered there. Sometimes the thought that we were not legally
married troubled me, but on all sides were men living with their
Klondike wives, either openly or secretly, and where this domestic
menage was conducted in quietness there was little comment on it. We
lived to ourselves, and for ourselves. We left our neighbours alone. We
made few friends, and in the ferment of social life we were almost
unnoticed.

Of course, the Prodigal expostulated with me in severe terms. I did not
attempt to argue with him. He would not have understood my point of
view. There are heights and depths in life to which he with his
practical mind could never attain. Yet he became very fond of Berna, and
often visited us.

"Why don't you go and get churched decently, if you love her?" he
demanded.

"So I will," I answered calmly; "give me a little time. Wait till we get
more settled."

And, indeed, we were up to our necks in business these days. Our Gold
Hill property had turned out well. We had a gang of men employed there,
and I made frequent trips out to Bonanza. We had given the Halfbreed a
small interest, and installed him as manager. The Jam-wagon, too, we had
employed as a sort of assistant foreman. Jim was busy installing his
hydraulic plant on Ophir Creek, and altogether we had enough to think
about. I had set my heart on making