* *

Some time had passed after the interview in the canyon, when one
afternoon Geoffrey walked out on the veranda at High Maples in search
of Helen Savine. It was winter time, but the climate near the
southwestern coast is mild. High Maples was sheltered, and the sun was
faintly warm. There were a few hardy flowers in the borders fringing
the smooth green lawn, a striking contrast to the snow-sheeted pines of
the ice-bound wilderness in which Thurston toiled. Helen was not on
the veranda, and not knowing where to search further, the young man
sank somewhat heavily into a chair. Geoffrey had ridden all night
through powdery snow-drifts which rose at times to the stirrup, and at
others so high that his horse could scarcely flounder through them. He
had made out lists of necessary stores as the jolting train sped on to
Vancouver, and had been busy every moment until it was time to start
for High Maples. Though he would have had it otherwise, he dare not
neglect one item when time was very precious. He had not spared
himself much leisure for either food or sleep of late, for by the short
northern daylight, and flame of the roaring lucigen, through the long
black nights, he and his company of carefully picked men had fought
stubbornly with the icy river.

The suns rays grew brighter, there was still no sign of Helen. Tired
in mind and body Geoffrey sat still, lost in a reverie. He had left
the camp in a state of nervous suspense, but overtaxed nature had
conquered, and now he waited not less anxious than he had been, but
with a physical languidness due to the reaction.

When Helen Savine finally came out softly through a long window
Geoffrey did not at first see her, and she had time to cast more than a
passing glance at him as he sat with head resting gratefully on the
back of the basket chair. His face, deeply tanned by the snow, had
grown once more worn and thin. There were lines upon the forehead and
wrinkles about his eyes; one bronzed hand lay above the other on his
knee, as the complement of a pose that suggested the exhaustion of
over-fatigue. The sight roused her pity, and she felt unusually
sympathetic towards the tired man.

Then Geoffrey started and rose quickly. Helen noticed how he seemed to
fling off his weariness as he came towards her, hat in hand.

"I have made a hurried journey to see you, Miss Savine," he said. "I
have something to tell you, something concerning which I cannot