had been a shock to her.
It was impossible for him to volunteer an explanation. He was glad to
retire with Savine and a cigar-box to the veranda, and trying to
console himself with the reflection that he had at least shown no
weakness--he took his leave early. Helen was not present when he bade
Mrs. Savine farewell, but she saw him stride away over the gravel.
Though she would not ask herself why, she felt gratified that he had
not stayed away.

It was some time later when, one day of early winter, he sat in his
wooden shanty, which at that season replaced the tent above the canyon.
Close by English Jim was busy writing, and Geoffrey, gnawing an
unlighted pipe, glanced alternately through the open door at his
hurrying workmen and at the letter from Thomas Savine which he held in
his hand.

The letter expressed a fear that a financial crisis was imminent.
"Tell him he must settle all local bills up to the minute," said
Thurston, throwing it across to his amanuensis. "I daresay the English
makers will wait a little for payment due on machinery. Did you find
that the amount I mentioned would cover the wages through the winter?"

"Only just," was the answer. "That is, unless you could cut some of
them a little."

"Not a cent," Geoffrey replied. "The poor devils who risk their lives
daily fully earn their money."

"Do you know their wages equal the figure the strikers demanded and you
refused to pay? Summers told me about that dispute, sir," ventured
English Jim.

"The strikers were not prepared to earn higher pay--and that one word,
'demanded,' makes a big difference. Hello! who is the stranger?"

Mattawa Tom was directing a horseman towards the shanty, and Geoffrey,
who watched the newcomer with growing interest, found something
familiar in his face and figure, until he rose up in astonishment when
the man rode nearer.

"Halliday, by all that's wonderful!" he cried. "Uncommonly glad to see
you; but whatever brought you back to this far-off land again?"

"Several things," was the answer, as Halliday, shaking the snow from
his furs, dismounted stiffly. "Strain of overwork necessitated a
change, my doctor told me. Trust estate I'm winding up comprised
doubtful British Columbian mining interests, and last, but not least,
to see you, Geoffrey."

The man's fur coat was open now, and Geoffrey, who glanced at the black
coat beneath it, said:

"I'm glad you wanted to see me, anyway, but come in. Here, Ja