ll go," agreed Helen, with signs of suppressed agitation that
puzzled Geoffrey. She knew that after that charge had been fired their
present relations, pleasant as they were, could not continue. It
appeared to her the climax to which all he had dared and suffered, and
with a humility that was yet akin to pride she had determined, in
reparation, voluntarily to offer him that which, whether victorious or
defeated otherwise, he had with infinite patience and loyal service won.

It was early one clear cold morning when Helen Savine stood on a little
plank platform perched high in a hollow of the rock walls overhanging
the river opposite Thurston's camp. Each detail of the scene burned
itself into her memory as she gazed about her under a tense
expectancy--the rift of blue sky between the filigree of dark pines
high above, the rush of white-streaked water thundering down the gorge
below and frothing high about the massive boulders, and one huge fang
of promontory which a touch of her finger would, if all went well,
reduce to chaotic debris. Groups of workmen waited on the opposite
side of the flood, all staring towards her expectantly, and Thomas
Savine stood close by holding an insignificant box with wires attached
to it, in a hand that was not quite steady. Tom from Mattawa sat
perched upon a spire of rock holding up a furled flag, and her father
leaned heavily upon the rails of the staging. No one spoke or stirred,
and in spite of the roar of hurrying water a deep oppressive silence
seemed to brood over canyon and camp.

"This is the key," said Thomas Savine. "It is some notion of
Geoffrey's, and he had it made especially in Toronto. You fit it in
here."

Helen glanced at the diminutive object before she took the box. The
finger grip had been fashioned out of a dollar cut clean across bearing
two dates engraved upon it. The first, it flashed upon her, was the
one on which she had given the worn-out man that very coin, while the
other had evidently been added more recently, with less skill, by some
camp artificer.

"It's to-day," said Thomas Savine following her eyes, and Helen noticed
that his voice was strained. "Geoffrey told me to get it done. Quaint
idea; don't know what it means. But put us out of suspense. We're all
waiting."

Helen knew what the dates meant, and appreciated the delicate
compliment. It was she who had started the daring contractor on his
career who was to complete his triumph, a