him, why didn't they strike? The stranger had already had ample
opportunity to murder him if he had been so disposed, could still do it
during Peter's daily rides back and forth from the Cabin to the camp and
to the Upper Reserve.

All of these thoughts percolated slowly, as a result of the sudden
inspiration at the bunk-house which had liberated a new train of ideas,
beginning with the identification of the Russian characteristics of the
new lumberman, which were more clearly defined under the beard and
workman's shirt than under the rather modish gray slouch hat and
American clothing in which Peter had seen him earlier. And Peter had
merely let the man go. He had no proof of the fellow's purposes, and if
he had even discovered exactly what those purposes were, there was no
recourse for Peter but to ask for the protection of Washington, and this
he had no desire to do.

If the man suspected from the quickly spoken Russian sentence that Peter
now guessed his mission, he had given no sign of it. But that meant
nothing. The fellow was clever. He was doubtless awaiting instructions.
And unless Peter took his case to the Department of Justice he could
neither expect any protection nor hope for any security other than his
own alertness.

At the Cabin Beth was waiting for him. These hours of music and Beth
were now as much a part of Peter's day as his breakfast or his dinner.
And he had only failed her when the pressure of his responsibilities was
too great to permit of his return to the Cabin. The hour most convenient
for him was that at the close of the day, and though weary or
discouraged, Peter always came to the end of this agreeable hour rested
and refreshed, and with a sense of something definitely achieved. For
whatever the days brought forth of trouble and disappointment, down at
the logging camp or the mills, here was Beth waiting for him, full of
enthusiasm and self-confidence, a tangible evidence of success.

The diligence with which she applied his instructions, the ease with
which she advanced from one step to another, showed her endowed with an
intelligence even beyond his early expectations. She was singing simple
ballads now, English and French, and already evinced a sense of
interpretation which showed the dormant artist. He tried at first, of
course, to eliminate all striving for effect, content to gain the purity
of tone for which he was striving, but she soared beyond him sometimes,
her soul defying