unbroken, with the coldness of the
grave. Yet there was one man who, poorly nourished and still more poorly
clad, had the courage to cross long leagues of frozen prairie on foot, for
presently we heard a knocking at the door, and after an altercation with
somebody outside a stranger walked with uneven steps into the room. White
crystals sprinkled his old English coat, a most inadequate protection
against such weather, while his breath was frozen about the collar, and
the fur cap he could scarcely hold in one stiffened hand was of the cheap
and rubbishly description that Jew peddlers retail to the new arrival in
Winnipeg. His age might have been fifty, but he had been bent by toil or
sickness, and his pinched face was a study in itself. Anxiety, suspense,
and fierce determination seemed written on it.

"I'm wanting Ralph Lorimer, who came out from England. They told me he was
here," he said, and clutched at the table, for, as often happens, the
change of temperature had been too much for him.

Then I recollected what Jasper, who had been in to Winnipeg, told me a day
or two before. "I looked in at the Tecumseh House, and the clerk mentioned
that a wild man from the old country had been asking for you. Wouldn't
answer any questions; a lunatic of some sort, the clerk reckoned."

Nevertheless, as I stood up by the window I had no suspicion of the truth,
though perhaps Harry had, for, drawing forward a chair, he said: "Feeling
dizzy, are you not? Better sit down. But before we answer I should like to
know who you are, and what you want with him."

"What has that to do with thee?" was the fierce answer. "I'm wanting Ralph
Lorimer, and if he's alive in Canada I'll find him!"

I stepped out into the lamplight, saying: "You need not search far. With
your permission, Miss Carrington! Now I am only a guest here. Will you
follow me?"

The drawn face twitched, his left hand was clenched, and the other fumbled
inside the breast of the threadbare coat as the old man turned to meet
me.

"No; here before them all I'll ask thee," he said hoarsely. "I'm Adam Lee
of Stoney Clough. Where's my daughter, Minnie Lee, that left her home to
follow thee?"

The words seemed to break in on the warmth and harmony like a blast of
Arctic cold, and sudden silence followed them. Colonel Carrington leaned
forward with an angry glitter in his eyes, Miss Carrington watched me in
cold surprise, and Grace--well, I do not care to recall her face. Onc