flicker of humor in her eyes, when she called him Jeems, an intimate
use of the names Jim and James in the far North. It was not facetiously
that she had promised to kiss him. An almost tragic seriousness had
possessed her. And it was that seriousness that thrilled him--that, and
the amazing frankness with which she had coupled the name Jeems with
the promise of her lips. Once before she had called him Jeems. But it
was M'sieu Jeems then, and there had been a bit of taunting laughter in
her voice. Jim or James meant nothing, but Jeems--He had heard mothers
call little children that, in moments of endearment. He knew that wives
and sweethearts used it in that same way. For Jim and James were not
uncommon names up and down the Three Rivers, even among the half-breeds
and French, and Jeems was the closer and more intimate thing bred of it.

His heart was thumping riotously as he went to the door and listened. A
little while ago, when she faced him with flashing eyes, commanding him
not to question her, he had felt an abyss under his feet. Now he was on
a mountain. And he knew that no matter what he heard, unless it was her
cry for help, he would not go down.

After a little he opened the door a mere crack so that sound might come
to him. She had not forbidden that. Through the crack he could see a
dim glow of light in the lower hall. But he heard no sound, and it
occurred to him that old Mooie could still run swiftly, and that it
might be some time before Kedsty would arrive.

As he waited, he looked about the room. His first impression was that
Marette must have lived in it for a long time. It was a woman's room,
without the newness of sudden and unpremeditated occupancy. He knew
that formerly it had been Kedsty's room, but nothing of Kedsty remained
in it now. And then, as his wondering eyes beheld the miracle, a number
of things struck him with amazing significance. He no longer doubted
that Marette Radisson was of the far Northland. His faith in that was
absolute. If there had been a last question in his mind, it was wiped
away because she called him Jeems. Yet this room seemed to give the lie
to his faith. Fascinated by his discovery of things, he drew away from
the door and stood over the dressing-table in front of the mirror.

Marette had not prepared the room for him, and her possessions were
there. It did not strike him as sacrilege to look at them, the many
intimate little things that are mysteriously used in t