at should she say?

"Yes," she said, and then hesitated. Her heart beat violently. His
searching eyes were upon her. "Yes, there was one. It came two months
ago. A young man called for it and took it away."

"You--you gave it to him!"

The man lifted a hand as if to strike Marian. She did not flinch.

There came a growl from the door. Looking quickly, Marian caught the
questioning gleam in the old leader's eye.

The man's arm fell.

"Yes," she said stoutly, "I gave it to him. Why should I not? He
offered no real proof that he was the right person, it is true--"

"Then why--"

"But neither have you," Marian hurried on. "You might have picked that
envelope up in the street, or taken it from a wastepaper basket. How
do I know?"

"What--what sort of a boy was it?" the man asked more steadily.

"A good-looking, strapping young fellow, with blue eyes and an honest
face."

"That's him! That's him!" the man almost raved. "Honest-lookin', yes,
honest-lookin'. They ain't all honest that looks that way."

Again came the growl from the door.

Marian's eyes glanced uneasily toward the pigeon-hole where the latest
blue envelope rested. She caught an easy breath. A large white legal
envelope quite hid the blue one.

"Well, if another one comes, remember it's mine! Mine!" growled the
man, as he went stamping out of the room.

"Old Rover," Marian said, taking the dog's head between her hands.
"I'm glad you're here. When there are such men as that about, we need
you."

And yet, as she spoke her heart was full of misgivings. What if this
man's looks belied his nature? What if he were honest? And what if
her good-looking college boy was a rascal? There in the pigeon-hole
was the blue envelope. What was her duty?

Pulling on her calico parka, she went for a stroll on the beach. The
cool, damp air of Arctic twilight by the sea was balm to her troubled
brain. She came back to the cabin with a deep-seated conviction that
she was right.

She was not given many days to decide whether she should take the
letter with her or leave it. A sudden gale from the south sent the
ice-floes rushing through the Straits. They hastened away to seas
unknown, not to return for months. The little mail steamer came
hooting its way around the Point. It brought a letter of the utmost
importance to Marian.

While in Nome the summer before she had made some hasty sketches of the
Chukches, natives of the Arctic coa