ey. A little shiver stole upon her, the old tremor of man in
presence of a nature not yet tamed to his needs, not yet identified with
his feelings, still full therefore of stealthy and hostile powers,
creeping unawares upon his life.

"This champagne is not nearly as good as last night," said Philip
discontentedly. "Yerkes must really try for something better at
Winnipeg. When do we arrive?"

"Oh, some time to-morrow evening."

"What a blessing we're going to bed!" said the boy, lighting his
cigarette. "You won't be able to bother me about lakes, Lisa."

But he smiled at her as he spoke, and Elizabeth was so enchanted to
notice the gradual passing away of the look of illness, the brightening
of the eye, and slight filling out of the face, that he might tease her
as he pleased.

Within an hour Philip Gaddesden was stretched on a comfortable bed sound
asleep. The two servants had made up berths in the dining-room;
Elizabeth's maid slept in the saloon. Elizabeth herself, wrapped in a
large cloak, sat awhile outside, waiting for the first sight of
Lake Superior.

It came at last. A gleam of silver on the left--a line of purple
islands--frowning headlands in front--and out of the interminable shadow
of the forests, they swept into a broad moonlight. Over high bridges and
the roar of rivers, threading innumerable bays, burrowing through
headlands and peninsulas, now hanging over the cold shining of the
water, now lost again in the woods, the train sped on its wonderful way.
Elizabeth on her platform at its rear was conscious of no other living
creature. She seemed to be alone with the night and the vastness of the
lake, the awfulness of its black and purple coast. As far as she could
see, the trees on its shores were still bare; they had temporarily left
the spring behind; the North seemed to have rushed upon her in its
terror and desolation. She found herself imagining the storms that
sweep the lake in winter, measuring her frail life against the
loneliness and boundlessness around her. No sign of man, save in the few
lights of these scattered stations; and yet, for long, her main
impression was one of exultation in man's power and skill, which bore
her on and on, safe, through the conquered wilderness.

Gradually, however, this note of feeling slid down into something much
softer and sadder. She became conscious of herself, and her personal
life; and little by little her exultation passed into yearning; her eyes
gr