-- His throat closed up, and his eyes filled as he thought of
this.

In the week during which he had been cared for here, Alan had not seen
Constance; but there had been a peculiar and exciting alteration in
Sherrill's manner toward him, he had felt; it was something more than
merely liking for him that Sherrill had showed, and Sherrill had spoken
of her to him as Constance, not, as he had called her always before,
"Miss Sherrill" or "my daughter." Alan had had dreams which had seemed
impossible of fulfilment, of dedicating his life and all that he could
make of it to her; now Sherrill's manner had brought to him something
like awe, as of something quite incredible.

When he had believed that disgrace was his--disgrace because he was
Benjamin Corvet's son--he had hidden, or tried to hide, his feeling
toward her; he knew now that he was not Corvet's son; Spearman had shot
his father, Corvet had said. But he could not be certain yet who his
father was or what revelation regarding himself might now be given.
Could he dare to betray that he was thinking of Constance as--as he
could not keep from thinking? He dared not without daring to dream
that Sherrill's manner meant that she could care for him; and that he
could not presume. What she had undergone for him--her venture alone
up the beach and that dreadful contest which had taken place between
her and Spearman--must remain circumstances which he had learned but
from which he could not yet take conclusions.

He turned to the Indian.

"Has anything more been heard of Spearman, Judah?"

"Only this, Alan; he crossed the Straits the next day upon the ferry
there. In Mackinaw City he bought liquor at a bar and took it with
him; he asked there about trains into the northwest. He has gone,
leaving all he had. What else could he do?"

Alan crossed the little cabin and looked out the window over the
snow-covered slope, where the bright sun was shining. It was very
still without; there was no motion at all in the pines toward the
ice-bound shore; and the shadow of the wood smoke rising from the cabin
chimney made almost a straight line across the snow. Snow had covered
any tracks that there had been upon the beach where those who had been
in the boat with him had been found dead. He had known that this must
be; he had believed them beyond aid when he had tried for the shore to
summon help for them and for himself. The other boat, which had
carried survivors of the