thought of the moment's safety round her, the
camp-fire to be lit, and the bed to be made under the friendly trees and
stars.

For a half-hour she sat so, and then, suddenly, she raised her head
listening, leaning towards the window, through which the moonlight
streamed. She heard her name called without, distinct and
strange--"Pauline! Pauline!"

Starting up, she ran to the door and opened it. All was silent and
cruelly cold. Nothing but the wide plain of snow and the steely air. But
as she stood intently listening, the red glow from the fire behind her,
again came the cry--"Pauline!" not far away. Her heart beat hard, and
she raised her head and called--why was it she should call out in a
language not her own? "Qu'appelle? Qu'appelle?"

And once again on the still night air came the trembling
appeal--"Pauline!"

"Qu'appelle? Qu'appelle?" she cried, then, with a gasping murmur of
understanding and recognition she ran forwards in the frozen night
towards the sound of the voice. The same intuitive sense which had made
her call out in French, without thought or reason, had revealed to her
who it was that called; or was it that even in the one word uttered
there was the note of a voice always remembered since those days with
Manette at Winnipeg?

Not far away from the house, on the way to Portage la Drome, but a
little distance from the road, was a crevasse, and towards this she
sped, for once before an accident had happened there. Again the voice
called as she sped--"Pauline!" and she cried out that she was coming.
Presently she stood above the declivity, and peered over. Almost
immediately below her, a few feet down, was a man lying in the snow. He
had strayed from the obliterated road, and had fallen down the crevasse,
twisting his foot cruelly. Unable to walk he had crawled several hundred
yards in the snow, but his strength had given out, and then he had
called to the house, on whose dark windows flickered the flames of the
fire, the name of the girl he had come so far to see. With a cry of
joy and pain at once she recognised him now. It was as her heart had
said--it was Julien, Manette's brother. In a moment she was beside him,
her arm around his shoulder.

"Pauline!" he said feebly, and fainted in her arms. An instant later
she was speeding to the house, and, rousing her mother and two of the
stablemen, she snatched a flask of brandy from a cupboard and hastened
back.

An hour later Julien Labrosse lay in