er life with his she would, like himself,
become a social exile. And there was a further reason for silence. If
he allowed the girl to commit herself to him whilst they were alive in
the wilderness, it would be said that he had taken advantage of a
rather delicate situation--using it for his selfish ends, and his pride
as a man revolted against that. He clenched his teeth at the thought,
and unconsciously frowned. No it should never be said that he----

"Why that dark scowl?" asked the girl laughingly. "Is my lord
displeased with the odours of the dinner that his servant prepares?"

Stane joined in her laughter. "I was not aware that I was frowning. The
dinner has a most appetising smell."

"If only I had a Mrs. Beeton!" sighed Helen. "Though I daresay she
wouldn't give any recipe for frozen moose and rice and beans, without
even an onion to flavour. The civilized cookery books don't deal with
the essentials. When I return to the polite world the first thing I
shall do will be to publish a pocket cookery book for happy people
stranded in the wilds!"

"Happy!" he echoed, smilingly.

"I speak for myself," she retorted lightly. "You don't suppose that I
regret these weeks away from civilization. I never was happier in my
life. I have, you will agree, proved myself. I can face an
unprecedented situation without fainting. I can cook a dinner without
killing a man who eats it. I have set a leg successfully, and built a
raft that floated safely, and reared two lodges in the wilderness. I
have no nerves, whilst nearly every woman I know is just a quivering
bundle of them. Yesterday, when I went out to the wood-pile a big lynx
came round the corner of it. His eyes simply blazed at me. Six months
ago, I should have run indoors. As it was, I threw a chunk of wood at
him and he bolted."

"You never told me," began Stane.

"What need?" interrupted the girl. "You don't inform me every time you
see a lynx!"

"But you must be careful," replied Stane anxiously. "At this season of
the year, if he is very hungry, the lynx can be a dangerous beast.
Remember his claws are like knives and he has ten of them."

"Oh, I will remember," answered Helen cheerfully. She stooped over the
pan, and then, announced: "I think this mess of savoury venison is
ready, and I don't believe our cook at home could have done it half so
well. If my lord and cobbler will put away the snow-shoe we will dine,
and after the washing up I will sleep."

It