he girl's hair and tugging at the careless folds of her dress, but she
heard nothing save the devil's tattoo that rang in her head, and felt
nothing beyond the pain at throat and breast, which in time became so
bitter that the tears were wrung from her dry eyes, and she began to
weep in a pitiful woman fashion, as if her heart would burst. The first
drops cleared a way for others, and soon she was sobbing freely, alone
and without solace, lost in the night.

She had not succeeded in thoroughly isolating herself, however, for a
man who was steering his course by the sense of feel and the wind's
direction heard her and paused. His steps were muffled in the soft
footing, so that she had no warning of his presence until he was near
enough to distinguish her dimly where she leaned against the log wall
of a half-completed cabin.

To his question, "What's the trouble here?" she made no answer, but
moved away, whereupon he detained her. "There's something wrong. Who
are you, anyhow?"

"It's only Necia, Mr. Stark," said the girl, at which he advanced and
took her by the arm.

"What ails you, child? What in the world are you doing here? Come! It's
only a step to my cabin; you must come in and rest awhile, and you'll
soon be all right. Why, you'll break your neck in this darkness."

She hung back, but he compelled her to go with him in spite of her
unwillingness.

"Now, now," he admonished, with unusual kindliness for him; "you know
you're my little friend, and I can't let you go on this way; it's
scandalous. I won't stand for it. I like you too much."

In truth he had done things during these last few weeks to make her
think so, having never missed an opportunity to stop and pass a word
with her, at the same time showing her a queer courtesy and
consideration quite foreign to his saturnine habits. She had never
mentioned the fact to her father or the others, for she had developed a
sort of sympathy for the man, and felt that she understood him better
than they did.

He led her inside his cabin, and closed the door in the face of the
night wind before he struck a light.

"I can't stand to see you cry," he repeated, as he adjusted the wick.
"Now, as soon as--" He stopped in astonishment, for he had turned to
behold, instead of the little half-breed girl, this slender, sorrowful
stranger in her amazingly wonderful raiment.

"By--" He checked himself insensibly, and stood motionless for a long
time, while she wiped her e