. Steadman," she said, "it is so hard to see him this way. He
does not know me at all."

"Gold! The trail! I see the gold! Connie, Kenneth," moaned the
sufferer.

"Your father seems to have some trouble pressing on his mind," said
Keith. "He talks so much about the gold, the trail, and yet he does
not look like a man who has roughed it in this country."

"My father never did any mining," Constance responded. "He knows
nothing about it. Oh, Mr. Steadman," she continued, after a pause, "I
want to speak to some one concerning this very matter. It is almost
breaking my heart. You are a clergyman and a doctor, and I know I can
trust you. May I speak?"

"I assure you, Miss Radhurst," Keith replied, "that I will not only
listen to your story, but I shall consider it a great honour, as well,
to be thus taken into your confidence."

But Constance did not begin at once. For a time she was silent, lost
in thought. She made a fair picture, sitting on the rude bench, with
her right arm resting upon the table, supporting her head.

The room was bare, painfully bare, destitute of the little comforts so
precious to a woman's heart. The walls of rough-hewn logs were
unrelieved by picture or knick-knack. The uneven floor was as
scrupulously clean as a pair of small hands could make it. This was
kitchen, sitting, dining, and Mr. Radhurst's sleeping room combined. A
portion of the building was hidden by several dark blankets, and served
as Constance's own private apartment.

"What a life for such a woman!" thought Keith, sitting on the opposite
side of the table, watching the flickering light of the one small
candle playing upon Constance's face and hair. He admired this woman,
who was living so bravely amid such dreary surroundings. Yes, he more
than admired, for a sense of pity stole into his heart at the thought
of her position, alone with her helpless father.

"You asked about my father," Constance at length began, fixing her eyes
upon the missionary. "No, he was never a miner. Several years ago he
was a prosperous business man in Vancouver. Our home was a happy one,
where I tried to fill the place of my dear mother, who had died several
years before. But I wished to be a nurse, and so attended the public
hospital in that city.

"At the end of my second year, I was placed in charge of a man who had
been terribly exposed on the trail. We did what we could to save his
life, but in vain. When he learned