ked forth at him
still remained in his mind. The face burned itself into his soul, and
twice during the night he again opened the locket, and studied the
features most earnestly.

For ten long years he had not looked upon such a face, and to see this
one before him brought back scenes of by-gone days. He remembered one,
how pretty she looked on his graduation day, and what a thrill of
pleasure he had experienced as she placed her delicate hand into his,
and uttered words of congratulation. The future looked very bright
then, and in all his visions that little woman stood out sweet and
clear. But that was years ago, and now--she had been married long
since to a portly, wealthy merchant, while he, no doubt, was forgotten.

At length, wearied out with watching, he threw several sticks upon the
fire and lay down in front of it for a short nap. He awoke with a
start, to find the fire low, and the form wrapped in the wolf-skin robe
very still. A sense of dread crept over him, and, going to his side,
he peered into that haggard face. Yes, it was still. The expression
was one of peace, the awful peace of death. His right hand, firmly
clutching the string of the little locket, was lying upon his breast.
For him, at least, the long trail was ended.

CHAPTER III

THE GRAVE IN THE SNOW

The sun of the short winter day was touching the mountain peaks, and
slowly stealing down their rugged sides, as Keith emerged from the
cabin bearing the cold body of the unknown man. He had a sacred task
to perform, and he would not leave the place till all was completed.
He had no winding sheet, no coffin in which to lay that silent form. A
deep hole dug in the snow with the point of a snow-shoe, was grave and
coffin combined, while the same soft, yielding snow spread tenderly
over the body was the only winding sheet.

"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord." How weird and
strangely hollow sounded his voice in that lonely place, as he repeated
from memory some of the beautiful sentences of the Burial Service of
the Church of England. There were none to respond, none to weep, and
none to lay fresh flowers upon that snowy mound. There was one
mourner, however; the lean dog, silent and wistful, crouching near. At
times he glanced up into the speaker's face, as if trying to comprehend
the meaning of the words.

"Poor dumb brute," said Keith, when the prayers were over, "you are
faithful to the last. While th