ness to my dear
father."

"Oh, but really it was not I who saved him, but Phil! I should
have been too heavy to walk three steps across that muskeg without
sticking fast," Katherine answered, with a low, nervous laugh.

But Mary was not to be put off in this fashion, and she went on,
her voice fluttering a little because of the emotion she was
keeping down with a resolute hand: "I know it was your brother who
went out on the swamp and put the rope round my father, but I also
know that it was really you who planned the rescue and pulled my
father out. I cannot speak of it all as I would wish, and words
are too faint and poor to express all I feel; but from my heart I
am grateful, and all my life I shall be in your debt."

A sob came up in Katherine's throat, and her heart fluttered
wildly, for she was thinking of that dark secret from the past
which her father had told her about, and she was wondering if the
work of to-day would in any sense help to wipe off that old score
of wrongdoing which stood to her father's account.

"It is only one's duty to help those who are in difficulties," she
said, when she could manage her voice, and still that curious
fluttering in her throat. "I hope Mr. Selincourt is not much the
worse for his accident. I was afraid that he was terribly shaken.
He must have suffered such fearful agony of mind during the time he
was being sucked down."

"He is sleeping now, peacefully as an infant. Mr. Ferrars, who is
with him, says that his pulse is steady and his heart quiet, so it
really looks as if the after effects may not be very bad," Mary
answered. Then she said impulsively: "I was on the hill last night
when you were waiting for the dogs to help you to make the portage.
My heart went out to you then, and I wondered should we ever be
friends; but to-day has settled that question so far as I am
concerned, and now we must be friends."

Katherine crimsoned right up to the roots of her hair. A year ago
how happy such words would have made her! And how glad she would
have been of the friendship of Mary Selincourt! But now all the
pleasure in such intercourse was checked and clouded, because she
was perforce obliged to sail under false colours.

The rosy flush faded from cheeks, neck, and brow, and her face was
white and weary as she answered coldly: "It is very kind of you to
talk of friendship, but I fancy there is too much difference in our
lives to admit of much intercourse. I h