mightily,
even though there persisted in her mind a picture of his blue-gray eyes
paying homage to Joyce.

CHAPTER XIII

SHOT TO THE CORE WITH SUNLIGHT

The storm had blown itself out before morning. A white world sparkled
with flashes of sunlight when Moya opened the door of the cabin and
gazed out. Looking down into the peaceful valley below, it was hard to
believe that death had called to them so loudly only a few hours
earlier.

Kilmeny emerged from the shaft-house and called a cheerful good-morning
across to her.

"How did you sleep?" he shouted as he crunched across the snow toward
her.

"Not so very well. Joyce slept for both of us."

Their smiles met. They had been comrades in the determination to shield
her from whatever difficulties the situation might hold.

"I'm glad. Is she quite herself this morning? Last night she was very
tired and a good deal alarmed."

"Yes. After you came Joyce did not worry any more. She knew you would
see that everything came right."

The color crept into his bronzed face. "Did she say so?"

"Yes. But it was not what she said. I could tell."

"I'm glad I could do what I did."

The eyes that looked at him were luminous. Something sweet and mocking
glowed in them inscrutably. He knew her gallant soul approved him, and
his heart lifted with gladness. The beauty of her companion fascinated
him, but he divined in this Irish girl the fine thread of loyalty that
lifted her character out of the commonplace. Her slender, vivid
personality breathed a vigor of the spirit wholly engaging.

Joyce joined her friend in the doorway. With her cheeks still flushed
from sleep and her hair a little disheveled, she reminded Jack of a
beautiful crumpled rose leaf. Since her charm was less an expression of
an inner quality, she needed more than Moya the adventitious aids of
dress.

The young woman's smile came out warmly at sight of Kilmeny. It was her
custom always to appropriate the available man. Toward this bronzed
young fellow with the splendid throat sloping into muscular shoulders
she felt very kindly this morning. He had stood between her and trouble.
He was so patently an admirer of Joyce Seldon. And on his own merits the
virility and good looks of him drew her admiration. At sight of the
bruises on his face her heart beat a little fast with pleasurable
excitement. He had fought for her like a man. She did not care if he was
a workingman. His name was Kilmeny. He was