t open.

"What makes you think it comes from her?" I asked; "it is not at all
likely."

"I know it does," she said simply; "I feel it."

I laughed and opened the letter, not in the least believing she would
be right. The first line, however, my eye fell upon shewed me it was
from Suzee. The queer, stiff, upright characters suggested Chinese
writing, and the first words could be hers alone:

"Dear Mister Treevor,

"Do you remember me? I am in awful trouble. Husband died and also
baby. I sent here to be sold for slave to rich Chinaman. Please
you buy me. Send my price 500 dollars to Mrs. Hackett, address as
per above.

"Dear Treevor, dear Treevor, do come to me. You remember the wood?

"I am yours not sold yet,

"SUZEE."

I read this through with a feeling of amaze. Suzee had for so long
been a forgotten quantity to me, something left in the past of the
Alaskan trip, like the stars of the North, that her memory, thrown
back suddenly on me like this, startled me.

I handed the letter to Viola in silence. She read it through, and then
pushed it away from her.

"I told you so. There is no peace in this world!"

"But it needn't affect us, dearest," I said. "Suzee is nothing to me
now. I don't want her. There is nothing to distress you."

"But you'll have to do something about it, I suppose," returned Viola
gloomily. She was making the tea, and I saw her hands shook.

"I believe you would like to go. It would be a new experience for you.
You would go if that letter came to you when you were living as a
bachelor, wouldn't you?"

"Possibly I might. But then, of course, when one is free it is
different. Everything is different."

"Free!" murmured Viola, her eyes filling. "I hate to think I am tying
you."

"It is not that," I said gently; "one does not want to do the same
things, nor care about them."

"You wanted Veronica and didn't have her on my account, I am not going
to prevent you doing this. You must go if you want to."

She threw herself into the easy chair with her handkerchief pressed to
her mouth. The tears welled up to her eyes and poured down her white
face uncontrollably.

"Dearest, dear little girl," I said, drawing her into my arms, "you
are upsetting yourself for nothing. I don't want to go, I shan't think
of going. I am perfectly happy; you are everything to me."

She leant her soft head against me in silence, sobbing for some
seconds.

"Come and have