e you," Nasmyth assured her. "There have been wholesome
changes in the village since you grew up and made your influence felt.
And that leads to a question: How does Clarence get on with his tenants
and the rank and file? George understood them, but they're difficult
folks to handle."

"He's away a good deal--I'm afraid there has been some friction now and
then." The girl's manner suddenly changed. "But that's beside the point.
Aren't you wasting time?"

"I am almost afraid to begin. You will find the story trying."

She turned toward him, and the moonlight showed her face was reassuringly
quiet.

"I expect that; but your fears are groundless. You needn't hesitate on my
account."

Nasmyth knew that she was right; Millicent was not one to flinch from
pain. With an effort, he began his story at the portage over the divide,
and, possessed by vivid memories, he made her see the desolate region
they had laboriously traversed. Because her imagination was powerful, she
could picture the brother she had loved toiling with desperate purpose
and failing strength through muskeg and morass. Then, when she quietly
insisted, he described Gladwyne's last camp. She saw that, too: the
hollow beneath the dark rock, with the straggling cedars on the ridge
above. Next he outlined the journey down the first few rapids, saying
little about the caches, and at last, with considerable relief, he came
to a stop. Millicent sat silent for several minutes, during which he did
not look at her.

"Thank you," she said at length. "I have tried often to imagine it, and
failed; but it is quite clear now. Clarence would never give me more than
the barest details--I think he hated to speak of it."

"In a way, he was wise," replied Nasmyth. He understood the man's
reluctance. "Now don't you think it would be better if you tried to drive
the thing out of your mind? It can't be altered--there's a danger in
dwelling too much upon one's grief."

She looked up at him, though her eyes were dim with tears.

"It can't be driven out. There were only the two of us; we had so much in
common--there was such trust between us."

Nasmyth nodded in comprehension and sympathy.

"Now that I've told you," he said quietly, as he rose, "I think I'll go.
I am sure you'd rather be alone."

"No," she answered, motioning to him to sit down. "Please stay." She
seemed to rouse herself with an effort. "Of course, there was only one
thing George could do when he was lame