If Any Man Sin

SUSPICION

Dick Russell rose early the next morning, much refreshed by his sleep. But Martin was up ahead of him, and had slipped out of the building before any one else was astir. Tom lighted the fire, and proved very handy in helping Nance with preparing the breakfast. In an hour's time the meal was over. It was a very frugal repast, but what was lacking in food was made up in pleasant conversation. Dick thought that Nance looked prettier than ever as she sat at the head of the table and poured the tea. The men naturally wondered what had become of Martin, but Nance informed them that he must have gone to the hills for mountain sheep. Their supply of fresh meat was getting low, and it was nothing unusual for her father to go off in the early morning hours.

"I must be off, too," Dick remarked, as he rose from the table. "This hot sun is breaking up the trail, and it is necessary to get to Rapid City as soon as possible to record that claim. You will stay?" and he turned to Tom.

"Yes, pard," was the reply. "My old legs are not fit fer sich a trip at present. I shall git a cabin fixed up as quick as I can. I haven't much to live upon, to be sure, though I've been placed in a far worse position many a time before. I'll go down to the cache we left along the river an' git my rifle an' some grub. You'll need the rest."

Nance, too, had risen to her feet, and stood looking at the two men. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were bright.

"You will come back, will you not?" she faltered, as Dick took her hand to bid her good-bye.

"Just as soon as I can," Dick returned.

"Before the summer?" she queried. "I hope you will, as we are going away."

"What!" Dick dropped her hand, and looked intently into her eyes. "Going away! Surely you don't mean it!"

"Yes, it is true. We have been planning for some time to go outside, and so have everything arranged for this coming summer."

"But you must not go until I return. Promise me that," the young man urged.

"It all depends upon my father. I did want to go so much a while ago, but now I am not so anxious."

It was with great reluctance that Dick left the house, with Nance standing in the doorway, and swung off down the trail, which ran along the shore of the lake. Several times he turned and waved his hand to the young woman, until a bend in the trail hid her from view.

"She's certainly a fine one," Tom remarked, as he trudged along by Dick's side. "It's a great mystery to me; it really is."

"What's a mystery, Tom?" and Dick glanced inquiringly at his companion.

"Why, you know, pard, as well as I do. I can't savvey why that man should be livin' here all of these years with that beautiful daughter of his. It isn't natural that any one should bury himself like that in sich a wilderness as this."

"You're right, Tom," Dick reflected. "He's an educated man, too, which makes it all the more mysterious. His books plainly show that. He speaks well, and he has taught Nance to play the violin splendidly."

"I felt like askin' him about his life when we were sittin' before the fire last night. But he acted so queer at times that I thought it best not to do so. Did ye notice how he left us so suddenly, an' when he came back he sat glum an' silent in the corner?"

"I did, Tom."

"Now, what would ye make out of that, eh?"

"Nothing. Perhaps it was only his manner. Living so long in the wild is enough to make any one odd, don't you think so?"

"It may be as ye say, pard, though it doesn't altogether fill the bill. Now, why should a man with a fine edication want to live in sich a place as this fer so many years? If it was gold he was after I could somewhat savvey it. But he doesn't seem to care anything about the strike. He hasn't even staked a claim. There's a mystery somewhere in the background, that's certain."

"Do you suppose he knows about the gold up the Quaska?" Dick asked.

"What d'ye mean, pard?"

"Didn't I tell you about the big holes which had been dug up there? I staked your claim right next to them. Now, suppose that Martin did the digging, and has taken out more than he needs, eh?"

"Not on yer life, pard. If he had the gold he'd 'a' hiked out of the country long afore this."

"But who dug those holes, then?" Dick insisted.

"I can't say fer certain. The Rooshians may have done it. They were pokin' around this country years ago. I have found holes in many places that they have dug."

"But surely Martin must have known about those holes, Tom. He has hunted all over this region. But, then, perhaps he wasn't after the gold. He has a very neat cabin at any rate, which is so comfortable."

"Who wouldn't be comfortable with sich a house an' sich a daughter to look after it, tell me that. She's about the finest specimen of womankind I have ever set my eyes on, an' that's sayin' a good deal. What a pity that she's been hid away so long in a lonely spot like this."

Dick made no reply to these words, but all the way along the trail, after Tom had left him, he thought of Nance. To him the Quaska valley had a new fascination now. He had come into the country with the special object of carrying on his Great Master's work, lengthening the cords and strengthening the stakes of the Church. As a medical man, as well as a missionary, he had done much good among the men in the various camps. This stampede into the Quaska valley had opened to him another door of usefulness. He had gone with the men, not for the sake of gold, but for the assistance he might be able to give. This new region had always seemed to him a very desolate place. But now all had been changed since he had found Nance. Almost unconsciously he began to repeat to himself one of his favourite and inspiring verses of Scripture. Only now he applied the words in a different sense. "The wilderness and the solitary places," he murmured, "shall be glad for her, and the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose."

Her image was thus ever before him as he toiled over the weary trail. He thought of her by day, and dreamed of her at night, as he lay alone upon his bed of fir boughs with the stars twinkling overhead. He was several hours in advance of the rest of the men, and he was glad that such was the case. He wished to be alone with the new happiness which had come so suddenly into his life. Never before had any one impressed him as did Nance. He had met many beautiful and clever women, but not one had ever appealed to him as had this woman by the shore of the Klutana Lake.

He was anxious to hurry down to Rapid City, record the claim, and make ready to return up river as soon as the ice ran out of the stream. That this would not be long he was well aware, for the hot sun was making havoc with the ice, and the water was rising fast. The trail was abominable, but he did not seem to mind it now. A new spirit filled his soul and animated his whole being. His one great desire was to get back to the little cabin in the wilderness before Nance and her father should leave.

After several days of hard travelling, Dick reached Rapid City. He was very tired and hungry when he reached the place, but the first thing that he did was to record the claim he had staked in Tom Hendrick's name. That night all the men in the mining town came to his cabin, anxious to learn all they could about the prospects of the new "diggings."

"What about the old man who lives out there?" Sam Pelchie after a while asked.

"Where did you get your knowledge, Sam?" and Dick looked at him in surprise. "I haven't told you a word about him."

But the other only laughed, and tipped a wink to Dave Purvis, who grinned in return. Dick was about to tell what he knew about Martin when the action of these men caused him to hesitate.

Of all the miners at Rapid City these two had been the most troublesome during the past winter. They were noted for their laziness, and but for the good-heartedness of others they would have starved. They seldom did any hunting for their support. They were disliked by the men of Rapid City, but, as is so often the rule in a frontier camp, they received a share of all that was going. The sense of shame in living as parasites did not bother them in the least. Dick always managed to get along fairly well with "The Twins," as they were commonly called, although he believed them to be veritable scoundrels, who would turn against their best friends upon the least pretext.

Nothing more was said on this occasion about Martin, and so the conversation drifted off to the gold of the Quaska. But Dick determined to keep his eyes upon Pelchie and Purvis. He intended to keep his ears open as well in an effort to learn how they happened to know that Martin lived up river. He knew that they did not hear of him from the two prospectors who had made the discovery, as they had reported that only Indians lived up there. These men had already returned to the Quaska valley. Taku had gone with them, his dogs drawing a supply of provisions.

Dick went to bed that night wondering what The Twins meant by the winks they had passed to each other, and their mysterious manner. A sudden thought came into his mind, which caused him to toss to and fro, tired though he was. Was it possible that Pelchie and Purvis had heard about Nance and her remarkable beauty? He knew from what the men had said on former occasions that they had very little respect for women. In a land such as this where might was right, what chance would a beautiful young woman, innocent as a child, have against wily minions of Satan? What else, he asked himself, would make The Twins take such an interest in Martin? At length he fell into a troubled sleep, and dreamed that Nance was beset by cruel and terrible dragons, and that he was unable to go to her assistance.

Early the next morning a band of weary stampeders reached Rapid City, and recorded their claims. After breakfast Dick went over to the store, where he found a crowd of men gathered. Upon a small table in the middle of the room was a rough map, sketched with the point of a burnt stick, showing the new diggings. Around this most of the men were clustered, discussing it in a most animated manner. Small numbers marked the places where the stampeders had staked their claims. The old holes formed the boundary line of the valley, and the claims were marked "above" or "below," according to their situation.

"Where is the old man's cabin?" Pelchie asked, leaning over for a better view.

"At the mouth of the river," Ben Haines replied, "right there," and he made a small cross upon the paper.

"Did he stake?" Pelchie further queried.

"No. Takes no interest in the discovery. He's a strange one; lives alone with his daughter, and just hunts for his living. But he was mighty good to us, and handed out about the whole of his grub. His daughter is certainly a beauty. You should have seen her eyes fill with tears when we carried poor old 'Dad' into the cabin, sick as a dog, and moaning like a baby. He was clean cracked when we left him, but that girl was nursing him like a mother. You missed something, Sam, by not being along with us. Why in hell didn't you and Dave go on the stampede?"

"Had other business, Ben, hey, Dave?" and he winked to his partner.

"Sure thing," was the reply. "We've never seen the Quaska, but I'll gamble that we'll take out more gold from that place than any of you."

A laugh went up from the men in the room. They knew The Twins and what bluffing they always did. This last remark was most characteristic.

"You'll have to get a hustle on if you intend to stake," Barry Dane spoke up. "The Northern Packet will be here as soon as the river clears, and I wouldn't be surprised if a big crowd comes on her. We're going to get her to go right up to the lake. There's bound to be a lively bunch there this summer, so you'd better make a move at once if you're going to do anything. We're not going to keep you again as we did last winter, I can tell you that."

"Don't you worry," Dave surlily replied. "We'll make your eyes stick out before the summer's over, never fear. I don't care for any d—— crowd which comes on the Packet."

Dick Russell said nothing to any of the men about the thoughts which were troubling him. As the days passed he endeavoured to learn something of the plans of Pelchie and Purvis, but in vain. He saw them at times together, talking in a most confidential way, and knew that they were often in each other's cabins. He believed that Martin, and perhaps Nance, formed the chief topic of their conversation, and his heart grew heavy as he thought of what the future might reveal. He awaited anxiously for the river to clear, and the steamer to arrive, that he might hurry up stream, not for gold, but to see Nance and, if necessary, to protect her.

TOM MAKES A DISCOVERY

It was not long after Dick and Tom had left Martin's cabin that the stampeders arrived. They were in good spirits, but very hungry, having eaten the last of their meal the previous evening. Nance was washing the breakfast dishes and thinking of Dick, when she was startled by the appearance of several men at the door. They doffed their caps when they saw the young woman, and asked if they might have something to eat.

"We are sorry to disturb you, Miss," Barry Dane explained, acting as spokesman, "but we're down to hard-pan. We've not had a bite to eat since last night, and there's a long trail ahead of us."

"Come right in," Nance replied. "We haven't much ourselves, but I know that my father will be pleased to share with you."

While the men seated themselves about the room, Nance went to the larder, and brought forth a large piece of moose meat. From this she cut off numerous slices, and then began to fry several of them over the fire.

"Let me help you, Miss," Barry volunteered. "I am fairly handy at such work, and it isn't right that you should cook for us lazy louts."

"Well, then, you can attend to this while I look after the table," and Nance handed him the frying-pan.

Each man had with him his meagre supply of dishes, and ere long all were enjoying the meat, as well as the tea, which Nance had prepared. These men treated their young hostess with the greatest courtesy. Not a rough word was spoken, and it was somewhat pathetic to observe the manner in which several of them endeavoured to assume an air of gentility. They were true knights, this body of men, rough outwardly, but possessed of big, loyal hearts.

They were almost through with their meal when Martin arrived, bringing with him an old man, who tottered as he walked. He had wide-staring eyes, and was continually muttering to himself. The stampeders rose to their feet in surprise as they recognised 'Dad' Seddon, whom they had left up the Quaska that morning. He had refused to come with them, saying that he would follow later and overtake them.

"What's happened to Dad?" was Barry Dane's first question. "He seems to be all in."

"He certainly is," Martin replied. "I found him up stream down on his knees, clawing at the ground, and jabbering away at a great rate. He's gold mad, that's what's the trouble with him. Come, Nance," and he turned toward her; "a piece of that meat and a cup of tea will do him much good."

Nance had been staring hard at the pathetic figure of the old man. He looked so frail and helpless that her eyes filled with tears as she watched him.

"Say, Dad, what's wrong with you?" Barry asked, stepping over to Seddon, and laying a heavy hand upon his shoulder.

But the poor creature simply stared, and continued his muttering as before. He ate ravenously the food Nance brought him, and gulped down a cup of tea.

"What are we to do with him?" Jim Lane asked. "We can't take him with us, that's sure."

"Leave him here," Martin replied. "We will look after him as well as we can. I think he'll be all right after he has had a good sleep."

"It's kind of you, sir," Barry remarked, "and we won't forget it. We have a long trail ahead of us and could hardly manage Dad. And, besides, we've no grub until we strike our cache down stream. Could you let us have some meat?"

"I think we can," and Martin crossed over to the larder as he spoke. "We have a little meat and a small supply of smoked fish. We can spare some, eh, Nance?"

"Yes," Nance replied. "We can get along very well, as we shall soon have fresh fish from the lake."

"Thank ye kindly," several of the men responded. "We certainly won't forget what ye've done for us to-day."

In about half an hour they had left the cabin, and were swinging off down the trail. They met Tom a short distance from the house, and to him they imparted the news about Dad.

"I'll look after the poor chap," Tom said. "He'll be all right in a short time, never fear."

When he reached the house he found Dad tucked in bed. The half-crazed man had objected at first, but at last had yielded to Nance. Her words and the touch of her hand upon his greatly soothed his excited state of mind, so in a short time he was sleeping soundly.

"It's jist what he needs," Tom explained, as he looked upon him. "He's slept hardly a wink since startin' upon this stampede. That an' the want of food, together with the thought of the gold, has somewhat upset the machinery of his head. Oh, I've seen sich cases afore. He's a fine one, is old Dad, true as steel to his friends, rather cranky at times, an' a regular devil to any one who tries any crooked business upon him. I always got along well with the old chap. In fact we were quite chums last winter. He's great at chess, an' we used to play it most every night. He's got a set of chessmen he made durin' the long winter evenin's out of ivory from the tusk of an old mastodon we found on a little creek some time ago. He's mighty proud of them, I can tell you that, an' if we can git his mind off of the gold fer a while an' turn it on to chess, it might do him a world of good."

"Why, chess is one of our games," Nance replied. "Daddy taught it to me a long time ago, and he, too, made all the pieces himself, out of wood."

"Well, I declare!" and Tom looked his surprise. "To think of you playin' sich a deep, solemn game as that! I don't believe that ye'd find many young women outside spendin' their time in sich a way, ah, no. They're too lightheaded an' giddy fer that. It certainly'll be a great comfort to old Dad when he sees yer chessmen. He'll keep ye at it all the time. He'd 'a' played night an' day last winter if any one would have played with 'im. You will surely be all right in his eyes when he wakes an' I tell 'im the news."

"You had better be careful," Martin laughed. "Nance might not be able to do anything else if Dad gets hold of her. I might lose my housekeeper."

"Ye're bound to lose her sooner or later, anyway," and Tom winked at Nance, as he drew forth his pipe and tobacco from his pocket.

At these words Martin's face darkened, and he straightened himself up with a sudden jerk. His lips moved as if he were about to speak, but not a sound did he utter. He looked Tom full in the face for a few seconds, and then turning walked towards the door. He paused upon the threshold, and glanced around upon the prospector.

"You look after him until I return," and he motioned towards Dad. "I brought down a sheep this morning, but left its carcass up the valley in order to bring in the old man."

"Let me go," Tom hastened to reply. "It isn't fair that you should do all the work."

"No, thank you, I shall go myself. You wouldn't know where to find it." With that he was off, leaving Tom much puzzled over his peculiar manner.

The prospector seated himself upon a stool, and deliberately filled his pipe. When it was lighted and drawing to his satisfaction, he turned toward Nance, who was putting away the dishes she had just wiped.

"Yer father seems worried over something," he began. "I wonder what is the matter."

Nance paused in her work and looked intently upon the old prospector's honest, rugged face. She, too, had noticed Martin's strange behaviour of late, and she longed to unburden her mind to some one. She felt that in Tom she would have a sympathetic listener, and that he would keep her confidence as a sacred trust. She, accordingly, left her work and sat down upon a bench at the side of the table.

"My father," she began, "has only acted in this strange manner since you arrived. He was never like that before. Did you notice how he left so suddenly last night, and when he came back he didn't talk at all?"

"I did; I certainly did, Miss," Tom assented. "Some words which my pardner let drop seemed to upset 'im completely. I wonder—I wonder," he mused, half to himself, "if he is afraid of Dick. It may be that. He's mighty taken with you, Miss, is Dick, an' it might be that yer father fears that he'll lose ye."

A flush suffused Nance's cheeks, and her eyes dropped. Was this, then, the reason of her father's strange actions? she asked herself.

"When d'ye expect to leave, Miss?" Tom suddenly queried.

"Leave!" Nance gave a little startled laugh. "I cannot tell now when we shall leave."

"An' d'ye expect to come back some day?"

"It is hardly likely. This place will be too busy for my father. He would never return, I feel quite sure of that."

"Have ye really lived up here all yer life, Miss?"

"Yes, all my life. My father and mother were drowned on the Mackenzie River when I was a little child, and so——"

"What's that ye tell me?" Tom interrupted in astonishment. "Isn't Martin yer father, then?"

"Oh, no. He happened along with several other men, and took me from the Indians, who would have kept me, and brought me to this place."

"Good Lord!" broke from the prospector's lips. "But go on, Miss."

"There's nothing more to tell except that we've lived here ever since."

"But what in the world kept yer father—I mean Martin—in sich a place as this? Didn't he ever tell ye?"

"No. I haven't the least idea. I have often thought about it, but father never told me."

"Well, I declare!" and Tom scratched his head in perplexity. "But what is his other name besides Martin?"

"It's Rutland," Nance replied, "and he lived, so he told me, somewhere back in Eastern Canada before he came here. That is all I know."

Tom sat for some time lost in deep thought, while Nance went back to her work. "Martin Rutland," he mused; "where have I heard that name before?" Presently he came straight to his feet, while an exclamation escaped his lips.

"Pardon me, Miss," he explained to Nance, who had looked around in surprise. "It is nothing. I take strange kinks sometimes, which make me yelp. I'll jist stroll outside a bit an' work it off."

Once in the open he paced up and down before the door. There came to him now through the mist of twenty years the vision of an open grave, where his Nell was lying, and a young clergyman was reading the Burial Service. The man had come from a neighbouring parish, as his own rector was ill. Tom had heard his name then, and remembered it because of later events. Yes, the man's name was Martin Rutland. He had read how he had been deposed by his bishop for a serious offence. The newspapers had made much of the trouble at the time. Could it be possible that this was the same man?

Tom paused in his rapid walk, and looked out over the lake, although he saw neither the shimmering water nor the dark trees in the background. He beheld again the look upon Martin's face the previous evening when he learned that Dick Russell was a clergyman as well as a medical man. He recalled how he had abruptly left the building, returning later, silent and gloomy. Then, why had Martin left so early this morning, and after the reference to Nance leaving him, why had he taken himself off again as if anxious to be alone? Tom thought, too, of the books in the cabin, not of an ordinary reader, but of a scholar and a thinker. Yes, so he concluded, this must be that same outcast person who had hidden himself away in the wilderness all of these years.

There then came into his mind the thought of the beautiful young woman in the house. It was quite evident that she knew nothing about the past life of the man she had been in the habit of calling "father." What a terrible blow it would be to her if she ever heard the truth. Anyway, she should not hear it from him, Tom made up his mind to that. There was the slight chance, of course, that there might be some mistake, and that it was only a coincidence of names. He determined, nevertheless, to keep his eyes and ears open and try to find out what he could.

"If it's true," he mused, "I must stand by the lassie. There'll be many only too glad of an opportunity of casting the story at her and causing her trouble. No, not a soul shall ever hear of it from my lips."

HEART THRUSTS

That evening a little group gathered before the open fire, for the nights were still cool. Martin was in better spirits, and talked freely with the old prospector, to whom he had taken a great liking. Dad Seddon was sitting close to Nance, gazing upon the bright flames as they licked around the large chunks of wood and then curled up the chimney. The sleep had much refreshed the old man, although he was still quite weak from his hard experience since leaving Rapid City.

Tom was in fine fettle. The little circle pleased him greatly, and at times he cast admiring glances toward Nance, who was busy with her needle. He had been thinking deeply over what he had heard that day about Martin, and he was anxious to know for certain if he were the same man who had buried his Nell years ago. He had tried in vain to find some resemblance between this long-bearded, rugged frontiersman and the trim young man who had stood before him on that saddest day of his whole life. "It cannot surely be the same," he thought, as he turned his eyes occasionally toward Martin, who was puffing away at his pipe. "And yet," he mused, "years make a great difference in a man's appearance."

"How are ye feelin' now, Dad?" he suddenly asked, turning to the old trapper.

"Better, Tom," was the brief quiet reply.

"That's good. A game of chess would put ye right on yer pins, eh?"

"Sure thing!" and Dad's eyes brightened at the mention of his favourite game.

"Ah, I thought that would bring ye out of yer dumps," and Tom's hearty laugh rang out. "But ye needn't think that I'm goin' to keep my nose down over any chess-board to-night, not a bit of it."

"No?" and the old man looked his disappointment.

"How d'ye expect to git a board an' men out here?" Tom queried.

"Sure. I never thought of that," Dad sadly replied.

"Don't tease Mr. Seddon," Nance laughed. "Would you like to have a game with me?" and she turned to the man at her side as she spoke.

"What! Can you play, Miss?" There was a pathetic eagerness in Dad's eyes as he riveted them upon the young woman's face.

In reply Nance rose, and going to a shelf brought down a chess-board and a small box containing the various pieces. Dad was delighted as he took the latter in his hands and examined them with a critical eye.

"Did you make these?" he asked, turning to Martin.

"Yes," was the reply, "and many a fine game we've had with them during the long winter evenings, though we haven't played much of late."

Nance had now drawn up a small table, and soon she and Dad were deeply engaged in the royal game. Tom watched them with much satisfaction, and gave vent to several chuckles of delight when he found that Nance was a match for the trapper.

"Ha, that was a fine move!" he exclaimed, while Nance laughed with glee as Dad scratched his head and endeavoured to extricate himself from the clever trap into which his fair opponent had led him. "I'm glad that Dad has met his equal at last," Tom continued, "fer he always beat me without mercy. The first time I ever saw chess played," and he now addressed his remarks to Martin, "was away back in Eastern Canada. Old Parson Dowden, who was rector fer forty years of Glendale, the parish in which I was born, didn't have an equal at the game as fer as I know. Why, he'd go without his meals any time to play chess."

At these words, and especially at the mention of "Dowden" and "Glendale," Martin gave a distinct start, took the pipe from his mouth and looked keenly at Tom. But the latter seemed as though he did not notice Martin's surprise. He bent over, lighted a splinter of wood at the fire, and applied it to his pipe.

"Yes," he continued between puffs, "old Parson Dowden was a great man at chess. I remember hearin' how he licked the parson from the next parish in a wonderful game. But he was a young man, an' hadn't the experience of Parson Dowden."

The fingers of Martin's right hand clutched the pipe with a firm grip. His eyes, staring and big, were fixed upon the prospector's face. Surprise, mingled with consternation, was depicted upon his countenance. But Tom did not seem to notice anything unusual, and Nance was too intent upon the game to heed anything else.

"I only saw that young parson from the adjoinin' parish but once," Tom went on after a pause, in which he seemed to be meditating. "It was when he buried my Nell. But, poor chap, I heard that he got into trouble, was put out of the Church, an' so left the parish to parts unknown. 'Twas a great blow to his friends an' relatives, so I understand."

Tom ceased his narration, casually blew a cloud of smoke into the air, and shot one lightning glance toward Martin. Any doubt as to the identity of the man before him was now removed. The strained, haggard expression upon Martin's face plainly told of the agony within. He sat very still, although he often looked anxiously and keenly into Tom's face as if wondering how much he knew, and if he had any idea that the man sitting before him was the same who had buried his Nell. But the prospector's manner as he watched the game led him to believe that he had not the slightest suspicion. Although this was somewhat of a relief to Martin, yet he began to feel uneasy in Tom's presence. He longed to hear more about his old parish, and he knew that Tom could supply him with the information. Several times his lips moved ere he could sufficiently control himself to speak.

"You've been away from Eastern Canada for some time, I suppose," he at length remarked in an attempted off-handed manner.

"Yes, nigh on to twenty years," was the reply.

"Many changes must have taken place in your home parish during that time."

"Yes, many," and Tom gazed thoughtfully into the fire. "I kept in touch with it fer years, but I haven't heard any news fer a long time now. I guess people have fergotten all about me an' my Nell. It's wonderful how soon people will fergit except one thing."

"And what is that?" Martin queried.

"Oh, anything bad about a person. Now take the case of that young parson from Glendale fer instance. I don't believe they've fergotten about it yit, at least they hadn't the last time I heard from home."

"Oh, you don't think so?" came involuntarily from Martin's lips, which Tom was not slow to notice.

"No, not a bit of it. I understand that what he did almost ruined the Church there, and the man who followed him had a tough time of it."

"Oh!"

"Yes, numbers of people lost all faith in parsons, while others, though they did not exactly leave the Church, looked with suspicion upon the new man, as if wonderin' what capers he'd cut up."

"You don't say so!"

"But there were some who took the trouble harder than all the rest," Tom continued. "The young parson's fall broke his parents' hearts, an' they both died the next year."

"My God!"

This unusual exclamation caused Nance to look up, startled, from the game. But Martin did not notice her. He was standing erect now, with clenched hands, looking straight before him. Quickly recovering himself, he sat down again.

"It's nothing," he said. "I was overcome at the story of that wretch who killed his parents. Go on, please."

And once more Tom stabbed to the quick.

"I heard that there was a young woman, I jist fergit her name, who took on very hard. It nearly broke her heart at what the parson did. She was a fine singer, too, so I understand. She was sick fer a long time. When she got well she left Glendale, an' I heard later that she became a trained nurse. She was very beautiful. I know that, fer I saw her once myself. She was very much in love with the young parson, so I heard, an' she had her weddin' dress all made. They were to have been married the next summer. It was all very sad."

Tom knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and sat watching the dying embers before him. Martin remained in his chair with his head bent forward, the very embodiment of despair. Occasionally Tom glanced toward him, and his heart smote him with compunction for having caused the man such agony of soul.

Nance wondered more than usual at the expression upon her father's face as she stooped to give him the customary good-night kiss. She noticed that he took both of her hands in his and held them longer than was his wont. She knew that something was troubling his mind, and her heart was very heavy as she went to her room.

During the following days Martin's mind was much disturbed. The news he had heard about his parents caused him intense remorse. He thought of them by day, and would often start up in the dead of night thinking that they were standing by his side. He pictured over and over again their sorrow as they sat alone at night in the old farmhouse, mourning over their wayward son. He recalled the last time he had seen them and how proudly they had looked into his face. Never before did he fully realise what his sin had meant to them. But now it all swept upon him with a maddening intensity. Often a lump would rise in his throat, and tears roll down his cheeks as that night when he had last seen his parents rose before him. Once out on the hills he had buried his face in his hands and sobbed like a child. Only the trees, flowers, and birds witnessed his grief, and they would not divulge the secret.

Although Martin was fond of the old prospector, yet he felt somewhat uneasy in his presence. Several times he found Tom watching him with a wondering expression in his eyes. He was, accordingly, glad when Tom left with Dad for the diggings up the Quaska. But he knew that he would return in a few days, and his peace of mind would once more be disturbed.

One beautiful evening Martin and Nance were seated at the supper table. The ice had run out of the lake and the river over a week ago. The air was balmy, and the days long and fine. Nance had been unusually quiet of late. She was wondering when Dick would return, and if he would be really the same as when he went away. She had thought over and over again every word he had uttered. The chair on which he had sat the last night he was in the cabin she had carefully kept in the same place. "It will be there for him when he comes back," she had whispered to herself.

Hers was the supreme joy of pure first love, and her heart was light and happy. Dick Russell's strong, manly form rose before her. She saw the twinkle in his light-blue eyes, the frank open face, and the erect poise of his head. To her he was a hero, a knight such as she had read about in a book upon the shelf. She was thinking of him as she now sat at the head of the table on this fine evening.

"It will soon be time for us to be packing up, Nance."

The words startled her, and she lifted her eyes quickly to Martin's face.

"Yes," the latter continued, "we must be over to the Mackenzie in time to catch the steamer on its return from the North."

"Oh!" It was all that Nance could utter, but it caused Martin to study her face very carefully.

"Don't you want to go, little one?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Do you really want to go, daddy?" she returned.

"We can't stay here, Nance, that's certain. I could not live with such a crowd swarming around us. There would no longer be any charm for me here."

"But there would be no quietness outside, daddy."

"That's different, quite different."

Nance lowered her eyes and toyed for some time with her cup. Martin watched her anxiously. He knew as well as if she had told him why she did not wish to leave the country now. But he must get her away forever from the influence of the young usurper, who would undoubtedly return.

Although Nance was very quiet, a great struggle, nevertheless, was taking place within her breast. She wished to stay, to see Dick again. But her duty must be to Martin first. He it was who had done so much for her, and her love for him was deep and sincere. How could she see him stay if his heart was set upon leaving the place? Rising from the table, she threw her arms about Martin's neck.

"Daddy," and her face came close to his as she spoke, "I will go with you whenever the time comes. You are all I have in the world who really loves me, so why should I care to remain here?"

Martin caught her hand in his, drew down her face, and kissed her. Tears came into his eyes, and when he tried to speak he found it difficult to form the words. He rose abruptly to his feet, and dashed his hand across his eyes.

"There, there, little one," and a smile such as Nance had never seen illumined his face. "I know you love me, and it makes me happy. It will be hard for you to leave, but——"

At that instant a hoarse, raucous sound fell upon their ears with a startling intensity. They looked at each other, and then hurried to the door, opened it, and stepped outside.

THE ROYAL BOUNTY

The Northern Packet, the little flat-bottom, stern-wheel steamer, had made a notable trip up the Heena River. She was the first that had ever ploughed the waters of this crooked stream. Every foot of the way she had to contend with the swift current, and there was constant danger from sandbars, which, like long fingers, were thrust out below the surface. No pilot had hitherto navigated that river, and great care had to be exercised.

Thus for several days the steamer nosed her way into the wilderness. Her incessant wheezing and puffing startled the wary denizens of the region. Rabbits scurried away in affright; foxes hurried off under cover; moose, grazing in wild meadows, lifted their great heads, stared for an instant at the strange monster on the river, snorted, and with long, swinging strides sought refuge among the tall trees.

But the Northern Packet was well accustomed to startling the creatures of the wilderness. She had been doing it on her long, tedious run of over two thousand miles up the mighty Yukon River. It was not the first time that she had done so, either. Hers were the first blasts which had awakened the silence of the land for several years past. She had made it a point to be the first steamer to contend with running ice, and other dangers of that northern stream, to carry supplies to lone miners and prospectors encamped along the banks. No sound was so welcome to the weary watchers as her hoarse whistle, and no sight so dear to straining eyes as her scarred prow breasting the racing stream.

But never before had the Northern Packet started upon such an uncertain venture as the run up the Heena to the Klutana Lake. Neither had she ever carried such a throng of excited and anxious men as those which now crowded her almost to overflowing. Word of the new strike had drifted down the Yukon, and by the time the steamer reached Rapid City it looked as if she could carry no more. But in some mysterious manner room was made. There was no limit set by stern authority as to the number of passengers she should carry. It was simply climb on board and room would be made somehow. All the freight which had been consigned for points farther down river was still on board, and this took up considerable space on the lower deck. But wherever there was a nook some one was stowed, and at night those who could not curl themselves up on the floor were forced to stand and wait their turn. But notwithstanding the inconveniences a remarkable spirit of harmony prevailed. Those who had already staked their claims were looking eagerly forward to large cleanups, while those who had never been up the river before were greatly encouraged by the reports they heard of the richness of the land.

Dick Russell was as anxious as any of the men on the steamer to reach Lake Klutana. It was not the gold he craved to see, but the young woman whose face was enshrined in his heart. He was somewhat worried for her sake. He feared the crowd of men thronging the boat. Some of them, he knew, were Nature's gentlemen, but there were others who could not be trusted. He believed that it would be necessary to keep a strict watch upon "The Twins." That they had some mischief in their minds he was quite certain, and it was only natural that he should think of Nance. As for the newcomers, who came from the lower river, he knew very little about them. He had overheard some of them talking, however, and the stories they had told filled him with apprehension. He was determined, at any rate, to put Nance on her guard against such men, and to protect her from any injury.

He was standing on deck, well forward, when the Northern Packet steamed out of the Heena into Lake Klutana. Eagerly he strained his eyes for the first glimpse of the little cabin nestling on the bank among the trees. When the loud, coarse blasts of the whistle rent the air he saw the Indians running to the shore in amazement. Then as the steamer swept forward Martin's house appeared to view, and in a few minutes he was able to see two figures standing in the doorway.

There was much excitement on board as the steamer slowed down, drifted slowly into shore, and her bow ran gently upon the sand and gravel right in front of Martin's house. Then ensued a wild scramble for the shore, but Dick was the first to land, and without waiting an instant he ran swiftly up the slope straight toward Nance. The expression upon the latter's face was one of supreme joy as she held out her hands to the young man.

"My! it's good to be back," Dick panted, as he took her hand in his. "How are you, sir?" and he turned to Martin.

"Well, very well," was the somewhat reluctant reply. Martin then relapsed into silence, and stood watching the miners scrambling off the steamer.

But various conflicting emotions were disturbing Martin's heart. He longed to turn upon the visitor and drive him away from the place. The look of happiness in Nance's eyes, however, deterred him from action. How could he bring sorrow to her who was dearer to him than life itself?

He was standing thus uncertain what to do, when a cry of pain down by the shore caused the three to turn quickly in the direction from whence the sound came. There was excitement there, and the men were gathered around some object, and were talking in a most excited manner.

Fearing that something was seriously the matter, Dick left Nance, and hurried at once to the spot.

"What's wrong?" he asked of those standing on the outskirts of the crowd.

"Pete Larsen's hurt," was the reply. "In jumping from the boat his foot caught, and he came down hard on the ground."

Dick at once pushed his way through the crowd, and those gathered about the unfortunate man fell back a little as he approached.

"It's his leg," Dick explained, after he had made a brief examination. "I'm afraid it's broken. We must get him away from here as soon as possible."

"Put him back on the steamer," was the suggestion of several. "He can go down to the mission station. They'll look after him there better than we can."

"No, no!" moaned the injured man. "For God's sake, let me stay! I must stake my claim."

"Guess he'll have to stay," spoke up the captain of the Packet. "We couldn't do anything with him on board. He needs attention at once, and more than we can give him."

"You are right," Dick replied. "He must remain here. We'll look after you, Pete, so don't worry."

By this time Martin had joined the crowd, and was listening to the conversation.

"Bring him up to my house," he quietly remarked. "We'll take care of him as well as we can."

At these words the miners turned and looked upon the speaker. They were surprised at his sudden appearance in their midst, and several questioned one another as to where he had come from.

Dick at once motioned to the men standing near, who lifted Pete in their arms and carried him as gently as they could up the slope to Martin's house, and laid him upon the cot within the building.

"It is a pity that we are giving you so much trouble," Dick apologised, as Nance met him at the door. "We are certainly making a hospital out of your house."

"We do not mind," was the reply. "It is so nice to be able to help people in trouble."

"I am afraid there may be more who will need assistance," and the young man turned his face sadly toward the lake. "Among all that crowd there's something sure to be happening every day."

Martin stood near at hand and watched Dick as he reset the broken leg and put it in splints. He could not help admiring the skilful way in which everything was done. As he looked upon the stricken man lying before him he was thankful for the first time that Dick Russell was present. If he were simply a medical man and not a missionary, Martin would have been delighted. He thought of the days years ago when, in his old parish in Eastern Canada, he had longed to be a doctor as well as a clergyman. There had been several outlying places where the people were very poor. What a comfort it would have been to them, and what an assistance to him in his work, could he have attended to their bodily wants. And now this young man was doing what he had desired to do, and was unable through lack of training.

A sudden revulsion of feeling came over Martin as he watched Dick doing so much for the stricken miner. Here was this man, young in years, doing an unselfish work, while he himself was useless. The missionary had given up home and the comforts of civilisation, and was living in the wilderness, not for the sake of gold, but to help others. And what was he himself doing? He had disgraced his calling; his Church had cast him out, and he in turn had repudiated her. He had thought that it would be an easy thing to free himself from her influence. But here, right in the region where he believed that he would be safe from all interference, and in his own cabin at that, stood a clergyman of the Church which had cast him out forever.

Then for the first time since he had been deposed came the feeling of his own selfishness. What had he really accomplished during his long sojourn in the wilderness? A longing suddenly rose in his heart to take up the work he had abandoned so many years before. He recalled the high ideals which had animated his soul when he took charge of his first and only parish. They were just as lofty and noble, he believed, as those of the young man now standing before him.

After the injured man was resting as comfortably as could be expected, Martin, Nance, and Dick sat for a while outside the door. The evening was balmy and the air delightful. The Northern Packet had moved away, and was lying close to the shore just across the mouth of the Quaska. Dick related his experiences on the steamer, and told in a humorous way the inconveniences the passengers endured. Martin had very little to say for some time. He leaned back against the house, smoking and listening intently. Nance was very happy. Often she turned her eyes full upon Dick's face, and at times her joyous laugh rippled forth at some droll story.

The sun had just swung low behind a tall mountain peak and heavy shadows were lying athwart the calm surface of the lake. The only sounds which disturbed the peaceful scene came from the men unloading the steamer. Martin gazed over the water and far beyond the black forest. His pipe was clutched in his right hand, and he had the appearance of a man oblivious as to his surroundings. Presently he shifted a little on the bench and glanced at Dick. The latter was sitting near Nance, silent, and watching with her the operations going on across the river. Martin beheld the thoughtful young faces aglow with a light which was more than the reflection of the departing sun.

"What led you to come into this country?" Martin quietly asked, turning toward Dick.

The latter gave a slight start, as if aroused from a dream, and looked searchingly into his inquirer's face.

"It was the Royal Bounty which did it," was the slow reply.

"The Royal Bounty! I don't understand."

"No, it is not likely that you should. It is all very simple and beautiful to me, however."

"Go on," Martin commanded, as Dick paused, and looked once more out over the water.

"Would you really like to hear my little story which I have never told to any one before?"

"Certainly. That is, if you don't mind."

"No, not at all. But I should not like to tell it to every one. Few there are in the world, it seems to me, who would understand. It was all through a sermon about the Royal Bounty which I heard years ago from the lips of a dear old clergyman. He spoke about King Solomon giving to the Queen of Sheba all the things she asked for, and then he added of his own free will of his Royal Bounty. I cannot remember now all that he said, but the sermon made a very strong impression upon my heart and mind. Several thoughts, however, I can never forget. He showed how God is always giving us of His Royal Bounty, that is, blessings over and above what we actually need. The earth, for instance, might have been made all stony, but He added flowers to give us joy. Birds are not absolutely necessary. He could have made the seasons, the sun, fields, and forests. But He gave of His Royal Bounty, and added the birds to change the silence into song. He also showed that Christ could have gone through life working at His tasks like other men. But He was not content to do that alone. He was ever going about doing good. He threw in, so to speak, the Royal Bounty, that is, blessings which were not expected.

"I was somewhat unsettled in my mind at the time I heard that sermon, and it started me thinking along new lines. I had open before me a business career, with every opportunity for great success. But that sermon changed my mind completely. I desired to become more than a mere successful business machine. Life took on a new aspect. I wished to do something that would bring the greatest joy to others. With this object in view I entered college to study for the Ministry, and in due time took my degree. I was not satisfied with this, however, and longed to be better fitted for my life's work. With my father's permission I entered McGill University, and studied medicine. When I was through there I was ordained. This was a great day for me, and yet I was not altogether satisfied. A comfortable parish I could have entered at once, and carried on the work for which I had been prepared. But I wished to do more, something which was not expected of me, such as caring for the bodies as well as for the souls of those among whom I laboured. I have always believed that the two should go together, and am now more convinced of it than ever."

"Quite true, quite true," Martin interposed. "But how did you happen to come into such a region as this, when you might have done such a good work outside?"

"I am coming to that," Dick replied. "It, as well, was all due to the Royal Bounty idea. You see, this caused me to enter the Ministry and to study medicine that I might make the most of life and do as much good as possible. I, accordingly, looked around for a field in which to begin my work. Everywhere I found earnest clergymen and doctors devoting themselves to the souls and bodies of people in their various parishes, so my service of a dual nature was not required. One night I heard an address by a missionary who had been working for years in the northland. He appealed for men, and impressed me so strongly that I at once responded. That was five years ago, and I have been up here ever since."

"And you have never regretted the step?" Martin queried.

"No, not for a single moment. Whether I have done any good or dispensed the Royal Bounty is not for me to judge. But in living among men on the ragged edge of civilisation and trying to help them body and soul has given me great happiness. I would not exchange my lot for the most favoured being on earth."

There was a long silence when Dick ended his story. He sat quietly by Nance's side, and compared the past with the present. He had fondly believed that his life was full to overflowing. But now what a difference. There was added a new happiness, a love such as he had never experienced before.

Martin, too, was silent. Thoughts, too deep for words, were passing through his mind. In his heart as well as in Dick's a new life had arisen, although of a far different nature.

BEGINNINGS

Morning dawned clear and fresh. The sun was abroad early, and the filmy mist hovering over the lake soon vanished before the hot rays. The gold-seekers on the shore were astir at break of day. Some, in fact, had been busy all night selecting suitable sites and pitching their tents. The steamer was nearly unloaded, and the captain was anxious to hurry down the river as speedily as possible to return with another cargo before the summer was over.

The miners had chosen this spot for their encampment because it was on the side of the Quaska River where the gold had been discovered. They would thus not have to cross the stream, but simply follow the trail to the diggings. They wished to settle near the lake so that the steamers could land their goods right at their doors, otherwise it would be difficult to take the whole of their supplies up river. They could easily pack what they would need for several days, and could always come back to the lake for more.

Dick stood in the door of Martin's house watching the animated scene across the river. Not a ripple stirred the surface of the lake, and the dark trees and the towering mountains were reflected in the clear, deep water. It appealed to his poetic nature. He had beheld many grand sights since coming north, but this was the most beautiful and majestic upon which he had ever gazed. "What grandeur," he mused, "and to think that she has been living here in the midst of it all for years, far away from the tumult of the world."

A step at his side caused him to turn, and his eyes rested upon the object of his thoughts.

"Isn't it beautiful," Nance remarked in response to Dick's greeting. "I love the lake, mountains, and trees. I have looked upon them ever since I was a child, and they are very near to my heart."

"How fortunate they are," the young man murmured, gazing with admiration upon her bright face.

"Oh, they know nothing about it," Nance laughed. "It is an all one-sided love, you see."

"I wish that I could change places with them for a while. I wonder if your feelings would be the same then."

A deep flush suffused Nance's cheeks at these words, and her eyes dropped for an instant. Dick noticed her embarrassment, and he was afraid lest he had offended her.

"Pardon me," he hastened to explain. "I fear that I have said too much. I allowed my heart to overcome my head, or, in other words, I made a fool of myself."

"You didn't offend me," Nance shyly replied. "I was thinking how funny it would be if you took the place of the mountains, trees, and lake."

"And why?" Dick questioned.

"Because you would have such a hard time of it. You have only seen them in peace and sunshine. If you could look upon them as I have, when a fierce storm is raging over the land, you would not envy them then. But I love them just the same. I like to hear the wind roaring down the valley, to see the trees shake and bend, and the water of the lake lashed into foam. Oh, it is grand!"

Dick looked with amazement into the face of the young woman at his side. He saw it transformed. Her cheeks were aglow, and her eyes were very bright as she gazed far off into space and beheld the scene she so vividly described. He knew that it was no ordinary woman that uttered such words. Though naturally quiet and reserved, there were within her soul great depths of thought. She was in harmony with her surroundings, and her rich blood pulsated to the tunes of the moods of the wilderness. All this appealed strongly to Dick. To him she was the most beautiful and yet mysterious woman he had ever met. Everything she said and did was so natural. There was nothing artificial or unreal about her. To her the veneer of polite social life was unknown.

As these thoughts passed through Dick's mind Martin suddenly appeared, hurrying along the trail from the forest. His rifle was over his shoulder, and he carried in his hand several grouse he had recently shot. With a cry of joy Nance sprang to meet him, and Martin's face brightened as she drew near. Taking the grouse from his hand, she walked by his side.

"Where have you been, daddy?" she asked. "We have been waiting breakfast for you."

"I am sorry, Nance, that I have kept you waiting," was the reply. "But I have been out on the hills for several hours. And how is Pete?" was his greeting to Dick as he reached the door.

"Doing as well as can be expected. He has had a fairly good night."

During breakfast Martin had very little to say, and Dick observed him as carefully as he could without arousing any suspicion. He noted that his host seemed ill at ease, that his face was drawn and haggard, and that his eyes were big and staring. He seemed like a man who had been awake all night, and whose thoughts were troubling him. He wondered if Nance saw anything amiss with her father. He longed to speak to her, but had no opportunity just then. When the meal was over Dick tended to the wants of the injured man lying on the cot, and then made ready to leave the house.

"May I have the use of your canoe, sir?" he asked, turning to Martin.

"Certainly, certainly," was the jerky reply, and Dick wondered more than ever.

He thought much concerning the man's strange appearance as he paddled swiftly across to the encampment on the opposite shore. Here he found confusion and excitement. Men were busy unloading the steamer, and the miners were searching for their goods among the piles of stuff thrown out upon the bank. With difficulty Dick rescued his own meagre outfit, and carried it to a secure place. Opening one of the bundles, he lifted out a small leather writing-case, from which he took a sheet of paper and an envelope. Seating himself upon his rolled-up tent, he began to write. This letter was the outcome of many thoughts which had been surging through his mind for days past. Several times while on the river he had been upon the point of doing this, but had always put it off until a more favourable opportunity. The accident which had happened to Pete, and the fact that the steamer was soon to depart, made any further delay unavoidable. He knew that help would be needed if he were to accomplish any definite work among the miners. There was only one place to which he could turn, and if he neglected to send a message now it might be too late when the next steamer arrived.

When he had finished the letter he went on board the Northern Packet and gave it to the captain, with strict instructions to deliver it at the mission station of The Good Samaritan down river.

Hurrying ashore, he started to work at once upon his tent. The place he chose for his abode was a snug spot near several large jack-pines. It took him most of the morning to complete the task of erecting his tent, and when at last all was finished he stood and looked upon his handiwork with much satisfaction. The tent shone white beneath the sun, and not a wrinkle marred the smoothness of the well-stretched canvas.

While Dick had been thus busy at work dozens of men around him were also erecting their humble, flimsy abodes. A row of tents had been stretched along the water front, several yards back from the shore of the lake. Higher up on the shelving bank others were placed, while a street ran between. On all sides pounding and shouting continued throughout the day. Men were constantly moving about, all hustling as fast as they could in order to get through with their work as speedily as possible. It was the rude beginning of a frontier mining camp, which would develop later into a town of wooden houses of considerable importance.

One tent much larger than any of the rest was being erected right in the centre of the encampment. Dick watched this with more than ordinary interest. The men who were doing the work had come up from the lower river and were strangers to him, although he had seen them on the steamer. He had not liked their appearance when first he saw them, and they impressed him now more unfavourably than ever. There were three of them, rough and foul-mouthed. At first he had partly suspected the object of their visit into the country. Now he was certain that they were not miners, but liquor dealers, and the tent they were erecting was to be the saloon. Several cases piled together contained whiskey, he was quite sure, and when these were opened he well knew what the result would be. There was no one in authority to keep law and order, and he shuddered as he thought of the wild scenes which would ensue when the whiskey began to be circulated among the miners.

He naturally thought of Nance, and his face grew grave as he realised the danger to which she would be constantly exposed. What regard would drink-inflamed men have for the purity and the honour of the beautiful woman across the river? he asked himself over and over again. Already, no doubt, they knew of her presence in the little cabin. When sober they might not interfere with her, but when mad with the demon of whiskey there was no telling what they might do. There were several men in the camp he could trust, especially Tom and Dad. But what could a few do against so many?

The presence of Sam Pelchie and Dave Purvis disturbed him. They had put up their miserable little tents, and were now loitering around, always together. Several times Dick saw them engaged in earnest conversation and casting furtive glances at the cabin across the Quaska. He suspected these men, and firmly believed that they had some sinister motive in their minds. "Could it be of Nance they were talking?" he mused. "Had they heard of her down at Rapid City, and were their veiled remarks in reference to her when they had spoken about Martin?" The more he thought of these things, the more uneasy he became. Just what to do he did not know, but he was determined to be on his guard, and keep as sharp a watch as possible over the movements of the two men.

During the rest of the day Dick made himself useful in helping his neighbours. The men who had lived all winter at Rapid City were not in the least surprised at the assistance he gave, for they knew him of old. But the newcomers were much astonished, and all agreed that the young "parson chap was a real sort of a man after all."

That evening Dick crossed the river to see Nance and his patient. He found the former seated by Martin in front of the house, for the evening was very mild. She greeted the visitor with a smile as he sat down upon the bench at her side. Martin had very little to say, and while he puffed at his pipe the young people talked about the miners over the river.

Dick was full of plans which had been revolving in his mind all day. He said nothing about the saloon nor his suspicions as to what the miners might do when inflamed with whiskey. He did not wish to alarm Nance, and if necessary he would speak to Martin privately. His face became animated as he told about the church he hoped to build and the hospital tent he expected would be sent up from the mission station down river. "I believe they can spare it," he added, "for the missionary in charge told me that he had one he could let me have if ever I wanted it."

"So you think there will be need of a hospital, then?" Martin remarked.

"Certainly. We can't tell how soon several of those chaps may get knocked out and will need attention. It has been the way in other large mining camps, and this one is not likely to be an exception."

"Will you be able to care for them yourself?" Martin inquired. "It will be quite an undertaking, will it not?"

"I have considered that matter very carefully and believe there will be no trouble. I have written to the mission station down river, asking for a trained nurse. I think they can spare one. As soon as the tent comes I shall be able to hold services in it until we get a church built."

"What do you mean by a church?" Nance simply asked.

Dick gave a start, and looked at her in surprise.

"What!" he demanded, "didn't you ever hear of a church?"

"Only in books, but I could never understand what the word meant. I suppose it is one of those wonderful things that people have in the great outside world."

Dick now looked at Martin as if expecting him to speak. But the latter was gazing far off over the lake, to all appearance seeing and hearing nothing around him. His pipe was clutched firmly in his right hand. He was sitting very straight, with body tense and rigid. At length he arose abruptly to his feet.

"Nance doesn't know," and he turned to the young man as he spoke. "Tell her if you like. I shall be back presently."

When he returned about an hour later he found the young couple sitting where he had left them. He was quick to note the expression of happiness upon their faces. They had eyes only for each other, and they could not read the writing upon the countenance of the man who slowly approached, and sank down wearily upon the seat he had vacated. They little realised that while they were engaged in such a pleasant conversation Martin had been wrestling hard with his own heart as he paced to and fro along the margin of the lake. It was not for them to know of the forces which had risen in his soul, and which at times had almost gained the mastery. It was not easy to break the cords which had bound him for years. He had taken such a grim joy in his spirit of rebellion, and the proud resolve that he would have nothing more to do with the Church which had cast him out. And yet in the presence of the missionary old longings returned which he had imagined were dead and buried forever. He comprehended now more than ever how true were the bishop's words. He had believed that the influence of the Church was merely external. But now he knew that it was within him, and that wherever he went he carried with him the teachings he had received. He understood that the truths which had been engrained into his very being were much like seeds. They might lie dormant for years, and to all outward appearance dead. But the life was within them still, and through proper environment of soil, air, and sunshine they would spring forth into vigorous growth.

"Oh, daddy," was Nance's greeting. "I have heard such wonderful things. You never told me about the Church. But," and here her voice lowered, "Dick has been telling me so much."

"Has he?" Martin replied, and again lapsed into silence.

The missionary remained for some time after Martin returned, relating to Nance many things of which she knew nothing. To all this she listened with rapt attention. What she heard was all so wonderful to her, and Dick was so enthusiastic that it was almost impossible not to be affected by his spirit. It was late when at length he arose, and looked in at Pete. Finding him asleep he went back out of doors. Nance was standing there, but Martin had gone into the house. He stood by her side, and gazed out over the water.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he remarked.

"Yes," was the quiet reply. "But it never seemed so lovely as to-night."

"What's the reason, do you think?" Dick queried.

"Oh, I don't know, except that when I am very happy things always seem more beautiful than at other times."

As Dick watched her standing there an intense longing came over him to seize in his those well-shaped hands which were clasped before her. He forebore, however, and stood silently by her side, looking with her out over the lake. Speech was unnecessary, for love was speaking to their hearts in a language which could not be expressed in mere words.