“And ...  Emily ...?”

“Three years a widow; still a widow.”

Another long silence settled down, to be broken by Fairfax finally with a naive smile.  “I guess you’re right, Van Brunt.  I’ll go along.”

“I knew you would.”  Van Brunt laid his hand on Fairfax’s shoulder.  “Of course, one cannot know, but I imagine—­for one in her position—­she has had offers—­”

“When do you start?” Fairfax interrupted.

“After the men have had some sleep.  Which reminds me, Michael is getting angry, so come and eat.”

After supper, when the Crees and voyageurs had rolled into their blankets, snoring, the two men lingered by the dying fire.  There was much to talk about,—­wars and politics and explorations, the doings of men and the happening of things, mutual friends, marriages, deaths,—­five years of history for which Fairfax clamored.

“So the Spanish fleet was bottled up in Santiago,” Van Brunt was saying, when a young woman stepped lightly before him and stood by Fairfax’s side.  She looked swiftly into his face, then turned a troubled gaze upon Van Brunt.

“Chief Tantlatch’s daughter, sort of princess,” Fairfax explained, with an honest flush.  “One of the inducements, in short, to make me stay.  Thom, this is Van Brunt, friend of mine.”

Van Brunt held out his hand, but the woman maintained a rigid repose quite in keeping with her general appearance.  Not a line of her face softened, not a feature unbent.  She looked him straight in the eyes, her own piercing, questioning, searching.

“Precious lot she understands,” Fairfax laughed.  “Her first introduction, you know.  But as you were saying, with the Spanish fleet bottled up in Santiago?”

Thom crouched down by her husband’s side, motionless as a bronze statue, only her eyes flashing from face to face in ceaseless search.  And Avery Van Brunt, as he talked on and on, felt a nervousness under the dumb gaze.  In the midst of his most graphic battle descriptions, he would become suddenly conscious of the black eyes burning into him, and would stumble and flounder till he could catch the gait and go again.  Fairfax, hands clasped round knees, pipe out, absorbed, spurred him on when he lagged, and repictured the world he thought he had forgotten.

One hour passed, and two, and Fairfax rose reluctantly to his feet.  “And Cronje was cornered, eh?  Well, just wait a moment till I run over to Tantlatch.  He’ll be expecting you, and I’ll arrange for you to see him after breakfast.  That will be all right, won’t it?”

He went off between the pines, and Van Brunt found himself staring into Thom’s warm eyes.  Five years, he mused, and she can’t be more than twenty now.  A most remarkable creature.  Being Eskimo, she should have a little flat excuse for a nose, and lo, it is neither broad nor flat, but aquiline, with nostrils delicately and sensitively formed as any fine lady’s of a whiter breed—­the