He could not see her face fully in the gloom, and he was glad that she could not see his.

“If we can get away without fighting, we will, Joanne,” he lied.  And he knew that she would have known that he was lying if it had not been for the darkness.

“You won’t fight—­over the gold?” she asked, pressing his arm.  “Will you promise me that, John?”

“Yes, I promise that.  I swear it!” he cried, and so forcefully that she gave a glad little laugh.

“Then if they don’t find us to-morrow, we’ll go back home?” She trembled, and he knew that her heart was filled with a sudden lightness.  “And I don’t believe they will find us.  They won’t come beyond that terrible place—­and the gold!  Why should they, John?  Why should they follow us—­if we leave them everything?  Oh-h-h-h!” She shuddered, and whispered:  “I wish we had not brought the gold, John.  I wish we had left it behind!”

“What we have is worth thirty or forty thousand dollars,” he said reassuringly, as he filled his pail with water and they began to return.  “We can do a great deal of good with that.  Endowments, for instance,” he laughed.

As he spoke, they both stopped, and listened.  Plainly they heard the approaching thud of hoofs.  MacDonald had been gone nearer two hours than one, and believing that it was him, Aldous gave the owl signal.  The signal floated back to them softly.  Five minutes later MacDonald rode up and dismounted.  Until he had taken the saddle off, and had hobbled his horse, he did not speak.  Neither Joanne nor Aldous asked the question that was in their hearts.  But even in the darkness they felt something.  It was as if not only the torrent rushing through the chasm, but MacDonald’s heart as well, was charging the air with a strange and subdued excitement.  And when MacDonald spoke, that which they had felt was in his voice.

“You ain’t seen or heard anything, Johnny?”

“Nothing.  And you—­Donald?”

In the darkness, Joanne went to the old man, and her hand found one of his, and clasped it tightly; and she found that Donald MacDonald’s big hand was trembling in a strange and curious way, and she could feel him quivering.

“You found Jane?” she whispered.

“Yes, I found her, little Joanne.”

She did not let go of his hand until they entered the open space which Aldous had made in the spruce.  Then she remembered what Aldous had said to her earlier in the day, and cheerfully she lighted the two candles they had set out, and forced Aldous down first upon the ground, and then MacDonald, and began to help them to beans and meat and bannock, while all the time her heart was crying out to know about the cavern—­and Jane.  The candleglow told her a great deal, for in it Donald MacDonald’s face was very calm, and filled with a great peace, despite the trembling she had felt.  Her woman’s sympathy told her that his heart was too full on this night for speech, and when he ate but little she did not urge him to eat more; and when he rose and went silently and alone out into the darkness she held Aldous back; and when, still a little later, she went into her nest for the night, she whispered softly to him: