“No.”  The man’s voice broke in sharply.  “Put that right out of your mind, child.  None of the blood shed is your doing.  None of it lies at your door.  It lies at the door of others.  It lies at the door of two men only.  The man who first set up this great mill at Sachigo, and the man whose hate of him desired its destruction.  The rest, you, those others, Bull Sternford and Harker, here, are simply the pawns in the battle which owes its inception to those things that happened years ago.  I tell you solemnly, child, no living soul but those two, and chiefly the first of the two, are to blame for the things that have happened to-day.  Set your mind easy.  No one blames you.  No one ever will blame you.  Not even the great God to whom we all have to answer.  I know the whole story of it.  It is my life to know the story of these forests.  Set your mind at rest.”

“Oh, I wish I could think so.  I wish I could believe.  I feel, I feel you are telling me this to comfort me.  But you wouldn’t just do that?”

The man shook his head.

“It’s the simple truth,” he said.  Then he reached for his tea and drank it quickly.  “But tell me.  You will never go back to the Skandinavia?  I—­am glad.  What will you do?”

“That’s why I’ve come to you now.”

The tension had eased.  Nancy’s distress gave way before the man’s strong words of comfort.  She, too, drank her tea.  Then she went on.

“You know, Father—­”

The man stirred in his chair.  It was a movement of sudden restlessness as if that appellation on her lips disturbed him.

“—­I want to—­I want to—­Oh, how can I tell you?  You are doing the thing I want to help in.  All my life I felt the time would come when I must devote myself to the service and welfare of others.  I think it’s bred in me.  My father, my real father, he, too, gave up his life to those who could not help themselves.  Well, I want to do the same in however humble fashion.  These men, these wonderful men of the forests whom you spend your life in succouring.  Can I not serve them, too?  Is there no place for me under your leadership?  Can I not go out into the forests?  I am strong.  I am strong to face anything, any hardship.  I have no fear.  The call of these forests has got right into my blood.  Don’t deny me,” she appealed.  “Don’t tell me I’m just a woman with no strength to withstand the rigours of the winter.  I couldn’t stand that.  I have the strength, and I have the will.  Can you?  Will you help me?”

The girl’s appeal was spoken with all the ardour of youthful passion.  There was no sham in it.  No hysterical impulse.  It was irresistibly real.

The man’s eyes were deeply regarding her.  But he was thinking far less of her words than of the girl herself.  Her amazing beauty, the passionate youth and strength.  The perfection of her splendid womanhood.  These things held him, and his mind travelled swiftly back over years to other scenes and other emotions.