Chloe gasped.  It was the longest speech Big Lena had ever made.  And the girl learned that when the big woman chose she could speak straight from the shoulder.

Harriet Penny gasped also.  She pushed back her chair, and shook an outraged finger at Big Lena.  “Go into the kitchen where you belong!” she cried.  “I really cannot permit such language in my presence.  You are unspeakably coarse!”

Chloe whirled on the little woman like a flash.  “You shut up, Hat Penny!” she snapped savagely.  “You don’t happen to do the permitting around here.  If your ears are too delicate to listen to the truth you better go into your own room and shut the door.”  And then crossing swiftly to her own room, she opened the door, but before entering she turned to Big Lena, “Make a pot of strong coffee,” she ordered, “and bring it to me here.”

A few minutes later when the woman entered and deposited the tray containing coffee-pot, cream-pitcher, and sugar-bowl upon the table, she found Chloe striding up and down the room.  There was a new light in the girl’s eyes, and, very much to Big Lena’s surprise, she turned suddenly upon her and throwing her arms about the massive shoulders, planted a kiss squarely upon the wide, flat mouth.

“Ah, Lena,” she cried, happily, “you—­you are a dear!” And the Swedish woman, with unexpected gentleness, patted the girl’s shoulder, and as she passed out of the door smiled broadly.

For an hour Chloe paced up and down the little room.  At first she could scarcely bring herself to realize that the two men, MacNair and Lapierre, had changed places.  She remembered that in that very room she had more than once pictured that very thing.  As the conviction grew upon her, her pulse quickened.  Never before had she been so supremely—­so wildly happy.  There was a strange barbaric singing in her heart, as for the first time she saw MacNair—­the real MacNair at his true worth.  MacNair, the big man, the really great man, strong and brave, alone in the North fighting, night and day, against the snarling wolves of the world-waste.  Fighting for the good of his Indians and the right of things as they should be.

Her mind dwelt upon the fine courage and the patience of him.  She recalled the hurt look in his eyes when she ordered his arrest.  She remembered his words to the officer—­words of kindly apology for her own blind folly.  She penetrated the rough exterior, and read the real gentleness of his soul.  And then, with a shame and mortification that almost overwhelmed her, she saw herself as she must appear to him.  She recollected how she had accused him, had sneered at him, had called him a liar and a thief, a murderer, and worse.