“And he shot from—­far to the Southward?”

“Oh!  You do not think—­you do not believe that I deliberately lied to you!  That I knew Lapierre was on Snare Lake!” The words fell from her lips with an intense eagerness that carried the ring of sincerity.  The hard look faded from the man’s eyes, and the bearded lips suggested just the shadow of a smile.

“No,” he answered weakly; “I do not think that.  But tell me, how long have I been this way?  And what has happened?  For I remember nothing—­after the world turned black.  I am surprised that Lapierre missed me.  He has the reputation for killing—­at his own range.”

“But he didn’t miss you!” cried the girl in surprise.  “It was his bullet that—­that made the world turn black.”

“Aye; but it was a miss, just the same, and a miss, I am thinking, that will cost him dear.  He should have killed me.”

“Please do not talk,” said the girl in sudden alarm, and taking the medicine from the table, held the spoon to the man’s lips.  He swallowed its contents, and was about to speak when Chloe interrupted him.  “Please do not talk,” she begged, “and I’ll tell you what happened.  There is not much to tell:  after we bound up your wounds we brought you here, where I could give you proper care.  It took three days to do this, and two days have passed since we arrived.”

“I knew I was in your——­”

Chloe flushed deeply.  “Yes, in my room,” she hastened to interrupt him; “but you must not talk.  It was the only place I knew where you could be quiet and—­and safe.”

“But, Lapierre—­why did he allow it?”

Chloe flushed.  “Allow it!  I do not take orders from Mr. Lapierre, nor from you, nor from anybody else.  This is my school; this cottage is mine; I’ll do as I please with it, and I’ll bring who I please into it without asking permission from any one.”

While she was speaking, the man’s glance strayed from her flashing eyes to the face of a tarnished, smoke-blackened portrait that showed indistinct in the dull lamplight of the little room.  Chloe’s glance followed MacNair’s, and as the little clock ticked sharply, both stared in silence into the lean, lined features of Tiger Elliston.

“Your eyes,” murmured the man—­“sometimes they are like that.”  Suddenly his voice strengthened.  He continued to gaze at the face in the dull gold frame.  With an effort he withdrew an arm from beneath the cover and pointed with a finger that trembled weakly.  “I should like to have known him,” he said.  “By God, yon is the face of a man!”

“My grandfather,” muttered the girl.

“You’ll love the North—­when you know it,” said MacNair.  “Tell me, did Lapierre advise you to bring me here?”

“No,” answered Chloe, “he did not.  He—­he said to leave you; that your Indians would care for you.”

“And my Indians—­did they not follow you?” Chloe shook her head.  Once more MacNair bent a searching glance upon the girl’s face.  “Where is Lapierre?” he asked.