“Ah! him come thees tam,” he whispered, after a long silence, his gaze bent up the river to the head of the island.

A canoe, with a paddle flashing on either side, was slipping down the current.  In the stern a man’s form, and in the bow a woman’s, swung rhythmically to the work.  Mrs. Sayther had no eyes for the woman till the canoe drove in closer and her bizarre beauty peremptorily demanded notice.  A close-fitting blouse of moose-skin, fantastically beaded, outlined faithfully the well-rounded lines of her body, while a silken kerchief, gay of color and picturesquely draped, partly covered great masses of blue-black hair.  But it was the face, cast belike in copper bronze, which caught and held Mrs. Sayther’s fleeting glance.  Eyes, piercing and black and large, with a traditionary hint of obliqueness, looked forth from under clear-stencilled, clean-arching brows.  Without suggesting cadaverousness, though high-boned and prominent, the cheeks fell away and met in a mouth, thin-lipped and softly strong.  It was a face which advertised the dimmest trace of ancient Mongol blood, a reversion, after long centuries of wandering, to the parent stem.  This effect was heightened by the delicately aquiline nose with its thin trembling nostrils, and by the general air of eagle wildness which seemed to characterize not only the face but the creature herself.  She was, in fact, the Tartar type modified to idealization, and the tribe of Red Indian is lucky that breeds such a unique body once in a score of generations.

Dipping long strokes and strong, the girl, in concert with the man, suddenly whirled the tiny craft about against the current and brought it gently to the shore.  Another instant and she stood at the top of the bank, heaving up by rope, hand under hand, a quarter of fresh-killed moose.  Then the man followed her, and together, with a swift rush, they drew up the canoe.  The dogs were in a whining mass about them, and as the girl stooped among them caressingly, the man’s gaze fell upon Mrs. Sayther, who had arisen.  He looked, brushed his eyes unconsciously as though his sight were deceiving him, and looked again.

“Karen,” he said simply, coming forward and extending his hand, “I thought for the moment I was dreaming.  I went snow-blind for a time, this spring, and since then my eyes have been playing tricks with me.”

Mrs. Sayther, whose flush had deepened and whose heart was urging painfully, had been prepared for almost anything save this coolly extended hand; but she tactfully curbed herself and grasped it heartily with her own.

“You know, Dave, I threatened often to come, and I would have, too, only—­only—­”

“Only I didn’t give the word.”  David Payne laughed and watched the Indian girl disappearing into the cabin.

“Oh, I understand, Dave, and had I been in your place I’d most probably have done the same.  But I have come—­now.”