“So you try to leave me, Charlie?”

“I could bear that which came between us no longer, Narcisse.  Then, I thought you liked her.”

“So you would go, because of friendship for me, Charlie?” They were walking very close to each other now.

“And why are you here, Narcisse?”

“I know you liked her, Charlie.”  The great fellow’s voice was very sweet at times.

The weather was clearing.  Through great rifts in the clouds, every few minutes, the moon poured great floods of light.

“The clouds are going away, Narcisse.”

“Dat so, Charlie.”  He looked up at the moon, which at that moment broke through the clouds again.  “And de cloud dat came between me and you has now gone away, Charlie.”

In the distance could be seen the headlight of the approaching express.

“Yes, all gone, Narcisse; we shall have the camp days over again, now.”

They were just in time to get their tickets to Manitoba and get on board.  They sat up the remainder of the night, and smoked and talked and made plans for the future.  Never once did they speak of her, although she was often in their thoughts.  In Narcisse’s pocket was a note he had received from her a few days ago, which hinted that, if he desired, he might call sometimes—­alone.  He was so afraid that Charlie some day might find this note, that he had no peace until he had torn it into numberless fragments, and when Charlie was not looking, he covertly raised the car window and saw the mad wind carry the pieces in a hundred different directions.

* * * * *

Another spring had come.  Charlie and Narcisse were sitting in a smoking-room in a small hotel in Winnipeg.  Placidly Narcisse was leaning back reading a paper that he had just got from St. John’s.  They were better dressed and looked more prosperous than in the old days.  Occasionally they talked about her now.  To Narcisse she seemed but a dream, and he had no regrets.  To Charlie it was different; to him she was still very real.

Suddenly Narcisse uttered an exclamation of surprise, and let the paper fall.  Charlie, who had his eyes fixed thoughtfully on the floor, looked up in surprise and asked what was the matter.

“Oh, dare is noting de matter,” answered Narcisse, trying to look unconcerned.  “I tink I must have been asleep.”

He gathered up the paper, and said he would go and stand at the door for a few minutes.

As soon as the door closed behind him, he opened the paper again and read the following in the marriage notices:  “Married May 13th, 18—­, at St. John’s, Miss Jessie Cunningham, to John White, farmer, of St. John’s.”

Narcisse ran up to his room, tore out the notice and burned it.  “Dare,” he said to himself, with a satisfied look on his face, “Charlie won’t know anything about dat now.  No use for open de old wound again.  Well, she wait about a year.  Dat pretty good,” he said, with a good-natured smile.