Steele felt a slow fire burning in his cheeks as he encountered the beautiful eyes glowing at him from behind the colonel.  The woman was smiling at him.  In the heat of the fire she had pushed back her fur turban, and he saw that her hair was the same shining red gold that had come to him in the letter, and that her lips and eyes and the glorious color in her face were remarkably like those of which he had dreamed, and of which waking visions had come with the hyacinth letter to fill him with unrest and homesickness.  In spite of himself he had reasoned that she would be young and that she would have golden hair, but these other things, the laughing beauty of her face, the luring depth of her eyes.

He caught himself staring.

“I—­I was dreaming,” he almost stammered.  He pulled himself together quickly.  “I was dreaming of a face, Mrs. Becker, It seems strange that this should happen—­away up here, in this way.  The face that I dreamed of is a thousand miles from here, and it is wonderfully like yours.”

The colonel was laughing at him when he turned.  He was a little man, as straight as a gun rod, pale of face except for his nose, which was nipped red by the cold, and with a pointed beard as white as the snow under his feet.  That part of his countenance which exposed itself above the top of his great fur coat and below his thick beaver cap was alive with good cheer, notwithstanding its pallor.

“Glad you’re good humored about it, Steele,” he cried with an immediate tone of comradeship.  “We wouldn’t have ventured into your camp if it hadn’t been for Isobel.  She was positively insistent, sir.  Wanted to see who was here and what it looked like.  Eh, Isobel, my dear, are you satisfied?”

“I surely didn’t expect to find ‘It’ asleep at this time of the day,” said Mrs. Becker.  She laughed straight into Philip’s face, and so roguishly sweet was the curve of her red lips and the light in her eyes that his heart quickened its beating, and the flush deepened in his cheeks.

“It’s only six,” he said, looking at his watch.  “I don’t usually turn in this early.  I was tired to-night—­though I am not, now,” he added quickly.  “I could sit up until morning—­and talk.  We don’t often meet people from outside, you know.  Where are the others?”

“Back there,” said the colonel, waving an arm into the gloom.  “Isobel made ’em sit down and be quiet, dogs and all, sir, while we came on alone.  There are Indians, two sledges, and a ton of duff.”

“Call them,” said Steele.  “There’s room for your tent beside mine, Colonel, close against the face of this rock.  It’s as good as a furnace.”

The colonel moved a little out into the gloom and shouted to those behind.  Philip turned to find Mrs. Becker looking at him in a timid, questioning sort of way, the laughter gone from her eyes.  For a moment she seemed to be on the point of speaking to him, then picked up a short stick and began toying with the coals.