The thought sent his nails biting into the flesh of his palms and he sank back with a curse that held more of misery than blasphemy.  Physical exhaustion rather than desire for sleep closed his eyes, at last, in half-slumber, and after that the face seemed nearer and more real to him, until it was close at his side, and was speaking to him.  He heard again the soft, rippling laugh, girlishly sweet, that had fascinated him at Hawkins’ ball; he heard the distant hum and chatter of other voices, and then one loud and close—­that of Chesbro, who had unwittingly interrupted them, and saved him, just in the nick of time.

Steele moved restlessly; after a moment wriggled to his elbow and looked toward the fire.  He seemed to hear Chesbro’s voice again as he awoke, and a thrill as keen as an electric shock set his nerves tingling when he heard once more the laughing voice of his dream, hushed and low.  In amazement he sat bolt upright and stared.  Was he still dreaming?  The fire was burning brightly and he was aware that he had scarce fallen into sleep.

A movement—­a sound of feet crunching softly in the snow, and a figure came between him and the fire.

It was a woman.

He choked back the cry that rose to his lips and sat motionless and without sound.  The figure approached a step nearer, peering into the deep gloom of the tent.  He caught the silver glint in the firelight on heavy fur, the whiteness of a hand touching lightly the flap of his tent, and then for an instant he saw a face.  In that instant he sat as rigid as if he had stopped the beat of his own life.  A pair of dark eyes laughing in at him, a flash of laughing teeth, a low titter that was scarce more than a rippling throat-note, and the face was gone, leaving him still staring into the blank space where it had been.

With a cough to give warning of his wakefulness, Steele flung off his blanket and drew himself through the low opening of the tent.  On the extreme right of the fire stood a man and woman, warming themselves over the coals.  They straightened from their leaning posture as he appeared.

“This is too bad, too bad, Mr. Steele,” exclaimed the man, advancing quickly.  “I was afraid we’d make a blunder and awaken you.  We were about to camp on a mountain back there when we saw your fire and drove on to it.  I’m sorry—­”

“Wouldn’t have had you miss me for anything,” interrupted Steele, gripping the other’s proffered hand.  “You see, I’m out from Lac Bain to meet Colonel and Mrs. Becker, and—­” He hesitated purposely, his white teeth gleaming in the frank smile which made people like him immensely, from the first.

“You’ve met them,” completed the laughing voice from across the fire.  “Please, Mr. Steele, will you forgive me for looking in at you and waking you up?  But your feet looked so terribly funny, and I assure you that was all I could see, though I tried awfully hard.  Anyway, I saw your name printed on the flap of your tent.”