“I think I understand; but the money was yours, anyhow, so I don’t mind.”  His meaning was plain.  The Kid suddenly jerked open the drawer before him, but Glenister clenched his right hand and leaned forward.  The miner could have killed him with a blow, for the gambler was seated and at his mercy.  The Kid checked himself, while his face began to twitch as though the nerves underlying it had broken bondage and were dancing in a wild, ungovernable orgy.

“You have taught me a lesson,” was all that Glenister said, and with that he pushed through the crowd and out into the cool night air.  Overhead the arctic stars winked at him, and the sea smells struck him, clean and fresh.  As he went homeward he heard the distant, full-throated plaint of a wolf-dog.  It held the mystery and sadness of the North.  He paused, arid, baring his thick, matted head, stood for a long time gathering himself together.  Standing so, he made certain covenants with himself, and vowed solemnly never to touch another card.

At the same moment Cherry Malotte came hurrying to her cottage door, fleeing as though from pursuit or from some hateful, haunted spot.  She paused before entering and flung her arms outward into the dark in a wide gesture of despair.

“Why did I do it?  Oh!  Why did I do it?  I can’t understand myself.”

CHAPTER XIV

A MIDNIGHT MESSENGER

“My dear Helen, don’t you realize that my official position carries with it a certain social obligation which it is our duty to discharge?”

“I suppose so, Uncle Arthur; but I would much rather stay at home.”

“Tut, tut!  Go and have a good time.”

“Dancing doesn’t appeal to me any more.  I left that sort of thing back home.  Now, if you would only come along—­”

“No—­I’m too busy.  I must work to-night, and I’m not in a mood for such things, anyhow.”

“You’re not well,” his niece said.  “I have noticed it for weeks.  Is it hard work or are you truly ill?  You’re nervous; you don’t eat; you’re growing positively gaunt.  Why—­you’re getting wrinkles like an old man.”  She rose from her seat at the breakfast-table and went to him, smoothing his silvered head with affection.

He took her cool hand and pressed it to his cheek, while the worry that haunted him habitually of late gave way to a smile.

“It’s work, little girl—­hard and thankless work, that’s all.  This country is intended for young men, and I’m too far along.”  His eyes grew grave again, and he squeezed her fingers nervously as though at the thought.  “It’s a terrible country—­this—­I—­I—­wish we had never seen it.”

“Don’t say that,” Helen cried, spiritedly.  “Why, it’s glorious.  Think of the honor.  You’re a United States judge and the first one to come here.  You’re making history—­you’re building a State—­ people will read about you.”  She stooped and kissed him; but he seemed to flinch beneath her caress.