change either my purpose or my terms. I'll keep my word with regard to Power if you keep yours where Marten is concerned. He must never know. He must never see any change in you. The moment he casts you off because of Power, and I am still alive, you sign Power's death-warrant."

Nancy rose.

She was deathly white, and the tears still coursed silently down her cheeks; but despair had benumbed her emotions, and she spoke calmly.

"You are sentencing me to death," she said. "Am I? Then Power dies, too," he cried.

"No. That is not in the bond. You stipulate that I shall return to Marten as his wife, and that I am not to take my own life. But if my heart breaks, and I die, you will have glutted your bitter malice already, and Derry, too, must not provide you with a victim.' 66 People don't die of broken hearts."

"Every woman who has loved will think differently. But you have some notion of what is meant by honor, I suppose? I demand your promise that if I accompany you now, and go back to Marten, and never attempt to meet Derry again-though that would be quite impossible, either for him or for me-you withdraw your threat, and leave him in peace during the remainder of your life."

"I'm not here to receive terms, but to state them." "Then he and I will fall together beneath your bullets. Before you shoot him, you will have to shoot me."

66 Very well, then. I agree. I don't want to kill my own daughter."

"You have done that already. You have slain her

soul, and her poor body is of slight importance. Ah, may Heaven forgive me if I am not choosing aright! Derry, my own dear love, you must never know that I am doing this for your sake, or it will not be the wretch whom once I called father who becomes judge and jury and executioner in my behalf!"

Willard, still turned toward the lake, heard her drop on her knees again beside the table. She wrote a few words, very few; for her dazed brain was incapable now of framing other than the simplest sentences. Then she sealed the envelop, and kissed it, and went out. Brushing the tears from her eyes, she gave one long look across the shimmering water, and saw a black dot which she knew was the canoe heading straight for the cabin.

66

Ah, dear God!" she sighed, pressing her clenched hands to her breast.

The storm passed as quickly as it had arisen. She stooped, patted the dog, and bade him remain there on guard. Then, without ever a glance at Willard, she said:

"I have made my choice. I am ready!"

CHAPTER XI

POWER'S HOME-COMING

Ir chanced that Peter Granite occupied the fore part of the canoe; consequently, great as was the distance, he saw Willard and Nancy leaving the hut and disappearing among the trees. He tossed a question over his shoulder.

"You hain't been expectin' anyone, hev you?" he demanded.

"How do you mean?"

"I've a sort o' notion Mrs. Power has just quit, with a man."

"Someone must have happened on the cabin. Perhaps she is showing him the road to the divide. Was the dog with her?"

"I hain't seen Guess; but a mile an' a half across this yer shinin' water is a long ways ter spot a dawg."

"Oh, well, there's nothing to worry about. We don't quite own the earth; though one might come to think along that line after living here a spell."

Nothing more was said; but both men plied their paddles with strong, sweeping strokes that drove the canoe onward at a rare pace. When she grounded, Power sprang ashore, and did not wait, as was his wont, to help with the packages. Already he felt anxious,

because Nancy had not appeared in or about the hut, and the dog was now plainly visible, lying in front of the open door.

"Nancy!" he shouted.

There was no answer; but Guess rose, yawned, and stretched his limbs, his vigil being ended. Power shouted again, more loudly, and Granite, having drawn the canoe high and dry, joined him, leaving the unloading of the provisions until a less troubled moment.

"It ain't jest like Mrs. Power not ter be within hail," said the guide. "Hurry up to the shack, Mr. Power, an' put Guess on her trail if she ain't havin' a snooze in the back room."

"She wouldn't be asleep at this hour. And you saw her, you said?"

"I might ha been mistook. My eyes ain't so good as they was."

Power broke into a run, and Granite followed slowly, those keen eyes of his, which ill-deserved the charge he had levied against them, searching the trees and the broken ground behind the hut for some sign of the two people whom he had undoubtedly observed.

With one last cry of "Nancy!" Power hurried past the dog, who was greeting him with tail-wagging and a rumbling growl which meant, "I'm glad you've come back, but why didn't you come sooner?" He peered through the doorway into the room beyond, and his glance fell on the note, resting on the table beside the gun.

"Oh, it's all right," he announced, in a tone of vast relief. "Someone has called her away, and here is the explanation."

Meanwhile, the dog was obviously inviting his master to a scouting expedition among the trees and brushwood to the left of the cabin's front, and Granite was so puzzled by the animal's behavior that he paid no heed to Power during the next few seconds; moreover, the fact that Nancy had left a written message showed that, although something unusual might have occurred, it was not necessarily alarming. Then he heard a queer sort of sob, or groan, and, glancing at Power, saw that in his face which brought a dismayed question to his own lips.

"God A'mighty, Mr. Power, what's got ye?" he

cried.

Power made no reply. He seemed as though stricken with a palsy. He absolutely reeled, and would have tumbled headlong had he not, by chance, staggered back against the jamb of the door. Granite caught him by the arm lest he should fall, and Nancy's letter dropped from his nerveless fingers, and fluttered to the ground.

"Don't give way like that," urged the guide. "She ain't dead, anyhow. Has she left Has she left you bad

news?"

Power looked at the man as though he did not recognize him. A baleful light gleamed in his eyes. Had Willard been present then, it was not he who would have been the slayer, unless he contrived to be extraordinarily quick with his weapons.

66

She has gone," he said, in the monotone of tragedy; for there are moments in life when the voice loses its flexible notes, and mere speech becomes a mechanical effort.