I may owe you, you will not press me again." "Tell me the story then," cried Ainley in a voice hoarse with passion. . "And for God's sake, be quick about it!"

"I

CHAPTER XXIII

A SURPRISE FOR AINLEY

WILL," answered Helen coldly, and without further preamble began the narrative

of all that had befallen her from the time she had left her uncle's camp to inspect the beaver colony. Ainley listened for a long time without interruption. Much of the story he already knew, though the girl was unaware of the fact; much more he had guessed, but some things were unknown to him, and when she gave the account of Stane's accident at the deadfall and of the camp she had made there, he broke out in chagrin: "That explains how it was we never found you. We must have passed within a very few miles of you."

me."

You were once within a quarter of a mile of

"How do you know that?" he cried.

"Because I saw you and the Indian Joe pitch your camp on the shore of the lake."

"You saw" he began, and then stopped staring at her with incredulous eyes.

"Yes! I watched you make your fire, and then I went back to camp, and put out my own fire." "Why?" he demanded harshly, though he had already guessed.

66

"Because I was afraid you would discover me,' answered the girl calmly. And I, with a joyful heart, watched you departing in the morning."

Ainley rose suddenly to his feet. "Helen," he cried hoarsely, " do you know what you are saying? You are telling me that you were glad to be left alone in this god-forsaken wilderness with a man who was a discharged convict? I wonder what our world would think of that confession?"

"I do not care what our world, as you call it, would think about my action. These few months in the wilderness have made me think little of those conventions which have such rigid observance in the letter but are outraged in the spirit every day."

"Our acquaintances would say " he began, with a note of bitter malice in his voice, but Helen interrupted him.

"I wonder what our acquaintances would say if they knew everything about the crime for which Hubert Stane became a convict?"

As she dealt this blow the girl looked at him with ruthless eyes. Now she was defending, not herself alone, but the memory of the man she loved, and who out of consideration for herself had only declared his love when he was going out to meet his death. That thought made her merciless, and as she saw him waver under the weight of the blow and his face grow white as the snow about them, she continued unflinchingly.

"If they knew what I know they might say that I had made a wise choice in remaining with a convict who had suffered for something of which he was

innocent, instead of going with the man who sent another man to

"Helen! You are mad! mad!" cried Ainley in a voice so wild that one of the Indians, dozing at the other side of the fire, started suddenly to his feet, and looked around him as if for enemies. Ainley saw him and checked the other wild words which sprang to his lips, and after a moment the Indian sank down on his haunches and dropped his chin on his breast again.

"No," answered Helen calmly. "I am not mad, I am telling the truth, as you gave me evidence just now. You did not let me finish my sentence. You knew what I was going to say. How did you know it? You could not have guessed it if the facts had not been within your knowledge." She broke off and was silent for a moment whilst Ainley stared at her with wild eyes. "I may be in your debt for what happened this morning. I do not know, for I do not, cannot trust you; but I will never forgive you for what the man I loved suffered. Never!"

"You believe some lying tale of Stane's?" said Ainley, in a sneering attempt to cover up his own discomfiture.

"I believe what he told me; I would have believed it on his word alone, but fortunately the matter does not depend on that word only. There is evidence, and I know where that evidence is, and I will tell you what I am going to do. When we get to Fort Malsun, I shall get Mr. Rodwell to equip an expedition, and I shall recover that evidence and

publish it to the world, in order to clear the memory of the man whom you have so deeply wronged.' "There will be no need for that, fortunately, Miss Yardely!" said a voice behind her.

The girl jumped to her feet in surprise. And Ainley took a quick step forward as a man emerged from the shadow of the trees into the circle of the firelight. It was the mounted policeman, Dandy Anderton, and behind him came another man at whom Helen stared for a moment incredulously, then with a great cry of joy ran to meet him.

"Hubert! Hubert!"

"Yes!" he answered, slipping an arm about her. "But I thought - I thought

"I was afraid you might think so," he replied in answer to her unspoken thought. "But that could not be helped. I followed after you as fast as I could, and I was at your heels when your captors were shot down on the lake and the snow came on." "Oh, how glad I am that you are alive! That you have found me.'

She rested against him well-content, and Stane's arm about her tightened its grip; then they came back to the little world about them, at the sound of the policeman's voice.

"Didn't know me, Ainley? I dare say not. I'm not quite the tailor's mannikin that I was in the old days at the 'Varsity. Got a man's job now, you see. And that reminds me, I'm here on duty. I happened to be up the Little Moose when that shooting took place this morning. There's a couple of dead Indians up there, and as I guess you had some