"From all I've heard," responded Foster dryly, "you'll get your investment
back with interest."

"Of course," said Tisdale after a moment, "Mrs. Weatherbee will be eager
to dispose of the tract; the only reason it is still on her hands is that
no one has wanted to buy it at any price."

"And that's just why you should." Foster paused, then went on slowly,
controlling the emotion in his voice, "You don't know her, Hollis. She's
proud. She won't admit the situation, and I can't ask her directly, but I
am sure she has come to the limit. I've been trying all day, ever since I
knew I must go north again, to raise enough money to make an offer for
that land, but practically all I have is tied up in Alaska properties. It
takes time to find a customer, and the banks are cautious."

Tisdale rose from his chair. "Foster!" he cried and stretched out his
hands. "Foster--not you, too."

Then his hands dropped, and Foster drew a step nearer into the circle of
light and stood meeting squarely the silent remonstrance, accusation,
censure, for which he was prepared. "I knew how you would take it," he
broke out at last, "but it's the truth. I've smothered it, kept it down
for years; but it's nothing to be ashamed of any longer. I'd have been
glad to exchange places with Weatherbee. I'd have counted it a privilege
to work, even as he did, for her; I could have suffered privation, the
worst kind, wrung success out of failure, for the hope of her."

"See here, Foster,"--Tisdale laid his hands on the younger man's
shoulders, shaking him slowly,--"you must stop this." His hold relaxed; he
stepped back, and his voice vibrated softly through the room. "How could