something of an idealist, although he knew the weaknesses of human
nature, but Thirlwell was practical. Somehow he had got entangled in the
complications that sprang from Strange's supposititious discovery of the
ore, but he did not want to break loose. Agatha Strange needed him; she
had admitted that there was nobody else to whom she could look for help
and advice. So far, he could find no clue to the web of mystery that
surrounded the matter and had caught them both, but he meant to search.

When the moccasins were dry, he began to wonder why he was anxious to
help the girl, since he was not in love with her. In a sense, it was
perhaps his duty, but this did not account for his keenness. He gave it
up, and after throwing some branches on the fire lay down and went to
sleep.

The fire was low and gave out no light when he wakened. He felt cold and
remembered with some annoyance that he had not gathered enough wood to
last until morning. He had not brought his watch, partly because he had
fastened a small compass on the chain, but he knew that day would not
break for some hours yet. The mist was thinner, although it had not
gone, and looking up he guessed the moon's height by the elusive glimmer
in the haze. It was about four o'clock, and he imagined he had wakened
when the heat of his body had sunk to its lowest; but was not altogether
satisfied, since he had slept undisturbed by much keener frost.

For all that, it was a nuisance to get up and look for dead branches in
the dark, and he waited, reluctant to throw off his blanket, for some
minutes, and then roused himself with a jerk. He imagined he heard
voices out on the lake. He glanced at Father Lucien, but the latter was
fast asleep. Thirlwell wondered whether he himself had gone to sleep
again and dreamed, but half-consciously fixed his eyes on the opening