color in her face were remarkably like those of which he had dreamed,
and of which waking visions had come with the hyacinth letter to fill
him with unrest and homesickness. In spite of himself he had reasoned
that she would be young and that she would have golden hair, but these
other things, the laughing beauty of her face, the luring depth of her
eyes.

He caught himself staring.

"I--I was dreaming," he almost stammered. He pulled himself together
quickly. "I was dreaming of a face, Mrs. Becker, It seems strange that
this should happen--away up here, in this way. The face that I dreamed
of is a thousand miles from here, and it is wonderfully like yours."

The colonel was laughing at him when he turned. He was a little man, as
straight as a gun rod, pale of face except for his nose, which was
nipped red by the cold, and with a pointed beard as white as the snow
under his feet. That part of his countenance which exposed itself above
the top of his great fur coat and below his thick beaver cap was alive
with good cheer, notwithstanding its pallor.

"Glad you're good humored about it, Steele," he cried with an immediate
tone of comradeship. "We wouldn't have ventured into your camp if it
hadn't been for Isobel. She was positively insistent, sir. Wanted to see
who was here and what it looked like. Eh, Isobel, my dear, are you
satisfied?"

"I surely didn't expect to find 'It' asleep at this time of the day,"
said Mrs. Becker. She laughed straight into Philip's face, and so
roguishly sweet was the curve of her red lips and the light in her eyes