There was something thrilling about the experiences of that morning,
and I think we all felt it. Even the great frowning precipices seemed
to have lost their ordinary gloom, and when some young white eagles rose
from a crag and flew away, growing smaller as they passed, until they
were one with the snow of the glacier on Mount Trinity, or a wapiti
peeped out from the underwood and stole away with glancing feet down the
valley; we could scarcely refrain from doing some foolish thing out of
sheer delight. At length we emerged from a thicket of Douglas pine upon
the shore of the Whi-Whi, and, loosening our boat, were soon moving
slowly on the cool current. For an hour or more we rowed down the river
towards the Long Cloud, and then drew into the shade of a little island
for lunch. When we came to the rendezvous, where picnic parties
generally feasted, we found a fire still smoking and the remnants of a
lunch scattered about. A party of picnickers had evidently been there
just before us. Ruth suggested that it might be some of the tourists
from the hotel. This seemed very probable.

There were scraps of newspaper on the ground, and among them was an empty
envelope. Mechanically I picked it up, and read the superscription.
What I saw there I did not think necessary to disclose to the other
members of the party; but, as unconcernedly as possible, for Ruth
Devlin's eyes were on me, I used it to light a cigar--inappropriately,
for lunch would soon be ready.

"What was the name on the envelope?" she said. "Was there one?"

I guessed she had seen my slight start. I said evasively: "I fancy there
was, but a man who is immensely interested in a new brand of cigar--"

"You are a most deceitful man," she said. "And, at the least, you are