and resigned himself to Fate.

When, on the far shore of the lake, the low walls of the
trading-station came in sight, a double image, reflected faithfully
with the strip of sand at its door, the low, level wall of pines
behind and the blue, still sky above, Pete caught the girl's hand
in his.

"Here we are, Sylvie," he said. "Keep quiet and follow my lead.
Remember, now, that I am supposed to be your husband and you my wife.
Can you play that part?"

She nodded, bending down her face so that he saw only the tip of her
small, sunburnt chin. She was hatless; the sun struck blue, bright
lines in her black hair.

"I'll be careful, Pete."

She pressed his hand, and he returned the pressure.

The station was full of silent curiosity; a couple of squaws, a
serious buck Indian, and a bearded trapper or two made little secret
of their observation. In the far corner of the big, bare room, down
one side of which ran a long and littered counter, there was another,
even more interested spectator of the young couple's entrance. He
sat at a small table under one of the high, unshaded windows, and
from over a spread-out time-table he gave them a large and heavy share
of his attention. He was a man of middle age and sturdy build, round,
clean-shaven, dressed in Eastern outing clothes of dignified
correctness. He put on a pair of glasses to peer closer at the two