She started and looked down at him, questioningly. Then the import of it reached her and she involuntarily drew back. The sun shot a last failing flicker across the earth and vanished. The fire went out of the air, and the day darkened. Far above, the hearse-dogs howled mournfully. "No," he interrupted, as words formed on her lips. "Do not speak. I know my answer, your answer . . . now . . . I was a fool . . . Come, let us go down." It was not until they had left the mountain behind them, crossed the flat, and come out on the river by the saw-mill, that the bustle and skurry of human life made it seem possible for them to speak. Corliss had walked with his eyes moodily bent to the ground; and Frona, with head erect and looking everywhere, stealing an occasional glance to his face. Where the road rose over the log run-way of the mill the footing was slippery, and catching at her to save her from falling, their eyes met. "I--I am grieved," she hesitated. And then, in unconscious self-defence, "It was so . . . I had not expected it--just then." "Else you would have prevented?" he asked, bitterly. "Yes. I think I should have. I did not wish to give you pain--" "Then you expected it, some time?" "And feared it. But I had hoped . . . I . . . Vance, I did not come into the Klondike to get married. I liked you at the beginning, and I have liked you more and more,--never so much as to-day,--but--" "But you had never looked upon me in the light of a possible husband--that is what you are trying to say." As he spoke, he looked at her side-wise, and sharply; and when her eyes met his with the same old frankness, the thought of losing her maddened him. "But I have," she answered at once. "I have looked upon you in that light, but somehow it was not convincing. Why, I do not know. There was so much I found to like in you, so much--" He tried to stop her with a dissenting gesture, but she went on. "So much to admire. There was all the warmth of friendship, and closer friendship,--a growing _camaraderie_, in fact; but nothing more. Though I did not wish more, I should have welcomed it had it come." "As one welcomes the unwelcome guest." "Why won't you help me, Vance, instead of making it harder? It is hard on you, surely, but do you imagine that I am enjoying it? I feel because of your pain, and, further, I know when I refuse a dear friend for a lover the dear friend goes from me. I do not part with friends lightly." "I see; doubly bankrupt; friend and lover both. But they are easily replaced. I fancy I was half lost before I spoke. Had I remained silent, it would have been the same anyway. Time softens; new associations, new thoughts and faces; men with marvellous adventures--" She stopped him abruptly. "It is useless, Vance, no matter what you may say. I shall not quarrel with you. I can understand how you feel--"