_"Old boy! Eva's the dearest little piece of guilelessness in the world. She's told me all about Burroughs, and even confessed that she used to admire you; but she thought you very reserved. I have told how companionable you really are and how she should have captured you. But she shakes her pretty head and says that she is jealous of you--that I am fonder of you than of her! She's a rogue! I used to be dumbly jealous of the other fellows, knowing how poor I was. I had to keep myself well in hand, I tell you, especially when I used to see you two together. But if Eva had cared for you (how could she help it?) I'd have been the first one to congratulate you. We could not be rivals, could we, dear old man?_ _"We are going East for the summer, and the doctor goes with us as far as St. Louis. Wish us well, Phil! Why haven't you written? I know it has been a bad winter and only two mails from Macleod, but I expected to hear at least once._ _"I wish that you could find so ideal a wife as mine. Dear, innocent, truthful--what more can man ask?"_ Danvers pulled himself up from the bench, wondering why the day had grown so cold, where the sunshine had gone. He replaced Latimer's letter in its envelope, dully, slowly: "'Truthful--innocent!'" he quoted. "Poor Arthur!" He laughed--a dreadful sound. Then he fell face downward--and so they found him. * * * * * A pale-faced youth looked with dilated eyes on the nearing town of Fort Benton. It was Philip Danvers, late second lieutenant of the North West Mounted Police of Canada. He had lived through the shock which the three letters had brought on his fever-weakened frame, and during his convalescence determined to leave the service and seek employment at Fort Benton. To his colonel alone he gave his reasons. His sister Kate was a delicate girl, unused to adversity. His pay was insufficient to support her, even if she could have lived at Fort Macleod. She must be safe-guarded. For three long, hard, lonely years he had dreamed of a commission, and now that he had secured it he must give it up, together with hope of further advancement. There was no alternative. As the band played "The Girl I Left Behind Me" (invariably rendered when men in the English service change garrison), O'Dwyer stepped forward to say good-bye. "Sure, Phil," he blubbered, "I'll lave the service 's soon's me time's up, now ye're gone! I'll folley ye to Fort Benton!"