“But father must come home!” Hildegarde broke in on the eloquent silence, as though upon some speech of Cheviot’s. “What is he thinking of—he doesn’t mean—” Her agitation was so great she hardly noticed that Bella had finished putting the things away in the work-box, and was leaving the room. The moment she had shut the door, “He can’t face it,” said Cheviot. “Oh, but that’s madness. He must be told that we—that I—he _must_ come home. Why, it’s the most dreadful thing I ever heard of in my life, his bearing it all alone.” Her tears were falling. “Tell me—there’s nothing in the letters—Louis,”—she leaned forward—“you and I always tell each other the truth, don’t we?” “I’m afraid we do,” he said, with his old look. “Then tell me _what’s in father’s mind_. What has he said to you?” “That he will stay up there till—somehow—he has either made his pile, or made his exit.” The girl laid her head down beside the shining helmet on the table, and wept convulsively. “I had to tell you.” Cheviot had come close to her, and his voice was half indignant, half miserable. Blindly she put out a hand and grasped his arm. “Thank you—you—you have been good. His letter to me says that you—that you—Louis!” Suddenly she lifted her wet face, “I _am_ ‘unendingly grateful.’” “Well, I hope you’ll get over it.” He drew his arm out of her grasp, and walked about the room. Hildegarde followed him with tear-wet eyes that grew more and more bewildered. “I can’t understand how you’re here. I thought navigation wouldn’t be open for a month.” “Nearer two.” “Then, how—how—” “I came out with dogs over the ice.” She stared incredulous. “_How_ did you come?” “Round the coast of Norton Bay, down across the Yukon, and over to the Kuskoquim, and then by the old Russian route to Kadiak Island.” “How in the world did you know the way?” “Part of the time I had native guides.” “Wasn’t it a very terrible journey?” “I don’t know that I’d do it again.” “And when you got down to Kadiak Island?” “I waited a week for the boat.” “They run in winter!” “Yes. Kadiak comes in for a swing eastward of the warm Japanese current. The boats ply regularly to Sitka.” “It must have taken you a long time to do all that first part on your own two feet.” He didn’t answer. “When did you see father last?” “On the morning of the 8th of December, when I cracked my whip over my dog-team and turned my back on Nome.” “Heavens! Why, that’s—” “Over three months ago.” Most men would have paused a moment for contemplation of their prowess or at least of their hardships, but Cheviot was ready to put his achievement at once and for ever behind him—ready, not only to imagine the general interest somewhere else, but to lead the way thither. “To be exact, it was three months and sixteen days ago; but your father was all right when I left him, and he had supplies.” “Has he any friends?” “He’s got a dog he’s very thick with, and he’s got a comfortable tent.” “A tent, in that climate!”