Jock dashed the crumbling, glowing logs with his foot, and left the fire dying, but safe. Then, gathering his travelling things together, he went out with Drew, closing the door behind him. It was a snowy night now, white and dry. In silence the two trudged on to the bungalow, then Drew said, "and you won't come in, Filmer, just for a word?" "Thanks; no." "Where are you going now?" "To Hillcrest. I start from there to-morrow morning, after another talk with the little fellow I mentioned. I'm going to keep to the woods for a few days--they always brace me--then I'm going to make a break--for the coast." "You'll--write--to--me--Jock?" For a moment Filmer hesitated; then he said eagerly: "Yes; as long as I'm fighting, I'll keep in touch. If I get down--you'll know by my--not writing. And Drew, I want to tell you something. That religion of yours is all right. It was the first kind that ever got into my system and--stayed there. It's got iron, red-hot iron in it, but it's got a homelike kind of friendliness about it that gives you heart to hope in this life, and let the next life take care of itself." "Thank you, Filmer. That's going to make me--fight." Another quick, strong handclasp--and then Drew turned toward the glowing windows of his home. Filmer stood with uncovered head in the driving storm, and looked, with a great, hungry craving, up to the house that held the motive-power of his new life, and then, with a dull pain he grimly set his face toward--the coast. CHAPTER XIX Drew waited until after Christmas before he took a decided part in the affairs of Gaston and Joyce. Indeed he purposely avoided any information regarding what was going on at the shack among the pines. He was determined that St. Ange's first, true Christmas should be, as far as he could make it, a perfect one; and it was one never to be forgotten. It set a high standard; one from which the place was never again to fall far below. The snowstorm raged furiously for hours, and then the weather cleared suddenly and gloriously. Blue was the sky, and white the world. A stillness held all Nature, and the intense cold was so disguised that even the wisest native was misled. Early on Christmas morning, right after the jolly family breakfast, Drew called to Constance as she passed his study door: "Connie, we cannot have Filmer with us, after all. He's gone away." The girl stopped suddenly. Her arms were full of gifts, and her bright face grew still. "Where has he gone?" The question was put calmly, but with effort. "It's quite a yarn, Con; can you come in?" "I can hear from here, Ralph; go on." "You know that rich old fellow on the Pacific Coast who has just died, Jasper Filmer, the mining magnate?" "Yes." "He's was Jock's--father." Drew heard a package drop from his sister's arms. She stooped and picked it up. From his chair Drew saw that her face never changed expression. "So then, Filmer did not take the trouble to change even his name?"