He paused and looked into the girl's eyes. "And then, one day I happened to read in an old newspaper the account of your engagement to St. Ledger. I almost lost the game, then--but I didn't. And--after that--the letters never were the same, and I--I just played the game to _win_." There were tears in the girl's eyes, and she clutched at his hand. "But the bonds?" she cried. The man regarded her with a puzzled look. "Bonds--bonds--what bonds?" "Why, the bonds you were to have delivered to Strang, Liebhardt & Co. Securities, or something." Bill stared uncomprehendingly, then suddenly he laughed. "Oh! Those! Why, I handed them over to father. You see, Dad handed it to me pretty straight that morning. In fact, he--er--fired me. So I gave him the bonds and----" The sentence was never finished. With a glad cry the girl flung herself upon him, and to his unutterable wonder sobbed and sobbed. CHAPTER XLV SNOW-BOUND Late in the following afternoon Ethel awoke and lay for a long time revelling in her new-found happiness, and thinking of the big man who had come once more into her life, this time bringing her only gladness and the joy of an infinite love. Her heart glowed with pride as she thought of the strength and the fine courage of him, and she flushed as she wondered how, even with the bonds in her hands, she could have doubted his innocence. Ah, well, she would never doubt him again. She smiled fondly, but the smile slowly faded, for in her mind at that moment was a doubt--a vague, elusive doubt, that rested upon the slender fabric of a half-breed's fireside tale. Somewhere in the wild country was another girl--a girl who was beautiful and who loved this man--_her_ man. In the small hours of the morning as they talked he had not mentioned this girl, and Ethel forbore to question him, hoping that he would tell her of his own accord. But whether or not he purposely avoided the subject she did not know. She believed in him--believed in his great love for her, in his absolute honesty and the new-found strength in him. Yet, hovering like a specter, intangible, elusive, menacing--the one disturbing element in her otherwise perfect happiness--was the other girl. Who was she? What was she? What had she been to him? What had been their relations? And why had she accompanied him on his journey out of the woods? The phantom girl took on a sinister form as the question tantalized her brain. This wild woman had helped to draw him from the river, had nursed him through a long sickness. He was under obligations to her, and--was that the _only obligation_? The girl flushed hotly, and with an impatient movement flung the blankets from her, and proceeded to dress. "I will never, never ask him," she decided, as she sat upon the thick bearskin in front of the stove and drew on her stockings. "He loves me and I love him.