Evelyn shared his suspicions. Her hostess's artifice was a transparent one, but she nevertheless fell in with it. She had only seen Vane in the company of others; this might be the same again to-morrow, and there was something to be said. By intuition as much as reason, she knew that there was something working in his mind, something that troubled him and might trouble her. It excited her apprehension and animated her with a desire to combat it. That she might be compelled to follow an unconventional course did not matter. This man was hers--and she could not let him go. She entered his room collectedly. He was lying, neatly dressed, upon a couch, with his shoulders raised against the end of it, for he had thrown the cushions which had supported him upon the floor. As she came in, he leaned down in an attempt to recover them, and finding himself too late, looked up guiltily. The fact that he could move with so much freedom was a comfort to the girl. She set down the tray on a table near him. "Mrs. Nairn has sent you this," she said, and the laugh they both indulged in drew them together. Then her mood changed, and her heart yearned over him. He had gone away a strong, self-confident, prosperous man, and he had come back defeated; broken in health and fortune and terribly worn. Her pity shone in her softening eyes. "Do you wish to sleep?" she asked. "No," Vane assured her; "I'd a good deal sooner talk to you." "Well," said Evelyn, "I have something to say. I'm afraid I was rather unpleasant to you the evening before you sailed. I was sorry for it afterwards; it was flagrant injustice." "Then I wonder why you didn't answer the letter I wrote at Nanaimo." "For a very good reason; I never got it." Vane considered this for a few moments. "After all," he said, "it doesn't matter now. I'm acquitted?" "Absolutely." "Do you know," he said, "I've still no idea of my offence?" Evelyn was exceedingly glad to hear it, but a warmth crept into her face, and as the blood showed through the delicate skin he fixed his eyes intently upon her. "It was all a mistake; I'm sorry still," she declared penitently. "Oh," he said in a different tone; "I wouldn't trouble about it. The satisfaction of being acquitted outweighs everything else. Besides, I've made a number of rather serious mistakes myself. The search for that spruce, for instance, is supposed to be one." "No," said Evelyn decidedly; "whoever thinks that is wrong. It is a very fine thing you have done. It doesn't matter in the least that you were unsuccessful." "You believe that?" "Of course. How could I believe anything else?" The man's face changed again, and once more she read the signs. Whatever doubts and half-formed resolutions--and she had some idea of them--had been working in his mind were dissipating. "Well," he said, "I've sacrificed the best of my possessions and destroyed the confidence of folks who, to serve their ends, would have helped me on. Isn't that a serious thing?"