The Summer faded and another day came back. Once again he sat before the roaring fire at the trading station, with Forsyth, Mackenzie, and Chandonnais grouped around him, while phantoms of snow drifted by and sleet beat against the window panes. Then the door seemed to open softly and Mad Margaret made her way into the circle. Chandonnais' wild music sounded again in his ears, then he felt the thin, claw-like hands upon him and heard the high, tremulous voice saying, "You shall never have your heart's desire"; and, in answer to his question, "It has not come, but you will know it soon." The blood beat in his ears, but he heard Beatrice say, once more, "What is your heart's desire?" A flash of inward light revealed it--the girl who stood before him, with the sunlight on her hair, and her scarlet lips parted; strong and self-reliant, yet wholly womanly. Ronald cleared his throat. "You shouldn't ask me such questions," he said, trying to speak lightly, "when all these people are around." "We'd better go, Kit," remarked the Lieutenant; "we seem to be in the way." "Anything to please," murmured Mrs. Howard, as they went into the house. Ronald was looking at Beatrice, with all his soul in his eyes. "I--I must go," she stammered. "Aunt Eleanor will want me." "Don't--dear!" The boyishness was all gone, and it was the voice of a man in pain. The deep crimson flamed into her face and dyed the whiteness of her neck just below the turn of her cheek. She did not dare to look at him, but fled ignominiously. He did not follow her, but she heard him laugh--a hollow, mirthless laugh, with a catch in it that sounded like a sob. She never knew how she crossed the river, but she was surprised to find Forsyth waiting for her. As he helped her out of the pirogue, he said; "I was just going after you--we feared we had lost you." "I'm not lost," she said shortly, "and I don't want people running around after me!" The shadow that crossed his face haunted her, even while he sat opposite her at dinner and laughed and joked with her as usual. When Mrs. Mackenzie took the baby away for his afternoon nap, with Maria Indiana wailing sleepily at her skirts, Beatrice went to her own room, fearing to be alone with Robert. She was strangely restless, and something seemed to hang over her like an indefinite, threatening fate. Outside was the drowsy hum of midsummer, where the fairy folk of the fields rubbed their wings together in the grass and the sun transformed the river to a sheet of shining silver. Ronald came out, took the good boat which belonged to the Fort, and pulled down-stream with long, steady strokes. The river was low, but he passed the bar with little difficulty and went on out into the lake. Beatrice heard Robert singing happily to himself, but she could not stay any longer where she was. She gathered up her sewing and climbed out of the window, ungracefully but effectively, and went back to the Fort.