"Well, I don't need you to-night, so you'd better go back to Cherry's house and stay there till I send for you." Constantine acquiesced calmly, and a few minutes later accompanied his mistress up the beach. As she passed Marsh's cannery, Cherry saw a tender moored to the dock, and noticed strangers among the buildings. They stared at her curiously, as if the sight of a white girl attended by a copper-hued giant were part of the picturesqueness they expected. As she drew near her own house, she saw a woman approaching, and while yet a stone's-throw distant she recognized her. A jealous tightening of her throat and a flutter at her breast told her that this was Mildred Wayland. Cherry would have passed on silently, but Miss Wayland checked her. "Pardon me," she said. "Will you tell me what that odd-looking building is used for?" She pointed to the village above. "That is the Greek church." "How interesting! Are there many Greeks here?" "No. It is a relic of the Russian days. The natives worship there." "I intended to go closer; but the walking is not very good, is it?" She glanced down at her dainty French shoes, then at Cherry's hunting-boots. "Do you live here?" "Yes. In the log house yonder." "Indeed! I tried to find some one there, but--you were out, of course. You have it arranged very cozily, I see." Mildred's manner was faintly patronizing. She was vexed at the beauty and evident refinement of this woman whom she had thought to find so different. "If you will go back I will show it to you from the inside, Miss Wayland." Cherry enjoyed her start at the name and the look of cold hostility that followed. "You have the advantage of me," said Mildred. "I did not think we had met. You are--?" She raised her brows, inquiringly. "Cherry Malotte, of course." "I remember. Mr. Marsh spoke of you." "I am sorry." "I beg your pardon?" "I say I am sorry Mr. Marsh ever spoke of me." Mildred smiled frigidly. "Evidently you do not like him?" "Nobody in Alaska likes him. Do you?" "You see, I am not an Alaskan." It occurred to Cherry that this girl was ignorant of the unexpected change in Boyd's affairs. She decided to sound her--to find out for herself the answer to those questions which Boyd had evaded. He had not spoken to Mildred of Marsh. Perhaps if she knew the truth, she would love him better, and even now her assistance would not be valueless. "Do you know that Mr. Marsh is to blame for all of Boyd's misfortune?" she said. "Boyd's?" "Yes, Boyd's, of course. Oh, let us not pretend--I call him by his first name. I think you ought to know the truth about this business, even if Boyd is too chivalrous to tell you." "Why do you think he has not told me?" "I have just come from him." "If Mr. Emerson blames any one but himself for his failure, I am sure he would have told me." "Then you don't know him." "I never knew him to ask another to defend him."