For, whatever poetic associations may cluster around the hour of sunset, around that of sunrise there are none at all. It is an abominably matter-of-fact and prosaic hour, an hour when the average human is wont to feel cheap if ever, prone to retrospect, and, for choice, retrospect of an unwelcome nature. All that he has ever done that is injudicious or mean or _gauche_ will infallibly strike him as more injudicious and meaner and more _gauche_ in the cold and judicial stare of the waking hour. To this rule Justin Spence was no exception. His passion had not cooled--no, not one whit; yet he awoke feeling mean. His conduct had been weak--the development thereof shady: in short, in the words of his own definition, "it was not playing the game." The worst of it was that he was indebted to Blachland for more than one good turn, and now, what had been his requital for such? The other was his friend, and trusted him--and now, he had taken advantage of that friend's absence. In the unsparing light of early morning the thing had an ugly look--yes, very. As against that, however, other considerations would arise to set themselves. First of all, he himself was human, and human powers had their limits. Then, again, the other did not in the least appreciate this splendid gift, this matchless treasure which had fallen to his lot: otherwise, how could he leave her all alone as he did, absent himself for days, for weeks at a time? He had not always done so, Justin had gathered; and from Hermia's reminiscences of camp life she seemed to have enjoyed it. If he, Justin, had been in Blachland's place, not for a single day should she have been away from him. But then, Justin was very young, and all the circumstances and surroundings went to make him think that way. He had known these people for some months, but _of_ them he knew nothing. The hard, reticent, self-reliant up-country trader was not the man to make a confidant of one whom he regarded as a mere callow youth. But he had been very kind to Justin, and had held out a helping hand to him on more than one occasion. Hermia, for her part, had merely noted that the young man was very handsome and well set up, and that in about a week he was desperately in love with herself. There were two or three others of whom the latter held good, even in that remote region, but they awakened no reciprocal feeling in her. She would keep them dangling simply as a mere matter of habit; but Justin Spence had touched a responsive chord within her. It was one of a sheerly physical nature, but she had more and more grown to look forward to his visits, and we must admit that she had not long to look.