"I didn't know you were coming back so soon," he greeted her.

"Didn't you?" she asked indifferently. "When my father had finished his business we suddenly made up our minds to leave, without consulting Mrs. Denton. I suppose that explains your ignorance."

"You're smart," he said. "As soon as you're ready to receive people I must make my call."

It was getting dark, but the lights from the store window fell on his face, and Geraldine saw a glitter in his eyes. She thought he meant to defy her.

"You are excused, so far as I am concerned," she replied uncompromisingly.

Mappin stood silent a moment or two, looking at her hard, and she felt half afraid of him.

"You would rather see Allinson! But that's a pleasure you may find deferred. You didn't get much news of him just now!"

"I don't doubt that you heard me ask for it, though there were two teamsters waiting to buy things, who had the good manners to keep away."

"Certainly I heard," he answered coolly; "that's the kind of man I am.

I don't let chances pa.s.s."

Geraldine knew that he would make unscrupulous use of those he seized, but his candor had its effect on her. He was overbearing, but there was force in the man, and she grew uneasy. Though she shrank from him, she admitted his power; unless she roused herself to fight, he might break her will.

"One could hardly consider it an admirable type," she said, getting into the sleigh. "However, it's too cold to stand talking."

Mappin was obliged to step back when she started the team, and she drove off in some confusion, glad to escape, but feeling that she had run away. It had seemed the safest course, though she did not think she was a coward. Then as the team trotted across the frozen lake she remembered Mappin's curious tone when he had spoken of Andrew Allinson. He had suggested with an unpleasant hint of satisfaction that Andrew's return might be delayed, and she grew troubled as she thought of it. Still, she reasoned, as no news had reached the Landing, Mappin could know nothing about the matter, and the men Andrew had with him were accustomed to the bush. Dismissing the subject, she urged the horses and drew the thick driving-robe close about her. It was very cold and she shivered as she wondered how Andrew and his comrades were faring in the North.

Some days later she met Mrs. Graham at the post-office and inquired about her husband. Geraldine thought she looked anxious.

"He's a little behind time; but soft snow or storms might delay the party."

"Then he mentioned a time when you could expect him?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Graham. "He warned me that he might be a week late; but they thought out the journey very carefully, because it was a question of carrying enough food."

"You mean that helped to fix the time of their return?"

"Of course! They couldn't get food anywhere except at a Hudson Bay factory, and they couldn't take a large quant.i.ty. That means they knew within a week or so when they must reach the provision caches that were to be made for them north of the mine."

"I understand," said Geraldine. "They wouldn't delay when they came to the caches, except, perhaps, for a day's rest. I suppose the food was taken up?"

"Oh, yes! I saw the packers leave and come down. They were good bushmen and one of them knew the country. He made the caches at the places decided on."

"Then the expedition should be quite safe," said Geraldine cheerfully; but when she left Mrs. Graham she grew thoughtful.

Andrew was late and Geraldine saw that delay might be dangerous. The men would lose no time in coming south, because, considering the difficulty of transport, the margin of provisions would not be large.

Nothing but a serious accident would detain them, which was disconcerting to reflect upon. Then she reasoned that their provisions would be nearly exhausted when they reached the caches, and her mind dwelt on the point, because it was essential that they should obtain fresh supplies. She felt uneasy as she remembered a remark of Mappin's, which she did not think he had made casually. There had been a significant grimness in his manner when he had spoken of Allinson.

After all, however, it was possible that there was no ground for anxiety: the prospectors might turn up in the next few days.

As there was no news of them, however, Geraldine drove to the settlement one evening and called on Mrs. Graham. She found her seriously disturbed.

"A man came down from the mine this morning, and my husband hadn't arrived," she said. "I'm afraid something has gone wrong!"

"What can have gone wrong?"

"I don't know; I've been thinking about it all the last few days and trying not to be afraid. Of course, they would be safe if they reached the food caches."

"Yes," said Geraldine; "those caches are important. But as n.o.body has turned up I don't think you need be alarmed. The worst would be if one came back alone."

Mrs. Graham did not seem much comforted when Geraldine left her; and the girl, driving home in the moonlight, tried to face the situation calmly. She admitted, without reserve for the first time, that she loved Andrew Allinson; and he was in danger. Something must be done to extricate him, and while she wondered how she ought to set about it her thoughts turned to Mappin. It dawned on her that he knew what peril threatened the party, and this suggested that he had either allowed the men to involve themselves in unsuspected difficulties, or had brought the difficulties about. They had depended on him in some way and he had betrayed them. Geraldine shuddered at the thought, but she roused herself, for it was obvious that if her suspicions were correct, the man's designs must be combated. Mappin was strong and cunning; but she had ready wits and her lover's safety was at stake.

The next evening Mappin came to the house, and Geraldine carefully made some changes in her dress before she entered the drawing-room, where he was talking with Mrs. Denton. He rose with a challenging smile as she came in, and Geraldine was glad to feel that she was looking her best. It was humiliating to dress to please this man, but there was a struggle before her and she must use such weapons as she had.

"You're surprised to see me?" he said.

"Oh, no! I didn't doubt your boldness."

Mappin glanced at her sharply, for there was nothing ungracious in her tone. Her manner hinted at a change of mood; but he understood that women were variable.

"Then I have your permission to remain?"

"I'm not sure that you need it, and it would be inhospitable to refuse it," Geraldine replied, as if amused.

Mrs. Denton looked from one to the other in a puzzled way, but she said nothing, and Mappin began to talk, relating sc.r.a.ps of news picked up at the Landing. Geraldine showed some interest, and after a while Mrs. Denton, seeing them apparently on good terms, judiciously left them. Then the girl ceased to respond to her companion's remarks, and Mappin, never a brilliant conversationalist, found it hard to go on.

He began to show impatience, and Geraldine enjoyed his embarra.s.sment.

At last he glanced toward the piano.

"I wish you would play or sing something," he begged.

Geraldine rose good-humoredly and opened the piano.

"I didn't know you cared for music."

"I don't, as a rule."

"That sounds like a compliment," she answered, smiling. "It's a pity I haven't any jingling rag-time tunes."

"They're what I like--my taste isn't cla.s.sical; but I don't mind your taking a shot at me. One doesn't want music to make one serious."

"You think one should be serious only where money is concerned?"

"Well," he said grimly, "I haven't found trying to get it very amusing; but I can be in earnest in other matters."

"So I suppose," responded Geraldine, turning over the music. "Here's something that might please you. Will you light the candles?"

Her amiability had cost her an effort, and it grew harder as she opened the song. It was pointed with witty coquetry, and she hesitated for a moment with a feeling of humiliation, though she meant to play out her part. Andrew and his friends were in peril in the icy wilds; somehow they were at the mercy of this cruel, gross-natured man; and, hateful as her task was, she must not shrink. She thought he could be led on to betray himself. Tingling with shame, she sang with all the fire and art she could command, and Mappin was swept off his feet.

Music had no great charm for him, but the ballad was one he could appreciate, and the girl's beauty had a stronger effect. The light of the shaded candles fell on her face, which was slightly flushed, and forced up gleams in her hair. She looked inexpressibly alluring; her fine voice and arch smile well brought out the half-tender mockery of the song. He noticed the supple shapeliness of her figure and the polished whiteness of her skin, and his heart began to throb fast and his eyes to glisten. Turning over a leaf, he came near shaking down the music, and he drew back thrilled when she made a gesture of amused rebuke. There was, he felt, something very friendly in it.

When she stopped he leaned on the piano looking down at her, and Geraldine knew that she had gone far enough. After having treated him with cold indifference, she must not be too gracious, lest his suspicions be aroused. The man was in her hands, but he was not a fool. She hated him as she saw the crude desire in his face.

"Thank you," he said hoa.r.s.ely, and picked out another song at random.