"Oh, Mr. Steadman," and tears stood in her eyes, "you little know what he was to me. We were so much together, and after our mother's death I took charge of him almost entirely. He had a sweet disposition, and a lovable nature. Music was his pa.s.sion, and often during the winter evenings, when we were all home, he would play by the hour upon the violin, his favorite instrument, which he carried away with him. Oh, if I can only find him! I am afraid something has happened to him in this wild country, for he was not used to roughing it. Suppose the poor boy should now be lying in some lonely cabin, sick and calling for me, or--I shudder to think of it--cold and still, with the snow his only covering."

During this recital a vivid scene pa.s.sed before Keith's mind. He saw again the dreary Ibex cabin, the man huddled on the floor, and the grave in the snow. That he was Kenneth Radhurst, this woman's only brother, there could be no doubt. How could he tell her what he knew?

Would it be right to add this intense sorrow to her present trouble?

What should he do?

He arose suddenly, went to Mr. Radhurst's side, and watched him for a short time.

"Pardon me, Miss Radhurst," he said, turning toward her. "Your father is resting more comfortably. Please go on."

"After we had waited for some time," continued Constance, "and no word came from Kenneth, my father became very impatient. He wished to leave for the Yukon, not only to find my brother, but the gold mine as well.

"The lure of gold filled his mind, making him a changed man. Formerly he took an interest in many things, such as religion, politics, social matters, and was a great reader. All these he gradually relinquished, and he talked of nothing but gold, and how he would obtain it. At length he determined to follow up the quest himself. We did what we could to turn him from the idea, but the more his trusty friends reasoned, the more obdurate he became. Finding that nothing would change his mind, I decided to cast in my lot with his, go with him and take care of him as well as I could.

"We travelled by the way of St. Michael, and came to Kla.s.san last Fall in a fur-trading steamer. There we built a little cabin, in which we intended to spend the winter. But the gold fever had still a terrible grip over my poor father. Just when we were quite comfortably settled, he had a dream, in which he saw men carrying away the gold he hoped to obtain. I really believe his mind was somewhat unbalanced, for nothing would do but that we must set out at once. We came this far, when, finding it impossible to proceed farther, we took refuge in this abandoned cabin. Here we have remained ever since, and but for the kindness of Old Pete, and several of his companions, I verily believe we should have frozen or starved.

"And you should have seen the considerate manner in which the kindness was always bestowed. Sometimes they would have too much moose-meat, fish, or grouse on hand, 'and would we take just a little to keep it from spoiling.' My father knows very little about hunting, but one day Pete took him into the woods after a moose. The animal was killed, and Pete would insist that my father had shot it, and, of course, he came in for a liberal portion of the game. I wish you knew what that man has done for us. He has----"

Constance was interrupted by a knock upon the door, and when it was opened they beheld the object of their conversation standing before them. He was carrying something in his hand, covered with a cloth, old and worn, but perfectly clean.

"Thar," he remarked, placing his load upon the table. "I knowed ye'd be hungry, laddie, after yer long mush, an' mebbe, la.s.sie, ye'll have a snack, too."

Constance glanced at Keith, as much as to say, "Didn't I tell you so?

It's Old Pete's way."

When the cloth had been withdrawn a most appetizing repast was exposed to view. A prospector's gold-pan served as a tray, which contained a piece of tender moose-meat, nicely browned, some beans, a loaf of sourdough bread, and a pot of steaming tea. Pete did not tell that he had gone without bread and tea for weeks that he might have a little for the "Colonel" and Constance, whom he had intended to invite to his cabin for Christmas dinner. The bread he had made the day before, with a deep joy in his honest heart at the pleasure he imagined it would give the lonely ones.

"Now, la.s.sie," he commanded, "bring on yer chiny, an' we'll have our Christmas dinner right now. It's early, I admit, but it can't be helped."

Constance gave a little laugh, but her eyes were filled with tears.

"My china," she replied, "will make but a poor showing beside your bountiful repast. However, we shall have the best the cabin affords, even if they are only iron plates and cups."

Keith was hungry, very hungry, and he did ample justice to the food.

He let Constance and Pete do most of the talking, for he was busy with the various thoughts which surged through his mind. How different the outcome of it all from what he had expected. He chided himself over and over again for his lack of faith in the Master's leadings. In every step he could see the direct evidence of His over-ruling power.

And, to crown it all, there was before him this sweet, patient woman, adorning the humble cabin with a true and gentle grace.

CHAPTER X

CONSTANCE MAKES A DISCOVERY

Old Pete and Keith walked back to the former's cabin together, and left Constance for a time alone with her father.

"One of the b'ys'll come," said Pete, "an' sit with yer dad, so ye kin git some sleep, fer ye need it mighty bad."

It was early dawn as the two plodded their way through the deep snow.

The furious storm of the night had ceased, and a hush reigned over the land, as if in honour of the birth of the Great Prince of Peace. All around lay the virgin snow, unsullied as yet by its contact with earth, and untrodden save by the two night watchers.

"How like my life," thought Keith. "Last night, the storm howling and raging; this morning the stillness of G.o.d. Ah, I see it clearly," he unconsciously uttered aloud, following hard in Pete's footsteps.

"Hey? what d'ye see?" asked the prospector, suddenly stopping and looking at his companion.

Keith laughed. "Nothing outwardly," he replied. "I must have been dreaming and forgot myself."

"Umph!" returned the other, and continued on his way.

"An' what did ye see out yon, laddie?" queried Pete, when they at length reached the cabin.

Keith looked keenly at the old man, but only an expression of calmness, tinged with sadness, was depicted upon his rugged countenance.

"I saw much, Pete, very much."

"So did I, laddie. I saw it, too."

"And what did _you_ see, Pete?"

The prospector looked intently into the young man's face before replying.

"I saw," he said slowly, "a new trail bein' blazed out fer ye by the hand of the Almighty. Somethin' tells me, I dunno what it is, unless it was yer knocked out condition last night, an' yer rough appearance, that ye've been on a hard trail of late."

"I have, Pete, I have," a.s.sented Keith, resisting with difficulty the temptation to tell his companion all about his troubles.

"I knowed it, laddie. An' now ye've almost fergot the old trail with all its snags, because a new one lies afore ye. Ye'll find snags thar, too, remember, but it'll make all the difference in the warld when the shinin' light of a true woman lightens yer path."

"Pete!" exclaimed Keith. "I----"

"It reminds me of this cabin," continued the prospector, unheeding the interruption. "I come back to it, sometimes, tired an' discouraged.

The place is cold and dismal, an' I feel that life isn't worth livin'.

But when yon stove gits to wark, blazin' away like mad, purty soon things change, an' a new feelin' creeps over me. It's jist because somethin' warm an' cheerful has knocked out an' taken the place of t'other.

"Now, that's jist what that la.s.sie over yon has done fer me. I've had a mighty bad season, an' felt like seven divils when I come back. Even the old stove couldn't cheer me up completely, an' things looked purty blue. Jist then that la.s.sie an' her dad drifted inter this camp. We call 'im 'Colonel,' because of his white hair, long beard, an' n.o.ble bearin'. They was down to hard pan, if any one ever was, an' says I to meself, says I, 'Pete, ye've got to do somethin'!' So in the doin'

that somethin', an' seein' the la.s.sie's bright face an' sunny ways in the midst of her hardships, knocked my own trouble clean outer my head.

She's a woman, through and through, if ever thar was one."

"She is," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Keith, looking meditatively at the stove.

"But come, laddie," said Pete, suddenly rising to his feet, "it's time ye was in bed. Ye'll need a good rest afore the b'ys come to church."

"What! a service?" asked Keith eagerly. "Will the men come? And do you think they will care for it?"

"It's not what they care fer, laddie; but, what's yer dooty? It's Christmas Day, an' it'll remind us of old times. Some'll like it, an'

some won't. But yer Orders, as fer as I kin understand, is 'to preach the Gospel,' an' here's an opportunity. They'll come, never ye fear that."

"I'll have to hold the service just as I am," said Keith apologetically. "I haven't my robes with me, and not even a decent suit of clothes."

"Don't ye worry about yer robes an' clothes. The uniform's all right on parade, an' starched collars, an' sich like, but the b'ys'll take it better if they see ye in yer rough togs. They'll feel yer one of themselves. I'll trim yer hair an' whiskers a bit, so ye won't look too savage, an' frighten 'em away."