It was six weeks later. The dawn came less early, and nightfall perceptibly sooner.  
There was a new crispness in the air, and the leaves on the trees were losing their greenness and taking on every possible shade, from pale yellow to old gold, and from that to dusky red. Both Stane and Helen Yardely noticed the signs. Autumn was upon them and they were still in their camp by the lake, though now Stane was able to hobble about with a pair of made from a couple of forked sticks, padded with at the forks for his arms, and covered with skin. Helen herself was busy from dawn to sunset. From words that he had dropped she knew that they had lost in the race with the seasons, and that winter would be on them before he would be able to take the trail. She faced the light-heartedly, but under his instruction omitted no precautions that would make a winter in the wild land tolerable. Fish were caught and dried, rabbits and hares , not merely for meat, but for their skins, which when a sufficient number had been accumulated were fashioned into parkas and blankets against the Arctic cold which was surely marching on them.
 
The leaves began to fall, light frosts were succeeded by heavier ones, and one morning they awoke to find a thin film of ice on the surface of the still water of the little bay where their camp was located. Stane viewed the ice with eyes. He was of any heavy physical as yet, and knowing the North in all its inimical aspects, he was afraid for his companion, and though he rejoiced in her frank comradeship, he regretted that she had let Ainley and the Indian depart without knowledge of her presence. Guessing that the lake was some sort of waterway between two points, daily, almost hourly, in the frequent absences of the girl, he scanned it for any sign of human presences, but in vain. The lake's surface was unbroken by the movement of canoe or boat; its shores showed no tell-tale column of smoke. They were indeed alone in the .
 
But one afternoon the girl returned from a hunting expedition with excitement shining in her grey eyes.
 
"I have found something," she announced .
 
"What is it?"
 
"There is a cabin up the lake, about three miles away."
 
"A cabin?"
 
"Yes, and a very nice one, logs with a stone chimney and a parchment window. There was no one about, and the door was only held by a hasp and a wooden , so I ventured to look in. It has a stove, a rough table, a and a couple of logs plainly meant for chairs."
 
Stane considered her news for a moment and then gave an obvious explanation. "It is some trapper's hut. He is away, and will probably return for the trapping season."
 
"Yes," she answered with a nod. "I thought that was the explanation. But there is nothing to prevent us taking possession until the owner returns, if he ever does, is there?"
 
"No," he answered slowly.
 
"Then tomorrow we will remove house," she said with a little laugh. "It's the only sensible thing to do. The place is clean and warm and comfortable; and if we take possession of it we shall be under no temptation to take the trail before you are really fit."
 
"But——"
 
"But me no buts," she cried in mock reproval. "You know that it is the really wise thing to do, for if the weather turns bad, where are we—with a canvas tent and a rather leaky birch-bark tepee? It would be the very rankest not to take advantage of my discovery and you know it."
 
Stane was compelled to admit that she was right, and said so.
 
"Then tomorrow I will raft you up to our new abode," she answered cheerfully. "There is no wind, and has been none for days. It will be easy to pole the raft along the shore."
 
Having announced this decision she began to busy herself about the camp, singing softly to herself; and Stane watched her with eyes. She was thinner than when they had first met, her face was bronzed, her hair in its outer folds almost golden by the strong sunlight of the past summer. She radiated health and , and though she was dressed masculinely, femininity was the note about her. In the weeks that had passed since he had saved her from the river she had developed amazingly. there was nothing of the softness of the over-civilized left in her. That had been eliminated by the harsh necessity of labour which circumstances had thrust upon her; and the life of the wilderness had developed in her elemental powers. She was now the strong mate-woman, quick in , resourceful in action, and of swift courage in danger. His eyes glowed as he watched her, and a soft look came on his face. As it happened Helen turned and saw it.
 
"What is it?" she asked quickly, a look of in her eyes.
 
He hesitated. That look challenged him. He knew that if he said all that he felt she would respond. But the unfairness of such action prevented him from doing so, and though he was strongly he turned aside.
 
"Nothing that I can tell you," he said in answer to her question.
 
"Oh!" she retorted, "you are a most person. Why cannot you tell me? If the matter is secret you have no cause to be afraid. To whom could I whisper it in this wilderness?"
 
She waved a hand half-round the compass as she , and stood there looking at him, still with the look of expectancy in her eyes, and with a little dash of colour in her bronzed cheeks.
 
"I am not afraid of your whispering it to any one," replied Stane, with a poor attempt at laughter.
 
"Then why not tell me?" she urged.
 
"Because——" began the man, and then stopped. The temptation surged up anew within him, the stress of it almost broke down his resolution. Then he cried, almost violently, "No! I cannot tell you—now."
 
"Now!" she said, in tremulous laughter. "Now! ' now is the accepted time and now is the day of .' Unless the religious education of your youth was sadly neglected you ought to know that. The present is the only time. But if you will not tell me this tantalizing secret now, you will some time?"
 
"Some time!" he answered.
 
"It is a promise," she insisted and now there was no laughing note in her voice, and her face was very serious.
 
"Yes," he answered, "it is a promise."
 
"Then I write it on the tablets of my mind. I shall hold you to it, and some day I shall demand its fulfilment."
 
She turned and resumed her work and singing at the same time, and Stane lay there looking at her with the love shining plainly in his eyes. He had no doubt that she divined that which he would not speak; that indeed it was no secret to her, and that she was glad in the knowledge he could hardly question. Her bearing as well as her singing told him that; and he knew that in the last few minutes they had travelled a very long way towards full revelation of each other; and that the day when he should speak would bring to her nothing that was not already within the sphere of her knowledge.
 
The next day was spent in removal to the cabin further up the lake, both of them working at poling the raft with all their stores. The cabin was well on a small bay, where a fair-sized stream emptied into the lake, and behind it stretched the forest, dark and impenetrable. As he hobbled through the open door, Stane looked round, and under the bunk discovered a number of steel-traps which the girl on her first visit had overlooked. Also on a peg in a dark corner he found a set of dogs' harness hung just as the owner had left it, probably months before. He the traps out to the girl.
 
"As I guessed, it is a trapper's cabin, Miss Yardely. Any day may bring the owner back."
 
"Possession is nine points of the law," she laughed. "What is the term the gold-seekers use, Jump?—yes, we will jump the claim, for the present at any rate."
 
"The owner may come back while there is open water, or he may wait for the ice."
 
"But we are of the furnished cabin meanwhile," she answered cheerfully, "and may as well make ourselves at home. I'm going to light the stove."
 
Inside the cabin there was a little wood-pile, and with a few well-chosen logs and dried sticks she soon had the stove roaring, and then began to their possessions tidily. By the time that was the shadows were creeping across the lake and deepening in the woods, and it was time for the evening meal, and when it was ready they ate it at the rough table, with a sense of safety and comfort that had long been lacking. "This place is quite cosy," said Helen, looking round the firelit cabin. "Tomorrow I shall make a curtain for the out of caribous skins."
 
"Tomorrow," laughed Stane, "the owner may return."
 
"But he will not turn us out," cried Helen. "The men of the wilds are all ."
 
"That is true," agreed Stane, "and I have no doubt that we should be allowed to winter here if we chose. But if the man comes there is a better way. We shall be able to engage him to take us to Fort Malsun, and so to safety and civilization."
 
"Oh!" laughed the girl, "are you so anxious to go back to civilization?"
 
Stane's face suddenly clouded, and the old hardness came back to it.
 
"There is no going back for me—yet," he answered bitterly.
 
"But you will return, some day," she answered quietly. "I have no doubt of that at all. But I was not thinking of that when............