Next morning, Jacob Welse, for all of the Company and his millions in mines, chopped up the day's supply of firewood, lighted a cigar, and went down the island in search of Baron¹ Courbertin. Frona finished the breakfast dishes, hung out the robes to air, and fed the dogs. Then she took a worn Wordsworth from her clothes-bag, and, out by the bank, settled herself comfortably in a seat formed by two uprooted² pines. But she did no more than open the book; for her eyes strayed out and over the Yukon to the eddy³ below the bluffs⁴, and the bend above, and the tail of the spit which lay in the midst of the river. The rescue and the race were still fresh with her, though there were strange lapses⁵, here and there, of which she remembered little. The struggle by the fissure⁶ was immeasurable; she knew not how long it lasted; and the race down Split-up to Roubeau Island was a thing of which her reason convinced her, but of which she recollected⁷ nothing.  
The whim⁸ seized her, and she followed Corliss through the three days' events, but she tacitly avoided the figure of another man whom she would not name. Something terrible was connected therewith, she knew, which must be faced sooner or later; but she preferred to put that moment away from her. She was stiff and sore of mind as well as of body, and will and action were for the time being distasteful. It was more pleasant, even, to dwell on Tommy, on Tommy of the bitter tongue and craven heart; and she made a note that the wife and children in Toronto should not be forgotten when the Northland paid its dividends⁹ to the Welse.
 
The crackle of a foot on a dead willow-twig roused her, and her eyes met St. Vincent's.
 
"You have not congratulated me upon my escape," he began, breezily. "But you must have been dead-tired last night. I know I was. And you had that hard pull on the river besides."
 
He watched her furtively¹⁰, trying to catch some cue as to her attitude and mood.
 
"You're a heroine, that's what you are, Frona," he began again, with exuberance¹¹. "And not only did you save the mail-man, but by the delay you wrought¹² in the trial you saved me. If one more witness had gone on the stand that first day, I should have been duly hanged before Gow put in an appearance. Fine chap, Gow. Too bad he's going to die."
 
"I am glad that I could be of help," she replied, wondering the while what she could say.
 
"And of course I am to be congratulated—"
 
"Your trial is hardly a thing for congratulation," she spoke¹³ up quickly, looking him straight in the eyes for the moment. "I am glad that it came out as it did, but surely you cannot expect me to congratulate you."
 
"O-o-o," with long-drawn inflection. "So that's where it pinches." He sm............