He felt better in the morning.  The sun was up, flooding the wall of his cabin, when he awoke, and under him he could feel the roll of the open sea.  Eastward the Alaskan coast was a deep blue haze, but the white peaks of the St. Elias Range flung themselves high up against the sun-filled sky behind it, like snowy banners.  The Nome was pounding ahead at full speed, and Alan’s blood responded suddenly to the impelling thrill of her engines, beating like twin hearts with the mighty force that was speeding them on.  This was business.  It meant miles foaming away behind them and a swift biting off of space between him and Unalaska, midway of the Aleutians.  He was sorry they were losing time by making the swing up the coast to Cordova.  And with Cordova he thought of Mary Standish.

He dressed and shaved and went down to breakfast, still thinking of her.  The thought of meeting her again was rather discomforting, now that the time of that possibility was actually at hand, for he dreaded moments of embarrassment even when he was not directly accountable for them.  But Mary Standish saved him any qualms of conscience which he might have had because of his lack of chivalry the preceding night.  She was at the table.  And she was not at all disturbed when he seated himself opposite her.  There was color in her cheeks, a fragile touch of that warm glow in the heart of the wild rose of the tundras.  And it seemed to him there was a deeper, more beautiful light in her eyes than he had ever seen before.

She nodded, smiled at him, and resumed a conversation which she had evidently broken for a moment with a lady who sat next to her.  It was the first time Alan had seen her interested in this way.  He had no intention of listening, but something perverse and compelling overcame his will.  He discovered the lady was going up to teach in a native school at Noorvik, on the Kobuk River, and that for many years she had taught in Dawson and knew well the story of Belinda Mulrooney.  He gathered that Mary Standish had shown a great interest, for Miss Robson, the teacher, was offering to send her a photograph she possessed of Belinda Mulrooney; if Miss Standish would give her an address.  The girl hesitated, then said she was not certain of her destination, but would write Miss Robson at Noorvik.

“You will surely keep your promise?” urged Miss Robson.

“Yes, I will keep my promise.”

A sense of relief swept over Alan.  The words were spoken so softly that he thought she had not wanted him to hear.  It was evident that a few hours’ sleep and the beauty of the morning had completely changed her mental attitude, and he no longer felt the suspicion of responsibility which had persisted in attaching itself to him.  Only a fool, he assured himself, could possibly see a note of tragedy in her appearance now.  Nor was she different at luncheon or at dinner.  During the day he saw nothing of her, and he was growing conscious