of the fact that she was purposely avoiding contact with him.  This did not displease him.  It allowed him to pick up the threads of other interests in a normal sort of way.  He discussed Alaskan politics in the smoking-room, smoked his black pipe without fear of giving offense, and listened to the talk of the ship with a freedom of mind which he had not experienced since his first meeting with Miss Standish.  Yet, as night drew on, and he walked his two-mile promenade about the deck, he felt gathering about him a peculiar impression of aloneness.  Something was missing.  He did not acknowledge to himself what it was until, as if to convict him, he saw Mary Standish come out of the door leading from her cabin passageway, and stand alone at the rail of the ship.  For a moment he hesitated, then quietly he came up beside her.

“It has been a wonderful day, Miss Standish,” he said, “and Cordova is only a few hours ahead of us.”

She scarcely turned her face and continued to look off into the shrouding darkness of the sea.  “Yes, a wonderful day, Mr. Holt,” she repeated after him, “and Cordova is only a few hours ahead.”  Then, in the same soft, unemotional voice, she added:  “I want to thank you for last night.  You brought me to a great decision.”

“I fear I did not help you.”

It may have been fancy of the gathering dusk, that made him believe he caught a shuddering movement of her slim shoulders.

“I thought there were two ways,” she said, “but you made me see there was only one.”  She emphasized that word.  It seemed to come with a little tremble in her voice.  “I was foolish.  But please let us forget.  I want to think of pleasanter things.  I am about to make a great experiment, and it takes all my courage.”

“You will win, Miss Standish,” he said in a sure voice.  “In whatever you undertake you will win.  I know it.  If this experiment you speak of is the adventure of coming to Alaska—­seeking your fortune—­finding your life here—­it will be glorious.  I can assure you of that.”

She was quiet for a moment, and then said: 

“The unknown has always held a fascination for me.  When we were under the mountains in Skagway yesterday, I almost told you of an odd faith which I have.  I believe I have lived before, a long time ago, when America was very young.  At times the feeling is so strong that I must have faith in it.  Possibly I am foolish.  But when the mountain swung back, like a great door, and we saw Skagway, I knew that sometime—­somewhere—­I had seen a thing like that before.  And I have had strange visions of it.  Maybe it is a touch of madness in me.  But it is that faith which gives me courage to go on with my experiment.  That—­and you!”

Suddenly she faced him, her eyes flaming.