into the back room; a figure in a blue blouse; a Chinaman, their house servant, Ah Fe.  He cast a furtive glance at the stranger on the veranda, and then beckoned to her stealthily.  She came towards him wonderingly, when he suddenly whipped a note from his sleeve, and with a dexterous movement slipped it into her fingers.  She tore it open.  A single glance showed her a small key inclosed in a line of her father’s handwriting.  Drawing quickly back into the corner, she read as follows:  “If this reaches you in time, take from the second drawer of my desk an envelope marked ‘Private Contracts’ and give it to the bearer.”  There was neither signature nor address.

Putting her finger to her lips, she cast a quick glance at the absorbed figure on the veranda and stepped before the desk.  She fitted the key to the drawer and opened it rapidly but noiselessly.  There lay the envelope, and among other ticketed papers a small roll of greenbacks—­such as her father often kept there.  It was his money; she did not scruple to take it with the envelope.  Handing the latter to the Chinaman, who made it instantly disappear up his sleeve like a conjurer’s act, she signed him to follow her into the hall.

“Who gave you that note, Ah Fe?” she whispered breathlessly.

“Chinaman.”

“Who gave it to him?”

“Chinaman.”

“And to him?”

“Nollee Chinaman.”

“Another Chinaman?”

“Yes—­heap Chinaman—­allee same as gang.”

“You mean it passed from one Chinaman’s hand to another?”

“Allee same.”

“Why didn’t the first Chinaman who got it bring it here?”

“S’pose Mellikan man want to catchee lettel.  He spotty Chinaman.  He follee Chinaman.  Chinaman passee lettel nex’ Chinaman.  He no get.  Mellikan man no habe got.  Sabe?”

“Then this package will go back the same way?”

“Allee same.”

“And who will you give it to now?”

“Allee same man blingee me lettel.  Hop Li—­who makee washee.”

An idea here struck Cissy which made her heart jump and her cheeks flame.  Ah Fe gazed at her with an infantile smile of admiration.

“How far did that letter come?” she asked, with eager questioning eyes.

“Lettee me see him,” said Ah Fe.

Cissy handed him the missive; he examined closely some half-a-dozen Chinese characters that were scrawled along the length of the outer fold, and which she had innocently supposed were a part of the markings of the rice paper on which the note was written.

“Heap Chinaman velly much walkee—­longee way!  S’pose you look.”  He pointed through the open front door to the prospect beyond.  It was a familiar one to Cissy,—­the long Canada, the crest on crest of serried pines, and beyond the dim snow-line.  Ah Fe’s brown finger seemed to linger there.

“In the snow,” she whispered, her cheek whitening like that dim line, but her eyes sparkling like the sunshine over it.