her in time of need. His life had been a rough one, but a great inner longing, and the energizing power of a lofty ideal, had kept him clean and straight. He knew very little of the society of women, so it was but natural that he should be deeply affected by this beautiful comrade of the trail.
This feeling, however, Rolfe kept to himself. To him loyalty was as vital as life. It flowed through every part of his being, and never for an instant did he dream of betraying his sergeant’s trust in him. So all the time he and Marion were together, neither by word or look did he show that she was anything more to him than a friend for whose welfare he was concerned.
Marion, too, did considerable thinking. Since leaving Kynox she had been mentally comparing her two companions. She liked Rolfe for his jovial manner, and poetic notions. He helped to pass the weary hours, and to enliven the trail. But to her he seemed more like a boy on whom the responsibilities of life pressed but lightly. She would at times glance from him to the sergeant and note the difference between the two—one gay, talkative, and dependent; the other reserved, quiet, and self-reliant. She never associated Tom Rolfe with great deeds of daring, but with John North it was different. To her he was the very embodiment of a true hero. His lithe, powerful body, his strong, clean-cut features, and steady gray eyes appealed to her. It almost frightened her at times to think that she had won the love of such a man, and that she loved him.
She thought of all this as she huddled there before the fire with the tempest raging overhead. She pictured her lover out in the storm, where, she did not
