Had Mr. Radhurst uttered these words several months before Constance would have been filled with delight. But now they brought little joy to her heart. She had changed much. Her old life, with all its associations, was fading, and the North was gripping her hard, as it does so many sooner or later who enter its portals. Chains had been forged which were binding her to the land, chains of hardships, sorrow, and, not the least, love. She had lost a dear and only brother here, but she had gained much in compensation. Life had become more real since Keith Steadman had crossed her path and infused into her heart and mind the longing for higher and nobler things. She compared him with many she had met in days gone by, and how superior he appeared. They were living so much for self, with their little rounds of business, pleasure and small talk. He was living for others, not a common life, but one filled with thought and activity, an unconscious hero in a stern, dreary field. Go back! back to what? That was the question which surged through her mind, causing her long lashes to droop, and her head to bend over her work, till the rich abundance of her hair almost hid her face.
Her father, noticing her embarrassment, wondered. He felt there was some reason for her bent head and unusual silence, but with fatherly solicitude forebore to question her farther.
A peculiar noise outside startled them.
"What's that?" exclaimed Constance.
"The wind," replied her father, "or else a prowling dog."
When, however, the pounding upon the door began both sprang to their feet, and with fast-beating hearts crossed the room. Then when the door was opened and Keith, weary, ragged and blood-stained, staggered into the building, they stared in amazement. They listened speechlessly to his brief message, gasped forth in quick, short syllables, and before they had recovered from their astonishment he was gone.
Constance was the first to realize the situation. "Quick, father!" she cried, reaching for her cloak and hood. "We must leave the cabin! The flood is coming! Hurry!"
"But I don't think it will reach us, Connie. We are too high up. But what about the miners?"
By this time Constance was out of the house, listening to the dull, ominous roar, sounding down through the darkness. She shivered and drew the cloak more closely around her shoulders. How weird it all seemed! Oh, if the night would only pass and give the blessed daylight!
"Connie," said her father, who had joined her, "I think we had better cross to the higher ground by the Indian encampment. We must not run any risk, and, besides, we may learn how the miners are faring."