"I'm very busy," said Hector. "What is it?"
"A most urgent and important matter."
"This is very mysterious," Hector smiled. "Well, just for a minute, then. Go ahead. But not too fast. I'm tottery still."
They walked slowly over to Northcote's. The world was ominously still, frozen in deathly silence. From the town came the occasional howl of a husky and a murmur, as of a great crowd gathering. The night was pregnant with possibilities.
They entered the shack. Northcote pushed open the sitting-room door.
"In there," he whispered, smiling—gave Hector a gentle push—he went in.
The room was brightly lighted. By the stove stood a woman, in breeches, heavy stockings, moccasins and mackinaw coat—a woman with ruddy-gold hair—strangely familiar——
"Hector!" she said.
He heard his own voice, on a strained, unnatural note:
"Frances!"