“Isn’t it lonely?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly she felt very sorry for him. There was such a quiet, conclusive acceptance of cheerlessness in the monosyllable.

“How soon must you go back?”

“Oh, not for an hour, at least.”

“If it’s a call, it must be an important one, so far from civilization.”

“Not necessarily. Don’t you ever have calls that are not important?”

No answer came.

“Miss Brewster!” he called. “Oh, Voice! You haven’t gone?”

Still no response.