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Rh sound of singing, where the McGill student and Dick led the interminable chorus to each verse of each song that was sung.

To Jennifer there was menace in that strong body of virile sound sweeping out to the lonely water and the still forests and naked cliffs. Was she, too, called to go all the way up the grey river of dread that broke at last to the Arctic Seas?

Ducane spoke sulkily:

"I guess it's all right for you," he said. "You don't go to prison."

Jennifer's spirit was there already.

"Oh," she said. "I can so well understand a man doing wrong. But to do wrong and be afraid all the time—where's the pleasure in that?"

Ducane did not chuckle as Dick would have done. His forehead was wet.

"Pleasure," he said. "Pleasure, good Lord!" He caught her hands. "You must save me, Jenny," he said. "I can't stand it, I can't. Remember I've always loved you, little girl"

Jennifer jerked her hands free and stood up. She could not listen to the desecration of that word which had once meant so much to her. It seemed so long since she first knew that she never had loved Ducane. Those great things which she had thought to honour in him were never there. She was the supporter, not the supported; the mother and nurse, not the wife. She had lost, lost right through in this game of love which she had been playing, and the naked path of duty was hard for a young heart to follow.

Dick looked down and saw her, a slim, tense figure in the warm, dull light that wrapped her, and for a background the great naked steel breast of the river and the far faint sky. She looked so little and lonely; and the