Morning dawned clear and fresh. The sun was abroad early, and the filmy mist hovering over the lake soon vanished before the hot rays. The gold-seekers on the shore were astir at break of day. Some, in fact, had been busy all night selecting suitable sites and pitching their tents. The steamer was nearly unloaded, and the captain was anxious to hurry down the river as speedily as possible to return with another cargo before the summer was over.

The miners had chosen this spot for their encampment because it was on the side of the Quaska River where the gold had been discovered. They would thus not have to cross the stream, but simply follow the trail to the diggings. They wished to settle near the lake so that the steamers could land their goods right at their doors, otherwise it would be difficult to take the whole of their supplies up river. They could easily pack what they would need for several days, and could always come back to the lake for more.

Dick stood in the door of Martin's house watching the animated scene across the river. Not a ripple stirred the surface of the lake, and the dark trees and the towering mountains were reflected in the clear, deep water. It appealed to his poetic nature. He had beheld many grand sights since coming north, but this was the most beautiful and majestic upon which he had ever gazed. "What grandeur," he mused, "and to think that she has been living here in the midst of it all for years, far away from the tumult of the world."

A step at his side caused him to turn, and his eyes rested upon the object of his thoughts.

"Isn't it beautiful," Nance remarked in response to Dick's greeting. "I love the lake, mountains, and trees. I have looked upon them ever since I was a child, and they are very near to my heart."

"How fortunate they are," the young man murmured, gazing with admiration upon her bright face.

"Oh, they know nothing about it," Nance laughed. "It is an all one-sided love, you see."

"I wish that I could change places with them for a while. I wonder if your feelings would be the same then."

A deep flush suffused Nance's cheeks at these words, and her eyes dropped for an instant. Dick noticed her embarrassment, and he was afraid lest he had offended her.

"Pardon me," he hastened to explain. "I fear that I have said too much. I allowed my heart to overcome my head, or, in other words, I made a fool of myself."

"You didn't offend me," Nance shyly replied. "I was thinking how funny it would be if you took the place of the mountains, trees, and lake."

"And why?" Dick questioned.

"Because you would have such a hard time of it. You have only seen them in peace and sunshine. If you could look upon them as I have, when a fierce storm is raging over the land, you would not envy them then. But I love them just the same. I like to hear the wind roaring down the valley, to see the trees shake and bend, and the water of the lake lashed into foam. Oh, it is grand!"

Dick looked with amazement into the face of the young woman at his side. He saw it transformed. Her cheeks were aglow, and her eyes were very bright as she gazed far off into space and beheld the scene she so vividly described. He knew that it was no ordinary woman that uttered such words. Though naturally quiet and reserved, there were within her soul great depths of thought. She was in harmony with her surroundings, and her rich blood pulsated to the tunes of the moods of the wilderness. All this appealed strongly to Dick. To him she was the most beautiful and yet mysterious woman he had ever met. Everything she said and did was so natural. There was nothing artificial or unreal about her. To her the veneer of polite social life was unknown.

As these thoughts passed through Dick's mind Martin suddenly appeared, hurrying along the trail from the forest. His rifle was over his shoulder, and he carried in his hand several grouse he had recently shot. With a cry of joy Nance sprang to meet him, and Martin's face brightened as she drew near. Taking the grouse from his hand, she walked by his side.

"Where have you been, daddy?" she asked. "We have been waiting breakfast for you."

"I am sorry, Nance, that I have kept you waiting," was the reply. "But I have been out on the hills for several hours. And how is Pete?" was his greeting to Dick as he reached the door.

"Doing as well as can be expected. He has had a fairly good night."

During breakfast Martin had very little to say, and Dick observed him as carefully as he could without arousing any suspicion. He noted that his host seemed ill at ease, that his face was drawn and haggard, and that his eyes were big and staring. He seemed like a man who had been awake all night, and whose thoughts were troubling him. He wondered if Nance saw anything amiss with her father. He longed to speak to her, but had no opportunity just then. When the meal was over Dick tended to the wants of the injured man lying on the cot, and then made ready to leave the house.

"May I have the use of your canoe, sir?" he asked, turning to Martin.

"Certainly, certainly," was the jerky reply, and Dick wondered more than ever.

He thought much concerning the man's strange appearance as he paddled swiftly across to the encampment on the opposite shore. Here he found confusion and excitement. Men were busy unloading the steamer, and the miners were searching for their goods among the piles of stuff thrown out upon the bank. With difficulty Dick rescued his own meagre outfit, and carried it to a secure place. Opening one of the bundles, he lifted out a small leather writing-case, from which he took a sheet of paper and an envelope. Seating himself upon his rolled-up tent, he began to write. This letter was the outcome of many thoughts which had been surging through his mind for days past. Several times while on the river he had been upon the point of doing this, but had always put it off until a more favourable opportunity. The accident which had happened to Pete, and the fact that the steamer was soon to depart, made any further delay unavoidable. He knew that help would be needed if he were to accomplish any definite work among the miners. There was only one place to which he could turn, and if he neglected to send a message now it might be too late when the next steamer arrived.

When he had finished the letter he went on board the Northern Packet and gave it to the captain, with strict instructions to deliver it at the mission station of The Good Samaritan down river.

Hurrying ashore, he started to work at once upon his tent. The place he chose for his abode was a snug spot near several large jack-pines. It took him most of the morning to complete the task of erecting his tent, and when at last all was finished he stood and looked upon his handiwork with much satisfaction. The tent shone white beneath the sun, and not a wrinkle marred the smoothness of the well-stretched canvas.

While Dick had been thus busy at work dozens of men around him were also erecting their humble, flimsy abodes. A row of tents had been stretched along the water front, several yards back from the shore of the lake. Higher up on the shelving bank others were placed, while a street ran between. On all sides pounding and shouting continued throughout the day. Men were constantly moving about, all hustling as fast as they could in order to get through with their work as speedily as possible. It was the rude beginning of a frontier mining camp, which would develop later into a town of wooden houses of considerable importance.

One tent much larger than any of the rest was being erected right in the centre of the encampment. Dick watched this with more than ordinary interest. The men who were doing the work had come up from the lower river and were strangers to him, although he had seen them on the steamer. He had not liked their appearance when first he saw them, and they impressed him now more unfavourably than ever. There were three of them, rough and foul-mouthed. At first he had partly suspected the object of their visit into the country. Now he was certain that they were not miners, but liquor dealers, and the tent they were erecting was to be the saloon. Several cases piled together contained whiskey, he was quite sure, and when these were opened he well knew what the result would be. There was no one in authority to keep law and order, and he shuddered as he thought of the wild scenes which would ensue when the whiskey began to be circulated among the miners.

He naturally thought of Nance, and his face grew grave as he realised the danger to which she would be constantly exposed. What regard would drink-inflamed men have for the purity and the honour of the beautiful woman across the river? he asked himself over and over again. Already, no doubt, they knew of her presence in the little cabin. When sober they might not interfere with her, but when mad with the demon of whiskey there was no telling what they might do. There were several men in the camp he could trust, especially Tom and Dad. But what could a few do against so many?

The presence of Sam Pelchie and Dave Purvis disturbed him. They had put up their miserable little tents, and were now loitering around, always together. Several times Dick saw them engaged in earnest conversation and casting furtive glances at the cabin across the Quaska. He suspected these men, and firmly believed that they had some sinister motive in their minds. "Could it be of Nance they were talking?" he mused. "Had they heard of her down at Rapid City, and were their veiled remarks in reference to her when they had spoken about Martin?" The more he thought of these things, the more uneasy he became. Just what to do he did not know, but he was determined to be on his guard, and keep as sharp a watch as possible over the movements of the two men.

During the rest of the day Dick made himself useful in helping his neighbours. The men who had lived all winter at Rapid City were not in the least surprised at the assistance he gave, for they knew him of old. But the newcomers were much astonished, and all agreed that the young "parson chap was a real sort of a man after all."

That evening Dick crossed the river to see Nance and his patient. He found the former seated by Martin in front of the house, for the evening was very mild. She greeted the visitor with a smile as he sat down upon the bench at her side. Martin had very little to say, and while he puffed at his pipe the young people talked about the miners over the river.

Dick was full of plans which had been revolving in his mind all day. He said nothing about the saloon nor his suspicions as to what the miners might do when inflamed with whiskey. He did not wish to alarm Nance, and if necessary he would speak to Martin privately. His face became animated as he told about the church he hoped to build and the hospital tent he expected would be sent up from the mission station down river. "I believe they can spare it," he added, "for the missionary in charge told me that he had one he could let me have if ever I wanted it."

"So you think there will be need of a hospital, then?" Martin remarked.

"Certainly. We can't tell how soon several of those chaps may get knocked out and will need attention. It has been the way in other large mining camps, and this one is not likely to be an exception."

"Will you be able to care for them yourself?" Martin inquired. "It will be quite an undertaking, will it not?"

"I have considered that matter very carefully and believe there will be no trouble. I have written to the mission station down river, asking for a trained nurse. I think they can spare one. As soon as the tent comes I shall be able to hold services in it until we get a church built."

"What do you mean by a church?" Nance simply asked.

Dick gave a start, and looked at her in surprise.

"What!" he demanded, "didn't you ever hear of a church?"

"Only in books, but I could never understand what the word meant. I suppose it is one of those wonderful things that people have in the great outside world."

Dick now looked at Martin as if expecting him to speak. But the latter was gazing far off over the lake, to all appearance seeing and hearing nothing around him. His pipe was clutched firmly in his right hand. He was sitting very straight, with body tense and rigid. At length he arose abruptly to his feet.

"Nance doesn't know," and he turned to the young man as he spoke. "Tell her if you like. I shall be back presently."

When he returned about an hour later he found the young couple sitting where he had left them. He was quick to note the expression of happiness upon their faces. They had eyes only for each other, and they could not read the writing upon the countenance of the man who slowly approached, and sank down wearily upon the seat he had vacated. They little realised that while they were engaged in such a pleasant conversation Martin had been wrestling hard with his own heart as he paced to and fro along the margin of the lake. It was not for them to know of the forces which had risen in his soul, and which at times had almost gained the mastery. It was not easy to break the cords which had bound him for years. He had taken such a grim joy in his spirit of rebellion, and the proud resolve that he would have nothing more to do with the Church which had cast him out. And yet in the presence of the missionary old longings returned which he had imagined were dead and buried forever. He comprehended now more than ever how true were the bishop's words. He had believed that the influence of the Church was merely external. But now he knew that it was within him, and that wherever he went he carried with him the teachings he had received. He understood that the truths which had been engrained into his very being were much like seeds. They might lie dormant for years, and to all outward appearance dead. But the life was within them still, and through proper environment of soil, air, and sunshine they would spring forth into vigorous growth.

"Oh, daddy," was Nance's greeting. "I have heard such wonderful things. You never told me about the Church. But," and here her voice lowered, "Dick has been telling me so much."

"Has he?" Martin replied, and again lapsed into silence.

The missionary remained for some time after Martin returned, relating to Nance many things of which she knew nothing. To all this she listened with rapt attention. What she heard was all so wonderful to her, and Dick was so enthusiastic that it was almost impossible not to be affected by his spirit. It was late when at length he arose, and looked in at Pete. Finding him asleep he went back out of doors. Nance was standing there, but Martin had gone into the house. He stood by her side, and gazed out over the water.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he remarked.

"Yes," was the quiet reply. "But it never seemed so lovely as to-night."

"What's the reason, do you think?" Dick queried.

"Oh, I don't know, except that when I am very happy things always seem more beautiful than at other times."

As Dick watched her standing there an intense longing came over him to seize in his those well-shaped hands which were clasped before her. He forebore, however, and stood silently by her side, looking with her out over the lake. Speech was unnecessary, for love was speaking to their hearts in a language which could not be expressed in mere words.