Every evening the missionary brought the news over the river as to the progress he was making upon the hospital. One room he had reserved for the nurse who should come, so he said, and he was fitting it up as comfortably as he could. This would be her home, and Nance when alone often wondered what it was like, and how it would look when the stranger arrived.

"How are The Twins getting along?" Martin asked, as they sat one evening outside the door.

"Oh, they left several days ago," Dick replied. "The place got too hot for them."

"In what way? Did the miners threaten them with bodily injury?"

"No, not a bit of it. They simply carried out the suggestion which Tom made at the meeting. On all sides, and at every opportunity The Twins were assailed with questions about the claims they had staked, when they intended to work them, and if they expected to get good results. To these they would either reply with oaths, or remain silent and slink away. If they happened to be present at the saloon, or where several men were gathered, the conversation was always sure to drift off to revolvers, and whether a woman could handle a rifle. Then some one was certain to ask The Twins for their opinion. I cannot tell you exactly how the whole thing was managed, but there was really nothing The Twins could do, though they were always boiling over with rage. The miners would talk of nothing else while they were present. Then one night the two scoundrels vanished, where to no one knows. The place is well rid of them. It will teach others to leave you alone after this."

"I am so glad," Nance replied, "but I cannot help feeling sorry for those men. They did look so funny, though, pulling up the stakes, while Tom and the rest were making all kinds of remarks."

"You have been a heroine among the miners ever since," Dick returned. "There is nothing that they would not do for you now. You are under their special protection, and they have vowed to lynch the first man who ever interferes with you or this place again."

A blush suffused Nance's cheeks at these words, while Martin gave a sigh of relief. He had been worried and annoyed over the affray, but now he felt thankful that they were to be left undisturbed in the future.

One morning, just a week after this conversation, Martin and Nance were aroused by several raucous blasts of a steamer. Rushing outside, they saw the Northern Light ploughing across the lake, straight toward the new mining town. Her decks were black with people, and as the two watchers hurried to the shore they could see a number of women among the passengers. There was considerable excitement on board, and much cheering as well both on the steamer and on land, where the miners had gathered on the bank. There was no wharf, but the boat curved gracefully around, and as the water was deep, she was able to swing close to the shore. When tied up, and the gang-planks run out a great scramble took place, while the hum of voices fell strangely upon the ears of the two silent ones over the river. Nance was all excitement now. Never before had she beheld the forms of white women in the Quaska region, and she was most anxious for a closer inspection.

"Oh, daddy!" she exclaimed, "those women must be nurses. Dick didn't expect so many, I am sure. Isn't it too bad that he is up at the diggings with Tom? Suppose we go over and tell them where he is?"

But Martin laid a heavy hand upon her shoulder, which caused her to look up into his face in surprise. He surmised only too well who the women were, and the object of their visit into the country. But how should he tell Nance? How could he explain?

"They are not nurses, little one," he at length answered, and then remained silent, uncertain how to proceed.

"Not nurses! Then who are they?" and Nance looked her astonishment.

"They are bad women who flock into every camp such as this. They drink, gamble, and—lead men astray."

"Oh! I thought that all women were good, daddy."

"Unfortunately not all. And look, Nance, you are not to have anything to do with those women, see?"

"Yes, daddy," but a note of disappointment was apparent in Nance's voice. "But there may be nurses among them," and her face brightened at the thought.

"Not likely. They would hardly have time to get the message from the Northern Packet, and return on this boat."

Nance made no reply to these words, but stood silently watching the anxious crowd near the steamer. She was sorely grieved that she could not go over to the place, for she longed to look upon the white women, hear them talk, and to see how they were dressed.

"When the nurse comes may I see her, and talk with her, daddy?" she presently asked.

"Ye-s," was the somewhat reluctant assent. "I have no objection to your meeting with good respectable women, but not with such as have come on that steamer to-day."

Nothing more was said about the matter then, and ere long they both went back to the house. But Nance was more restless than usual. The outside world of which she had so often dreamed was being brought to their very door, and her blood was being stirred as never before. She wanted to see, hear, and learn how people, and especially women, acted who had lived in the great world of civilisation. She wished to know of things of which she had been ignorant so long.

About the middle of the afternoon Nance picked up her violin, and strolled over to the Indian encampment. She could express her feelings better upon the violin than in any other way, and Quabee was always so pleased to listen to her. She found the Indian woman near the shore, and received a hearty welcome. Quabee was squatting with several other native women upon the ground, watching with much interest the steamer lying against the opposite bank.

"Come in canoe on water?" she asked, as Nance drew near.

"What, over there?" and the latter pointed to the farther side of the lake.

"Ah, ah. Go by beeg canoe, eh?"

Nance was quite ready for the trip, as she would thus be able to go quite close to the steamer, and obtain a better view of the women.

In a few moments the canoe was skimming over the surface of the lake, straight toward the steamer. Nance as well as Quabee wielded a paddle, and a pretty sight she presented, seated well astern, and guiding the craft as wilfully as she pleased. She saw several women standing near the bow of the Northern Light, and heard one exclaim: "Oh, look at the Indians in the canoe! How pretty!"

During the brief space of time in which they were passing Nance was able to get a fairly good view of the women, and nothing escaped her eyes. They were young, good-looking, and their shapely figures were clad in neatly-fitting dresses, such as she had never seen before. She glanced at her own rough clothes, and for the first time realised how mean and humble they were. What must Dick think of her? she mused. Surely he had often compared her poor dresses with the handsome ones he had seen outside. She was now glad that her father had not consented to go over to the steamer that morning. What would the women have thought of her? She would have caused them no end of amusement.

Nance was as eager to get away from the steamer as a few minutes before she had been anxious to be near it. Heading the canoe diagonally across the lake, she drove her paddle into the water with a sudden swish. In a short time she ran the craft around a sharp point into a little cove where the trees came close to the water's edge. Laying her paddle by her side she let Quabee run the canoe gently ashore, and then looked back over the route they had just traversed. The steamer was hidden from view, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

A new mood was now upon her such as she had never experienced before. She longed to get away and hide from everybody, except her father and the Indians. She did not even wish to see Dick, for she could not bear for him to look upon her dressed in such humble clothes. Her heart beat fast as she thought of the many times they had been together, and she did not know that she was dressed differently from other white women.

Nance, in fact, was wrong in thinking that her clothes made her look ridiculous. The material was rough, but the dress she wore was neat, and fitted to perfection her lithe figure. Had she only known that her simply-made garments seemed to Dick's eyes most becoming, she would not have felt so badly. There was nothing artificial or bizarre about them such as he had often seen upon women of her age. In fact, anything that she wore would have appeared appropriate to him, for she herself added the charm which was all essential.

Knowing nothing of this, and considering herself a disgraceful and ungainly creature, Nance sat for some time in the canoe lost in thought. Quabee wondered at her unusual silence, and at length, turning, she pointed to the violin.

"Mak' music, eh?" she nodded.

Almost mechanically Nance picked up the instrument, tuned it, and began to play. After a few moments the old-time spirit came upon her. The music acted like a tonic. The heavy mood of depression disappeared, and her natural buoyant self reasserted itself. Tune after tune she played, and the sweet strains sounded out over the water.

Presently Quabee touched Nance upon the arm, and motioned her to look to the right. Coming toward them was a canoe, containing a woman, and a white woman at that. Nance laid her violin carefully in the bottom of the canoe, and then fixed her gaze upon the approaching stranger. Her eyes grew large with wonder as the woman drew near. Never before had she beheld such a person. This must be one of the women who had come on the Northern Light, she thought. And yet she did not look bad. Surely her father must have been somewhat mistaken. That face with the large, expressive, pathetic eyes and sweet mouth could have no connection with evil. She noted the noble poise of her head, the erectness of her body, and the skilful manner in which she handled the craft. A sunny smile illumined the stranger's face, as she drew in the paddle and laid it across the canoe.

"Pardon me," she began, noting the looks of astonishment upon the faces of the two women before her. "I heard the music floating across the water, and thought that there must be fairies hidden in this cove, and now I have found that I was right."

Then an expression of sadness came into her eyes as she looked keenly upon Nance. She believed that this was one of the women who had come in on the Northern Light.

"I didn't hear you playing on the steamer," she continued after a brief pause. "Where did you keep yourself and your violin hidden all the way up the river?"

Then Nance knew that this stranger had mistaken her for one of the bad women of whom her father had spoken. At once her face flushed with resentment. No doubt this is one of them, she considered, and so she must not speak to her. She turned away her eyes and spoke to Quabee in the Indian tongue. The latter roused herself, seized her paddle and dipped it into the water. The stranger saw that in some way she had offended the young white woman, and she hastened to rectify her mistake.

"Forgive me!" she cried. "I am afraid that I have made a foolish blunder. Let us introduce ourselves, and then perhaps we shall be able to understand each other better. I am Nurse Marion, and have come to this place to take charge of the new hospital. But the lake is so calm this afternoon that I could not resist the temptation of a ride over its glassy surface in this canoe which I borrowed from an Indian."

Nance's face cleared instantly, and a sigh of relief escaped her lips. "Then you are not one of those women over there?" and she motioned toward the steamer.

"No, no!" was the emphatic reply.

"And neither am I. This is my home, and my name is Nance. This is Quabee, my Indian friend from childhood."

"And have you really lived in this country all your life!" the stranger exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes, ever since I was a little child. I live over there with my father," and she pointed to the right. "You cannot see the house as that point hides it from view."

Nurse Marion was not slow in noting the correctness of Nance's speech, the beauty of her face, as well as her quiet dignity and natural refinement of manner. She was much impressed, and longed to know more about her.

"Is your mother living here, too?" she asked. "I should like to meet her. I am so pleased that I shall have such nice neighbours."

"My father and mother are both dead," Nance replied. "They were drowned when I was very little."

"Oh! But you said that you lived with your father."

"He is not my real father, though he has been one to me all my life, and I have known no other. He took me from the Indians after my parents were drowned, and we have lived here ever since."

"And how did you learn to play the violin so well?"

"My father taught me. He plays much better than I do. If you once heard him you would not wish to listen to me."

"I should certainly like to hear him," the nurse returned, "and I hope to do so shortly, that is, if I may visit your home sometime. But how lonely you must have been in this country before the miners arrived."

"Why no, I didn't mind it one bit. The Indians have always been very good friends to us, and Quabee here is almost like a mother to me. Then, there are so many beautiful things everywhere, the trees, birds, flowers, mountains, and this lake. I love them all."

"But didn't you get lonely during the long winters, especially in the evenings?"

"Not at all. We had our violins, and it was so nice to sit and play before the bright open fire. We had our books, too, and often a game of chess."

"Books!" the nurse exclaimed in surprise. "Do you mean that you read them yourself?"

"Certainly," and Nance laughed at the other's astonishment.

"But how did you learn to read?"

"My father taught me, as he taught me everything else."

"He must be a remarkable man, and I should like to meet him."

"Indeed he is, and he has always been so good to me."

"You haven't told me his name yet, have you?"

"It is Martin."

"Martin what?"

"Rutland—Martin Rutland."

At these words Nurse Marion gave a slight start, but recovered herself immediately. Her cheeks, flushed by the exercise of paddling, became very white, while her eyes looked straight before her among the trees on the shore. That name brought back memories which she believed had long since been buried. Her brain throbbed as she endeavoured to piece together the things she had just heard. But for the name it would all have passed as a matter of general interest only. Now, however, it was different. She pictured to herself Martin Rutland as she had known him years ago. The last time they had been together he had played for her upon his violin. Then came the terrible blow, and she had not heard one word from him since. Could it be possible, she asked herself, that this was he? Had he fled away into the wilderness, and lived ever since among the Indians, caring for this orphan girl? She longed to ask more questions, but could not trust herself to do so just now. But she was determined to find out the whole truth, and Nance was the one who could help her. And suppose it really was Martin! Her heart beat wildly as she thought of it, and a sudden weakness came upon her. Had the people at the mission station down river been able at this moment to look upon Nurse Marion, who always was so calm and self-possessed, they would have been greatly surprised. But Nance and Quabee saw nothing unusual, so delighted were they in having this wonderful white woman near them.

"Would you like to come with me to the hospital?" the nurse at length asked.

"Oh, may I?" Nance replied. "It would be so nice."

"We will go at once, then. Perhaps you would like to help me to fix up my room."

The look in Nance's eyes told their own story of joy, as she dropped her paddle into the water, swung the canoe about, and headed it for the opposite shore.