He was as any other man might be who had lost the most precious thing in the world.

And unconsciously, as he pledged his services in acceptance of the offer, he glanced in the direction of the little woman standing in the doorway of the cabin.
Alan met her.

She was a quiet, sweet-looking girl-woman.

She smiled gravely at Olaf, gave her hand to Alan, and her blue eyes dilated when she heard what had happened aboard the _Nome_.

Alan left the three together and returned to the beach, while between the loading and the lighting of his pipe the Swede told what he had guessed--that this girl whose body would never be washed ashore was the beginning and the end of the world to Alan Holt.
For many miles they searched the beach that day, while Sandy McCormick skirmished among the islands south and eastward in a light shore-launch.
He was, in a way, a Paul Revere spreading intelligence, and with Scotch canniness made a good bargain for himself.