His mind pictured her in the flame-glow as she had listened to him that day in Skagway, when he had told her of this fight that was ahead.

And it pleased him to think she would have made this same fight for Alaska if she had lived.

It was a thought which brought a painful thickening in his breath, for always these visions which Olaf could not see ended with Mary Standish as she had faced him in his cabin, her back against the door, her lips trembling, and her eyes softly radiant with tears in the broken pride of that last moment of her plea for life.
He could not have told how long he slept that night.

Dreams came to him in his restless slumber, and always they awakened him, so that he was looking at the stars again and trying not to think.

In spite of the grief in his soul they were pleasant dreams, as though some gentle force were at work in him subconsciously to wipe away the shadows of tragedy.
Mary Standish was with him again, between the mountains at Skagway; she was at his side in the heart of the tundras, the sun in her shining hair and eyes, and all about them the wonder of wild roses and purple iris and white seas of sedge-cotton and yellow-eyed daisies, and birds singing in the gladness of summer.