Despite his efforts to destroy the vision of the beautiful face that had looked at him through the king's window its memory still haunted him.

The eyes, soft with appeal; the red mouth, quivering, and with lips parted as if about to speak to him; the bowed head with its tumbled glory of hair--all had burned themselves upon his soul in a picture too deep to be eradicated.

If St.James was interesting now it was because that face was a part of it, because the secret of its life, of the misery that it had confessed to him, was hidden somewhere down there among its scattered log homes.
Slowly he made his way down the slope in the direction of Strang's castle, the tower of which, surmounted by its great beacon, glistened in the morning sun.

He would find Strang there.

And there would be one chance in a thousand of seeing the girl--if Obadiah had spoken the truth.