Light mists rose from the forests and the course of the river, and above them shone the dazzling snows, the hanging glaciers, and glistening rock faces, ledge piled on ledge, of the Selkirk giants--Hermit and Tupper, Avalanche and Sir Donald--with that cleft of the pass between.
The pleasant hotel, built to offer as much shelter and comfort as possible to the tired traveller and climber, was scarcely awake.

A sleepy-eyed Japanese showed Anderson to his room.

He threw himself on the bed, longing for sleep, yet incapable of it.

He was once more under the same roof with Elizabeth Merton--and for the last time! He longed for her presence, her look, her touch; and yet with equal intensity he shrank from seeing her.

That very morning through the length of Canada and the States would go out the news of the train-robbery on the main line of the C.P.R., and with it the "dramatic" story of himself and his father, made more dramatic by a score of reporters.