It shone through a porthole in an upper room of the block-house at the farther angle of the stockade.

In fact, Alice was reading by a sputtering lamp a book Farnsworth had sent her, a volume of Ronsard that he had picked up in Canada.

Hamilton made his way in that direction, at first merely curious to know who was burning oil so late; but after a few paces he recognized where the light came from, and instantly suspected that Captain Farnsworth was there.

Indeed he felt sure of it.

Somehow he could not regard Alice as other than a saucy hoyden, incapable of womanly virtue.