CHAPTER V.
HOWLAND'S MIDNIGHT VISITOR For a moment after the swift passing of the sledge it was on Howland's lips to shout Croisset's name; as he thrust Gregson aside and leaped out into the night he was impelled with a desire to give chase, to overtake in some way the two people who, within the space of forty-eight hours, had become so mysteriously associated with his own life, and who were now escaping him again.
It was Gregson who recalled him to his senses.
"I thought you didn't care for theaters--_and girls_, Howland," he exclaimed banteringly, repeating Howland's words of a few minutes before.

"A pretty face affects you a little differently up here, eh?
Well, after you've been in this fag-end of the universe for a month or so you'll learn--" Howland interrupted him sharply.
"Did you ever see either of them before, Gregson ?" "Never until to-day.

But there's hope, old man.

Surely we can find some one in the place who knows them.

Wouldn't it be jolly good fun if Jack Howland, Esquire, who has never been interested in theaters and girls, should come up into these God-forsaken regions and develop a case of love at first sight?
By the Great North Trail, I tell you it may not be as uninteresting for you as it has been for Thorne and me! If I had only seen her sooner--" "Shut up!" growled Howland, betraying irritability for the first time.
"Let's go in to supper." "Good.