Alec Trenholme found the new form of labour to which he had bidden himself toilsome and delightful; like a true son of Adam, he was more conscious of his toil than of his delight--still both were there; there was physical inspiration in the light of the snow, the keen still air, and the sweet smell of the lumber.

So he grew more expert, and the days went past, hardly distinguished from one another, so entire was the unconsciousness of the slumber between them.
He had not come without some sensation of romance in his knight-errantry.

Bates was the centre, the kernel as it were, of a wild story that was not yet explained.

Turrif had disbelieved the details Saul had given of Bates's cruelty to Cameron's daughter, and Trenholme had accepted Turrif's judgment; but in the popular judgment, if Cameron's rising was not a sufficient proof of Bates's guilt, the undoubted disappearance of the daughter was.

Whatever had been his fault, rough justice and superstitious fear had imposed on Bates a term of solitary confinement and penal servitude which so far he had accepted without explanation or complaint.