In his heart there had grown something for Thornton that
was stronger than friendship--something that would have made him fight
for him, and die for him, as he would have fought and died for Jean de
Gravois. It was a feeling cemented by a belief that something was
troubling Thornton--that he, too, was filled with a loneliness and a
grief which he was trying to conceal. And yet he fought to restrain
himself from confiding in his new friend. It would do no good, he
knew, except by relieving him of a part of his mental burden. He
walked along the shore of the river and recrossed it again near the
company's offices. All were dark with the exception of the sub-
commissioner's room. In that there glowed a light. The sub-
commissioner was keeping his promise. He was working. He worked until
late, for Jan came back two hours after and saw the light still there.
A week--it might be ten days, the sub-commissioner had told him, and
it would be over. Always something in the north drew Jan's eyes, and
he looked there now, wondering what would happen to him after that
week was over.
Lights were out and people were in bed when he and Kazan returned to
the hotel. But Thornton was up, sitting by himself in the gloom, as
Jan had first seen him at Le Pas. Jan sat down beside him.
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