Next day Jim returned to the market town. He was occupied for some time ordering tools, and driving back in the afternoon, hesitated as he got near the cross road that led to Whitelees. He wanted to see Evelyn, and Mrs. Halliday had told him to come when he liked, but it was perhaps significant that he wanted also to get on with his draining plans. Seeing Evelyn was a satisfaction he unconsciously reserved for his leisure; she was not, like Carrie, to some extent his working partner and critic. He took the road to Whitelees and smiled. Perhaps Carrie was patient when he thought her keen: it was possible that she was sometimes bored.

Mrs. Halliday received him in a room that looked full of ornaments and flowers, and gave him tea in beautiful china. He was half-afraid to handle the fragile cup and plate and hesitated about eating his slice of dainty cake. He had been examining machines and thought his clothes smelt of oil; somehow he felt big and awkward. By and by Mrs. Halliday asked what had occupied him in town, and he told her about his plans. Evelyn looked interested.

"If you begin your dyke where you propose, won't Shanks' dabbin be in the way?"

"The dabbin must come down," Jim replied.

A question from Mrs. Halliday led to his relating his interview with Shanks, and Evelyn said, "Could you not have left the old man his cottage? After all, it is picturesque."

"It isn't picturesque when you are near. Does beauty go with dirt and neglect?"

"Perhaps it does not. I suppose the old Greeks gave us our standard of beauty and they attained it by careful cultivation. For all that, they rather conventionalized their type and one likes people with pluck enough to strike an independent note. To some extent, one can sympathize with Shanks, because he won't be clean by rule."

Jim unconsciously looked about the room, and Evelyn laughed. "Oh," she said, "we don't copy the Greeks! Their model was austere simplicity, the bold, flowing line: but we are luxuriously modern. However, it would have been a graceful plan to leave Shanks alone."

"It wouldn't have been sound. You can't neglect a job that ought to be put over, because you'd like to be graceful."

"You're not Greek," said Evelyn. "You're Roman."

"Then, if I get your meaning, Shanks is a barbarian, and the barbarians who stood up against Roman order and efficiency were crushed. It's probably lucky for Europe the legions marched over them."

"I suppose one must agree. It looks as if I must try again. What about the king who coveted the vineyard?"

"To begin with, the other man owned the vineyard, but the ground Shanks occupies is mine. Then it was a vineyard, while the Shanks homestead is a hovel in a weed-choked garden lot. Anyhow, if you'd like it, I'll see if it is possible to leave his place alone."

Evelyn was flattered. She enjoyed the sense of power, but she hesitated. Jim was easy to understand and had gone farther than she had thought. To let him make a concession that might cost him extra work would give him a claim, and she did not want him for a creditor yet.

"Oh, no," she said carelessly, "you mustn't change your plans! I was indulging a romantic sentiment and expect you know what you ought to do. But you were nice when you were willing to think about the thing."

Then Mrs. Halliday began to talk and presently Jim got up.

"I must go," he said. "I didn't know I had stayed so long."

Evelyn gave him her hand and smiled. "I expect you will be occupied, but if you have time to come back you will find us at home."

"Thank you," said Jim. "I was half-afraid I'd bored you. I'll certainly have time."

He went out and Mrs. Halliday looked at Evelyn thoughtfully. "On the whole, I imagine you were tactful. I expect you saw Jim's offer to leave Shanks alone was not made without an effort."

"I did see," Evelyn admitted. "I don't know if it was flattering or not." She paused and resumed with a touch of color: "For all that, I did not refuse because I was tactful; one sometimes gets tired of acting. Besides, it would be thrown away on Jim. He's not accomplished and critical like Lance; he's frank and strong."

"He is worth cultivating," Mrs. Halliday remarked, picking up a book. She knew when to stop and Evelyn now and then developed a rebellious mood.

For a week Jim was occupied bringing tools and materials from the town and clearing the ground. Shanks gave no sign that he meant to move, until one morning Jim's teamster asked: "Am I to gan t' dabbin and tak' a load to Bank-end?"

Jim told him to go and turned to Jake. "That's fixed! I've been holding back for a day or two and now we can push ahead. The dabbin must come down before we stop to-night."

In the evening, Jake and Carrie went with him across the marsh. The workmen had gone but wheelbarrows, spades, and planks lay about, and a bank of fresh soil touched the edge of the neglected garden. Gray clouds drifted across the gloomy sky, a cold wind tossed the reeds, and the dabbin looked strangely forlorn in the fading light. Carrie shivered as she entered with Jim, who carried a coil of fuse and a tin box. The clay walls were stained by damp and the broken window was grimed by dirt. A few peats occupied a corner, and a pile of ashes, on which tea-leaves and scraps of food had been thrown, stretched across the floor from the rusty grate. Jim went to the window and began to cut the fuse.

"I've got things ready and might have waited until to-morrow but the job's been bothering me and I want to put it over," he said. "Do you think I'm harsh?"

"No," said Carrie, firmly. "Shanks is white trash and lives like a hog. They wouldn't have stood for him a month at our settlements. But how do you think he'll use Bank-end?"

Jim smiled. "I expect I'll have to burn down the cottage when he has done with it; his son is certainly not going to stop there afterwards. I don't know if a rich man is justified in loafing or not. We'll leave that to the economists, but I've frankly no use for the fellow who wants to loaf at other folk's expense. However, I'll fix the powder and we'll pull out. I don't like the job."

Carrie nodded. "You are a builder, Jim, but before one builds one must clear the ground. Things must be pulled down."

"You're a staunch friend," said Jim. "You always understand and generally approve."

"Perhaps it's because we often agree; but if I were really staunch, I'd tell you when I thought you wrong. This needs some pluck."

"I'd weigh what you told me."

Carrie was silent for a moment, thinking about Evelyn. The girl had, so to speak, dazzled Jim. Carrie did not approve, but could not meddle.

"I wonder!" she remarked. "Anyhow you must hustle. It's getting dark."

After a few minutes Jim lighted the fuse and they went out and stood some distance off. The light had nearly gone, and the dabbin loomed dark and desolate against a belt of tossing reeds. Jim thought an indistinct figure stole through the gloom of the hedge, and he shouted a warning.

The figure vanished. There was a flash behind the broken window and the shock of an explosion. For a moment the hovel was filled with light; then it tottered and a cloud of smoke rolled about the falling walls. Blocks of hard clay splashed in the creek and fell about the marsh. The smoke cleared and Carrie saw the dabbin had gone. A pile of rubbish, round which thin vapor drifted, marked the spot it had occupied. A man stood on the end of the ridge of high ground, his bent figure outlined against the sky, holding up his arms as if in protest. Then he vanished, and Jim and the others started silently for Langrigg.



CHAPTER VI

THE THORN HEDGE

Mist drifted about the hollows and the new moon shone between the motionless light clouds. The air was damp and Jim buttoned his driving-coat as he talked to Bernard on the steps at Dryholm. His small car stood near the arch, with its lights glistening on the dewy lawn.

"Your lamps are dim," said Bernard. "If you will wait a minute, I'll send them to the garage."

Jim said he knew the road and the lamps would burn until he got home; and Bernard resumed: "I expect you know that what you are doing at the marsh won't make you popular."

"Lance Mordaunt hinted something like that, but I don't see why people should grumble," Jim replied. "The marsh is mine."

"Your title's good," Bernard agreed. "Since the ground is not enclosed, Joseph didn't bother about sporting rights and your neighbors took it for granted they could shoot a few ducks and snipe when they liked. The sport's rough for men who shoot hand-reared pheasants, but there's some satisfaction in killing birds that are really wild."

"There is some satisfaction. The game I've shot was certainly wild; in fact, I sometimes took steep chances when I missed. When you get after a bull moose or a cinnamon bear it's prudent to hold straight. Well, I'd sooner my neighbors liked me, but don't mean to keep my land waste for them to play on."

Bernard nodded. "You are not afraid of unpopularity? However, I think I'd have got rid of Shanks, instead of sending him to Bank-end. The fellow's cunning and there's some ground for believing him revengeful."

"It doesn't look as if he could injure me."

"It might pay to watch him," Bernard rejoined. "Some time since, Jones, my gamekeeper, caught Tom Shanks and another netting partridges. It was obvious that old Shanks had helped, but there was some difficulty about the evidence." Bernard paused, and smiled as he resumed: "I imagine my friends on the Bench used their best efforts to convict, but folk seemed to think it prudent not to tell all they knew, and while Tom Shanks went to jail his father got off. Afterwards Jones had a remarkable run of bad luck. The young pheasants died about the coops, his own ferret killed his hens, and he lost a fine setter he was training. Then he had an adventure one night in a shooting-punt that ought not to have leaked."

"I'll watch out," said Jim, as he started his car.

He did not think about Shanks as he drove up the avenue, where the leaves were falling, and down a long hill. In the distance he saw the Whitelees lights and now and then, farther off, the faint shining of the sea. Mist that melted and gathered again drifted about the low ground. Jim's thoughts sometimes dwelt on Evelyn and sometimes on the marsh. Evelyn was friendly and he had undertaken a big job that he liked. He was carrying out a duty, honoring a claim his inheritance made on him; he wanted to leave Langrigg better than he found it. Jim sprang from a land-owning stock, and felt that since he had got the estate for nothing he must justify his ownership and prove he was worthy of the gift and the woman he hoped to marry.

When he ran out upon the low ground the mist got thicker and rolled in low belts across the fields. The carbide in his lamps was exhausted and the feeble beam that leaped up with the jolts flickered puzzlingly. He knew where he was, however, when he reached the marsh road that ran like a causeway across the boggy ground. Tall, stiff reeds bordered the straight track. The lights were sinking fast and since he must reach Langrigg before they went out he let the engine go.

The fog streamed past him, the wind whipped his face, and he clenched the wheel as he rocked with the jolts. He was not far from home now and looked for the curve where his road branched off. The curve was sharp and ran between two rows of old thorn trees; Jim remembered that he had meant to cut them down. There was a deep ditch between the trees and a belt of rough grass, then the narrow road, and a ditch on the other side. After a few minutes a dark mass loomed in the haze and Jim knew it would be prudent to slacken speed, but his lamps were nearly out, and a little farther on he must avoid an awkward gatepost.

A shadowy tree came out of the fog and he felt the wheels sink in boggy soil. He was obviously taking too wide a sweep, and he turned inwards. The damp road was indistinct, but he could see the white reeds that grew along its edge, and the trunks of the thorns across the ditch. He was going round the corner, looking for a triangular patch of grass, when he felt a violent jolt and fell forward on the wheel. The car swerved and the front wheels plunged into the soft ground between the road and ditch.

Jim was badly shaken, but he got the car straight while she plowed up the grass. Then the wheel was torn from his grasp, the car swerved the other way, and he jambed [Transcriber's note: jammed?] on the brakes, knowing it was too late. He felt her run across the road; she rocked as she took the grass, and then he was thrown out and knew nothing more.

In the meantime, Jake and Carrie stood on the steps at Langrigg, talking to Halliday and Mordaunt. The latter had brought a car from Dryholm and it stood close by with its lamps burning. The night was calm, the noise of the sea came out of the distance, and presently they heard the throb of a car running across the marsh.

"That's Jim," Carrie said to Dick. "Since you wanted to see him, you had better come in again."

Dick hesitated. He had not come to see Jim, and Carrie noted his irresolution with some amusement.

"After all, it's not important and I want to get home for dinner," he said, and turned to Mordaunt. "Start your engine, Lance."

As Mordaunt went down the steps the throb of the other car stopped suddenly and they heard a faint crash.

"Hallo!" Dick exclaimed. "What was that?"

"I imagine Jim has cut the corner too fine," said Mordaunt. "Come on!"

He ran down the steps and as he started the car the others jumped up. Mordaunt had not meant to take Carrie, but he did not stop and the car sped away. He let her go full-speed down the hill, dashed through the awkward gateway, touching the post, and drove furiously to the bend where the road ran on to the marsh. Then there was a violent jerk as he put on the brakes, and the beam of the head-lamps touched and stopped upon a tilted car that lay with the wheels on one side in the ditch.

"Bring a lamp," said Mordaunt coolly, and next moment they were all out of the car and running across the grass.

A soft hat lay in the road, and broken glass was scattered about, but for a minute or two they could not see Jim. He was not in the car and the grass and rushes were long. Then Jake stooped down, holding out the lamp.

"This way!" he shouted. "He's in the ditch!"

The others gathered round him as the light searched the ditch. Jim lay with his legs in the water and the upper part of his body pressed against the bank by the front wheel of the car. His eyes were shut, his face was white and stained by blood. Jake's hand shook so that he could hardly hold the lamp.

"We must get him out right now," he said hoarsely. "The wheel's on his chest. If she slips down, she'll break his ribs."

For a few moments they hesitated, standing in the strong illumination of the lamp on Mordaunt's car that picked out their faces against the dark. Jake wore an American dinner-jacket, Carrie a thin evening dress, and she had no hat. Dick noted that her hands were clenched and her mouth worked. She had, of course, got a shock; Winter ought not to have let her see Jim, but the keenness of her distress was significant. Dick, however, could not dwell on this just then. They must get Jim out and it was going to be difficult. The car rested insecurely on the edge of the bank and the broken branches of the thorns. If they disturbed it rashly, it might slip down and crush the unconscious man. Mordaunt was the first to see a way and jumped into the ditch.

"Come down and get your backs under the axle," he said.

They obeyed and, standing in the water, tried to lift the car. For a few moments it looked impossible, because the weight above forced their feet into the mud; then, while they gasped and strained, the wheel rose an inch or two from Jim's chest.

"Lift him, Carrie! Lift him now!" Jake shouted in a breathless voice.

Carrie seized Jim's coat and tried to drag him up. He was heavy; she choked with the tense effort and did not know afterwards how it was made. For all that, she dragged him up a foot and then to one side. The strain was horrible, but she held on and thought she saw the car tilt and the back wheel tear the peaty soil from the top of the bank.

Jake shouted something, Dick fell back, and she saw that Jim was clear of the wheel. For a moment, Mordaunt's face stood out against the gloom. It was dark with blood, his teeth shone between his drawn-back lips, and the veins on his forehead were horribly swollen. Then there was a crash among the thorns, and the car seemed to go right over. Mordaunt staggered and fell, and somebody helped her to drag Jim up; Carrie did not know if it was Dick or Jake. Next moment Mordaunt crawled out of the ditch and joined them. He gasped and the water ran from his clothes.

"Are you hurt?" Carrie asked. "You got all the weight at the last."

Mordaunt smiled. It looked as if he could not speak, and while Carrie wiped Jim's face Jake beckoned Dick.

"Bring your car. We must get him home."

Dick turned the car and they put Jim on the floor with his head against Carrie's knee. When they started she bent and held his shoulders, and in a few minutes they rolled up the drive. Then Carrie pulled herself together, gave orders, and took control; and when they had carried Jim to his room gave Mordaunt her hand.

"You saved him," she said. "We won't forget!"

"I happened to see a plan before the others; that's all," Mordaunt replied. "I'll get off now and send a doctor."

He ran downstairs and Carrie heard his car start while she stood with her mother by Jim's bed. Her face was white, but it flushed when Jim opened his eyes.

"What's the matter? Where am I?" he asked.

"You're at home," said Carrie. "You mustn't talk."

"I don't want to talk. Things are all going round," Jim rejoined and shut his eyes.

After a time he began to breathe regularly and Mrs. Winter bent over him.

"He's stunned; something hit his head. I don't think it's worse than that," she remarked. "I guess we can't do much until the doctor comes."

Mordaunt sent a doctor from the town and when he had seen him start went with Dick into the smoking-room at a quiet hotel. There was nobody else about until a waiter came, and Mordaunt sat down by the fire.

"I feel we need a drink," he said. "It was a near thing when the car went over. I can hardly bend my back, and it will, no doubt, be worse in the morning."

"You held her long enough for Miss Winter to pull Jim out," Dick replied. "It's lucky you were able. My feet slipped, and although Winter is pretty strong I imagine he was beaten. All the weight came on you; I don't understand how you held on."

"One can sometimes borrow a little extra strength from keen excitement and I remembered that if I let go the wheel would come down again on Jim's chest. He might not have stood another shock."

"He was badly knocked out," Dick agreed. "I expect you saved his life."

Mordaunt smiled. "Now I'm cool, I begin to think I was rash."

"Rot!" Dick exclaimed. "You don't mean this and it's a bad joke!"

"We don't owe Jim much; if he had stopped in Canada, Langrigg would have been yours and mine. Then it begins to look as if Bernard approved the fellow, and I'm willing to admit I had rather counted on getting a good share of his money. You and Evelyn would have got the rest."

"After all, Bernard's money is his. He's just, and I don't imagine he'll leave us out. We're not rich, but if he does give Jim some of my share, I won't miss it very much."

"I shall miss mine," Mordaunt rejoined.

Dick was quiet for a minute or two, and then looked up. "You remember reading the French romance the night we reached the telegraph shack! Did you see Franklin Dearham's name in the book?"

"Yes," said Mordaunt very coolly, "I did see it." He paused, looking hard at Dick, and went on: "Of course, I know what this implies. There was some doubt, but the probability was the telegraph linesman was our relation and the owner of Langrigg. Well, I thought he was not the man to have the estate, and might be happier if we left him in the woods. It was not altogether because I wanted my share of what was his."

Dick did not doubt Lance's sincerity, but he had got a jar. In a way, Lance had tried to rob Jim.

"What do you think about him now?" he asked with some awkwardness.

"What I thought then; he is not the man to own Langrigg and ought to have stayed in Canada. I'd have been resigned, had you got the estate, but this fellow will make us a joke. He has the utilitarian ideals of a Western lumberman."

"Bernard is the head of the house and I doubt if he'd agree. You admitted he approved Jim."

"I did; I don't like his approving."

"Oh, well," said Dick. "Since you held up the car, I suppose you're entitled to criticize Jim. If you hadn't made an effort, he would probably have been killed. You can grumble about him as much as you like; we'll remember what you did!"

Mordaunt smiled rather curiously and drained his glass.

"We are late for dinner and my clothes are wet," he remarked.

They went out; and both were quiet as they drove to Whitelees.



CHAPTER VII

THE FENCING WIRE

Next morning Carrie, getting up early because she had not slept much, heard Jim's step in the passage outside her room. He went rather unsteadily downstairs and a few minutes afterwards she found him sitting on the terrace wall. He was pale and his face was cut; but he had taken off the bandage.

"You oughtn't to be out," she said.

"Why not?" he asked.

"You were badly shaken. The doctor said we must keep you quiet."

"He probably didn't state how long, and I've been quiet all night. I certainly got a knock; imagine my head went through the glass, but I feel my proper self again, and don't see any reason for staying in bed."

Carrie gave it up. She knew Jim pretty well and asked where he was going.

"I want to look at the car," he said. "I don't know why she left the road. But how did you find me and bring me home?"

Carrie told him, and he looked thoughtful.

"I was in the ditch with the wheel on me? This accounts for my side's feeling sore. How did you lift the car?"

"The others got into the ditch. A wheel began to slip and I thought the weight would overpower them; but Lance Mordaunt made a tremendous effort and held up the axle until we pulled you out."

Jim knitted his brows and looked across the lawn while he mechanically felt for his pipe. The morning was clear with scattered clouds and the grass was silvered by dew. The hills were sharp and belts of light and shadow checkered the marsh. In the distance, the sea sparkled.

"If Jake or Dick had held her up, I could have understood," he said.

"It was Lance," Carrie insisted. "Why are you puzzled?"

"For one thing, I imagine he doesn't like me," Jim replied and indicated by a gesture the old house, and the sweep of smooth pasture and yellow stubble that rolled down the hill. "Perhaps it's not strange. I have taken all this from him!"

"But you took it as much from Dick."

"That is so," Jim agreed. "Dick's different. He's careless; I don't think he feels things. However, I must thank Lance." He paused and resumed: "The boys were in the ditch and I was under the car. Who pulled me out?"

"I did," said Carrie, blushing. "There was nobody else."

Jim took her hand. "My dear! When I needed help before, you were about. But that ditch is four feet deep and I'm heavy."

Carrie pulled her hand from his and smiled. "You are heavy, Jim, and it was something of a strain. However, I'll come with you, if you are going down the hill."

"To take care of me?" said Jim, with a twinkle. "If you don't mind, I'd sooner go alone."

He got up, and seeing that his step was firm, she let him go. It was not a caprice that he would not take her, but when she returned to the house she sent Jake after him.

As he went down the hill Jim thought about Mordaunt. The man was something of a puzzle, and Jim admitted that he had, perhaps, not been just when he accounted for his antagonism. Lance, no doubt, felt that he ought to have got Langrigg, but he was not altogether moved by disappointed greed. Their antagonism went deeper than that. Lance was a conventionalist; he clung instinctively to traditions that were getting out of date. In fact, Jim thought he would have been a very fine country gentleman had he inherited Langrigg sixty years since. Lance was what horse-ranchers called a throw-back; in a sense, he belonged to an older generation.

There was another thing. Jim imagined Lance felt Evelyn's charm, and although they were cousins, he understood cousins sometimes married, with their relatives' approval, when the marriage would advance the interests of the family. It was possible that he might hurt Lance worse than by robbing him of Langrigg.

Yet Lance had held up the car for him and run some risk of being killed. After all, this did not clash with Jim's notion of his character. Lance might dislike the man he rescued, but he had the instincts of an English gentleman. Then Jim stopped and looked about, for he had reached the thorn hedge.

A belt of peat, checkered by white tufts of wild cotton, ran back from the road, and a wire fence joined the hedge at a right angle. Some of the posts had fallen and lengths of wire lay about. Jim looked at the wire thoughtfully, and then went on to the spot where broken glass and torn up soil marked the scene of the accident. Then he stopped again and lighted his pipe. In the Canadian woods he had now and then trusted to his rifle to supply his food, and tracking large game trains one's observation. One must guess an animal's movements by very small signs. A broken twig or a disturbed stone tells one much. Jim looked for some such clew that might help him, so to speak, to reconstruct the accident.

He remembered a sudden jolt and the front wheels skidding. They had obviously struck something, and when he got the car straight had skidded again the other way. The marks the tires had made indicated this, and he examined the neighboring ground. The silverweed that covered the peaty soil between the road and ditch was not much crushed. He had, as he remembered, not gone far on that side before he, for a moment, recovered control of the car. The real trouble began when it swerved again and ran across the road. Something had caught the wheels and interfered with the steering.

Jim looked for a big stone, but could find none; besides, it was improbable that he had hit the stone twice, and sitting down by the overturned car he thoughtfully finished his pipe. The car must be got out of the ditch, but this was not important, and he dwelt upon the fencing wire; he had a hazy notion that the obstacle he had struck was flexible. By and by he heard a step, and Jake came up.

"I don't know if you ought to be about," the latter said. "It will be an awkward job to get the car into the road."

"I'm not bothering about the car," Jim replied. "I want to find out why she ran into the ditch."

"You don't know, then?"

Jim indicated the wheel-marks and told Jake about the skidding. "She went off at an angle and I couldn't pull her round," he concluded.

"Do you expect to find the steering-gear broken?"

"Not unless it broke after she skidded."

Jake gave him a keen glance. "I begin to see! Well, people sometimes find trouble coming to them when they won't leave things alone. But what kind of a clew do you expect to get?"

"A mark on a thorn trunk; we'll look for one," said Jim. "Suppose you take the other side!"

He walked a few yards along the ditch, examining the bottom of the trunks, and presently stopped and put his foot on the other bank. Then he beckoned Jake and indicated a few scratches on the bark of a thorn. The rough stem was tufted with dry moss and for an inch or two this was crushed.

"I reckon something has been fastened to this tree," he said. "If we can find another mark on the opposite row, I'll be satisfied."

They went across and after a few moments Jake said, "Here it is!"

Jim studied the mark and nodded. "Very well! I think we'll get into the field and look at the old fence wire. I want a piece seven or eight yards long."

After pulling about the wire that lay in the grass, they found a piece. One end was bent into a rough hook, and although the other was nearly straight Jim noted a spot where the galvanizing was cracked.

"It has been bent here twice," he said. "Pulled over into a hook and then pulled back. You can see how the zinc has flaked."

They sat down on a bank and Jake remarked: "I think you ought to be satisfied. But what are you going to do about it?"

"Lie low and watch out. That's all in the meantime. I want the man who fixed the wire across the road to give himself away."

"Don't you know who he is?"

"I think I know. It's not quite enough."

"Perhaps it's not," Jake agreed. "You want to be able to show other folks he did the thing? The trouble is, he may try again!"

"Then it will be my fault if he gets me. I've had fair warning."

"Your nerve is pretty good; I knew this before," Jake remarked. "Well, I suppose nothing's to be said about it until you have some proof? Now we'll go back to breakfast."

They returned to Langrigg, and after breakfast Jim went to the marsh, where the men he had engaged were at work. Soon after he had gone, a car from Dryholm came up the drive and Carrie met Bernard Dearham on the steps.

"I came to ask how Jim is. Lance told me about the accident," he said. "I expect you won't let me see him yet?"

"You might see him if you crossed the marsh. He is getting busy there," Carrie replied.

"But he was unconscious when Lance left."

Carrie smiled. "Yes. He got up at seven o'clock this morning and went out. That's the kind of man he is!"

"Then we needn't be disturbed about him," Bernard replied and indicated a stone bench in the sun. "I cannot walk far and there is no road across the marsh. Can you spare a few minutes to talk to me?"

"Why, of course," said Carrie, and Bernard waited until she sat down. Although he thought she knew his importance, she was not anxious to please him; but she did not assert her independence. The girl had an ease of manner he approved and, if she remained at Langrigg, would soon acquire the touch of polish she needed. But he pulled himself up. In the meantime, he was going too fast.

"I understand you nursed Jim once before," he said. "Did you not use your authority to keep him in the house this morning?"

"I did not," Carrie replied, with a twinkle. "Looks as if you didn't know Jim yet! Besides, if you have some authority, you don't want to strain it."

"That is no doubt true," Bernard agreed. None of his relations had so far disputed his firm rule, but he knew when it was prudent not to exercise his power. "You are a philosopher," he went on. "It is sometimes an advantage to use a light hand."

"Jim can be led."

Bernard bowed. "I imagine you have led him where he ought to go."

"I wonder!" said Carrie, with thoughtful frankness. "The trouble is, I don't know much and only understand simple things. Still, perhaps, I did lead him in the woods. The right way was generally plain there. But at Langrigg——"

"You're sometimes puzzled?" Bernard suggested. "Well, we are all puzzled now and then, and perhaps to trust your instincts is a good plan. This, however, is not advice I would give to everybody."

Carrie said nothing. She liked Bernard and was not afraid of him. He talked to her with the politeness of the old school and when he looked amused she thought his amusement was good-humored.

"Jim was under the car when you got to the spot, I think," he resumed. "You had some trouble to lift it."

"Lance really lifted the car at the dangerous moment, though the others helped. He saw the wheel was slipping; they were all in the ditch."

"Then who pulled Jim out?"

"I did," said Carrie, with a touch of embarrassment.

Bernard pondered. Lance had not told him about this and it was possible he had an object for not doing so.

"Well," he said, "I expect Jim has had other accidents; as you remarked, he is that kind of man. Did he get hurt when you were with him in the woods?"

"He took some chances now and then, but he did not get hurt much."

"Although he came near it? I heard something about your going to his rescue one night with a gun."

Carrie blushed and Bernard fixed his eyes on her face as he went on: "Did you mean to use the gun?"

She lifted her head, her mouth went hard, and her glance got steady. "Yes. If I'd thought the other fellow could reach Jim with his ax, I would have shot him!"

Bernard nodded. "Sometimes the primitive plan is the only plan. One can see that you have pluck enough to meet a crisis. But I have kept you and have some other calls."

He got up and when she went with him down the steps gave her his hand. "May I come back another day?"

"Of course, but unless he knows you're coming, Jim will be occupied at the marsh."

"I won't mind if Jim is occupied."

"Then come when you like," said Carrie, smiling. "I think you mean to be nice."

In the meantime, Jim had got to work and under his superintendence a gang of men piled barrowsful of peat soil on the wreck of the dabbin. By noon a bank had advanced across the piles of broken clay and a cut that was to make a new channel for the creek began to open. Once or twice Jake imagined an indistinct figure lurked among some clumps of gorse, as if watching the work, but he was not certain and said nothing.

Jim and he did not go home for lunch and when the men stopped at noon found a sheltered hollow and opened a basket of food Jim had sent for. The day was bright, but a cold wind flecked the advancing tide with foam and swept the empty flats. Dry reeds rustled in the creek and a flock of circling plover gleamed against a cloud that trailed its shadow across the marsh. For all that, the sun was warm in the corner where they ate their lunch.

"Did Shanks send you notice that he had gone to the cottage?" Jake asked presently.

"He told the teamster to come for his truck. I expect he thought this enough."

"Wouldn't own up that he'd given in!" Jake remarked. "The fellow's a blamed obstinate old tough. I wonder whether he felt curious if you were hurt."

"I reckon he knew," said Jim. "However, I thought this morning there was somebody about——"

He stopped abruptly, and Jake heard a step. They were quiet for a few moments, and then Tom Shanks came round a corner of the bank and stood looking at them. Jim's face was cut and rather white, but the stains on his clothes indicated that he had been working among wet soil. Jake gave Shanks a keen glance and thought he looked surprised, as if he had not expected to see Jim there.

"Do you want a job?" the latter asked.

"I want nowt fra you. You can give your job to them as will ca' you maister," Shanks rejoined and went off.

"A sullen hog!" Jake remarked. "I'd like to know when he or the old man moved the wire."

"So would I. It's rather important," said Jim. "If he was hanging about and came for the thing as soon as the car took the ditch, he probably saw me under the wheel and meant to leave me there. How long were you in making the spot after you heard the smash?"

"Perhaps five minutes. Mordaunt's car was at the steps and we jumped on board while he started her."

"If you had lost much time, I imagine you'd have found me dead."

"Then why did you offer Shanks a job?"

Jim smiled. "In order to have him where he could be watched. A fellow like that is dangerous when he's out of sight."

"Shanks and his son are bad men," Jake agreed. "We have sand-baggers and gun-men in Canada, but they get after you for money and their methods are up to date. Shanks' savageness is half-instinctive, like the Indian's. I can't, so to speak, locate him; he goes too far back."

Jim got up. "It's not important just now. Tell the teamster to bring his horses and we'll get busy."



CHAPTER VIII

JIM'S RELAPSE

Jim made progress at the dyke until it began to rain. For some weeks a strong west wind drove dark clouds across the sea, the hills were wrapped in mist, the creeks swelled and the tides rose high. Floods spread about the marsh and the floundering teams could hardly drag their loads through the bog. Sometimes Jim felt anxious, for the undertaking threatened to cost much more than he had thought.

Then came two fine days when, although the sun shone, heavy clouds rolled about the hills. Jim, knowing the fine weather would not last, drove his men hard, since there was work he must push forward before the next flood. The new bank had reached a creek where he must build a strong sluice-gate and hold back the water by a rude coffer-dam while he dug for the foundation.

He came up from the dam one afternoon and stood on the slope of the bank, looking down into the hole. His long boots, shirt, and trousers were stained by mud that had also splashed his face and hands; for since the work was risky he had helped the men. Now he was rather highly-strung. Below him, the water spirited [Transcriber's note: spurted?] through the joints in a wall of thick planks and ran into the excavation, where a few men, sunk nearly to the knees in mud, were working. A forge stood on the top of the bank and the smith leaned on the crank of the blower. He was a short, strongly-built man, and looked sulky.

"There's too much water blowing through; pressure's heavier than I reckoned and I don't like the way that brace sags," Jim remarked, as a shower of mud and water fell into the hole. Then he shouted to the men: "Get a thick plank across and wedge her up."

"Looks as if the fastenings of the brace had slipped," said Jake.

"They oughtn't to slip. The plate and nut on the iron were meant to keep the beam in place."

"I don't think I saw a nut when the boys fixed the thing."

Jim beckoned the smith. Although the fellow was a good workman, he was obstinate and Jim had not bothered him much until he needed some irons for the dam, when he made careful sketches and insisted on the other's working to his plans. This had caused some trouble and Jim now meant to be firm.

"I reckon I told you to screw the ends of the bar and make nuts to turn back against the plates," he said. "Did you screw the ends?"

"I did not," said the other. "There was nae use for nuts. I punched hole for pin that wad stop her pulling oot."

"Pulling out!" Jim exclaimed. "Did you imagine I wanted to hold the frames together?"

"If yon wasn't what you wanted, you should have said."

Jim had meant to be calm, but the men had run some risk from the fellow's obstinacy, and he lost his control.

"I told you to screw the ends. Confound you! The dam's in compression; there's no pull at all. Put a new bar in the vise and I'll stand by while you cut the thread."

"Stan', if you like. I'll not touch bar while you're aboot. Are you gan t' teach me my job?"

"It's plain you don't know your job. Get out of my way and I'll cut the thread myself."

The smith stood square in front with a frown on his face. "You'll not touch my tools. Vise and forge is yours; screwing stocks is mine."

"Oh, shucks!" said Jim. "Get out of the way. We want the bar right now."

The smith did not move, and although nobody afterwards remembered how the struggle began, Jake, interfering a moment too late, imagined Jim tried to get past the smith and jostled him. They grappled, and while they rocked to and fro the men in the pit stopped work. At first, Jim would have been satisfied to throw his antagonist back, but after a moment or two he doubted if this would be enough. The fellow had defied him, they had begun to fight, and in Canada a boss who could not enforce his authority lost his right to rule. Jim imagined it was so in England and did not mean to stop until the smith was ready to submit. Yet the fellow was powerful and fought with dogged pluck.

While they floundered about, striking, and trying for a throwing hold, Jake heard steps and looked up. He was half-embarrassed and half-amused, for it was obvious Jim did not know Mrs. Halliday, Evelyn, and Bernard Dearham stood on the top of the bank. He could not separate the men and did not think Jim would hear if he shouted; besides, to shout a warning would make the thing ridiculous.

There was nothing to do but wait, and after a few moments Jim lifted his antagonist and threw him down the bank. It looked as if the sulky smith was not a favorite, for some of the men laughed and some growled hoarse applause. Jim's muddy shirt was torn and his face was bruised; he was looking down into the hole and did not see Bernard's party until he turned to go to the forge. Then he stopped and stood with his head held back, while Jake studied the others. He thought Bernard was quietly amused, but Mrs. Halliday looked pained, and Evelyn's delicate face was flushed.

"We thought we would come to see how you were getting on," said Mrs. Halliday. "It was an adventure; your new road is very bad and the car nearly upset."

"There is not much to see and I did not expect you," Jim replied.

"That is obvious," Bernard remarked with a twinkle. "I imagine you don't know much about Cumberland wrestling, but you are very quick. When you threw him, the other fellow was getting a hold that would have put you in his power."

"You gave him a bad fall, anyhow. I suppose you are used to this sort of thing in Canada," said Mordaunt, who came from behind the others and glanced at Evelyn.

Jake was interested; he sensed something of a drama, of which he thought his comrade was unconscious. There was a hint of a sneer in Mordaunt's voice and Jake thought his remark was meant for the girl. Her eyes were fixed on Jim, and she looked disturbed. It was plain that Mordaunt noted this. Mrs. Halliday was rather ostentatiously careless, Bernard quietly looked on, but Jim gave no sign of embarrassment.

"Why, no," he answered Mordaunt. "On the whole, I didn't have much trouble with the boys in Canada. This fellow wouldn't do his job as I wanted, and through his stupidity we ran some risk of the dam's caving in. I'll show you——"

They went with him, glad of something to banish the strain, and he indicated the men working in the mud behind the wall of planks.

"If the timbering gave way, the water would break through and perhaps drown the gang. I'm boss and accountable. I take no chances about the safety of my men."

Mordaunt smiled as he glanced at Evelyn and Jake imagined he knew what the smile implied. Jim was breaking conventions, his bold statement had a theatrical touch that no doubt jarred; reserved Englishmen did not talk like that. Moreover, he was wet and muddy, and his tense pose had not relaxed. Standing with head held back and body highly-strung, he looked a stranger. Jim did not belong to the others' circle, he came from outside.

"Yours is a good rule and force is useful now and then," Bernard observed. "However, we came to take you to Dryholm. I was feeling dull, and the others have promised to help me through the evening. If you can come, we will go on to Langrigg for Mrs. Winter."

Jim wanted to go, because Evelyn was going, but he gave her an apologetic glance as he answered Bernard: "I'm sorry; I can't leave my job."

Evelyn said nothing, although her color was rather high, and Mrs. Halliday interposed: "After all, you would not lose much time. It will soon be dark."

"Dark generally comes before one's ready, but I have some plans to make for the morning when I get home," said Jim, who turned to Bernard. "We must push on before the water gets too high. If you wouldn't mind taking Mrs. Winter and Carrie, I think they'd like it."

Mrs. Halliday's look hinted that she was trying to hide her annoyance and Evelyn turned her head.

"Very well," said Bernard and beckoned the others.

When they had gone Jake laughed. "I imagine you have given your relations a jolt."

"I felt something like that. I didn't mean to jolt them," Jim said with a frown. "Why didn't they come a few minutes earlier, or later?"

"I wasn't altogether thinking of your throwing the smith down the bank. You have got rather English, but sometimes you break away; I think I mean break back."

"Perhaps that is so; I forget," Jim agreed. "I was a miner and linesman before I was a landlord."

"Confusing for your friends, isn't it? They don't know which they have to reckon on—the Canadian sourdough or the country gentleman. Anyhow, I expect your suggestion that they should take mother and Carrie didn't help much. Were you talking like a sourdough or an English landlord then?"

"You have a confoundedly mischievous humor," Jim rejoined, with a twinkle. "Do you want me to state that it's a country gentleman's duty to insist on the proper acknowledgment of his guests? Bernard likes your people and I don't know if Mrs. Halliday and Lance Mordaunt count."

"I was not thinking about Mrs. Halliday——" Jake began, but stopped when his comrade looked hard at him, and a few moments afterwards the smith came up the bank.

"Well?" said Jim, sharply. "What do you want?"

"Noo I see how bar's meant to gan, mayhappen it wad be better screwed. If you'll wait while I gan for dies, I'll do't for you."

"All right. You can get busy," said Jim.

When the smith went off he smiled and remarked: "I don't know if I expected this, but the man will make no more trouble. However, we have lost some time and must push ahead."

They got to work, and in the meantime Bernard drove to Langrigg and picked up Mrs. Winter and Carrie. The party at Dryholm broke up soon, but when Evelyn returned to Whitelees she felt that the evening had been too long. For one thing, she had been kept occupied and she wanted to think. Now she sat, rather languidly, in an easy-chair and knitted her brows. She had got a jar in the afternoon and she tried to recapture the scene on the bank—the smith scowling at the bottom, and Jim's bruised face, savage frown, and muddy clothes.

Jim was a new type, and she admitted that he attracted her, but his attraction was largely physical and sometimes she felt repelled. He was handsome and forceful; she liked his steady look, his athletic figure, and his clean brown skin. Then she liked the respect he showed her and his obvious wish to please. This was flattering and his strength and candor made an appeal, but she was highly cultivated and he was not rude. Indeed, when he stood on the bank, hot and triumphant after the fight, there was something barbarous about him. His virility moved her, but to live with him would demand some pluck; Evelyn knew he could not, so to speak, be tamed. His refusal to come to Dryholm, when he knew she was going, was a proof. It was significant that the dam he was building made a stronger claim. Evelyn was drawn in different ways and, on the whole, it was a relief when Mrs. Halliday came in.

"Jim was not his best this afternoon," the latter said. "However, he has not been long in England and no doubt the risk of such outbreaks will presently vanish. In the meantime one must make some allowances."

"For the owner of Langrigg?"

"Oh, well," said Mrs. Halliday, "I suppose I did mean this, but perhaps not altogether in the way you think. There is a rude vein in the Dearhams that comes to the surface now and then. One hardly noted it in Joseph, but in Bernard it's rather marked. I imagine he has some sympathy for Jim's extravagances. This may have its influence."

"Bernard is inscrutable," Evelyn rejoined. "One cannot foretell what he will do."

Mrs. Halliday saw that Evelyn understood; she had, in fact, expected her to understand, and her voice was thoughtful as she resumed: "After all, his approval is not essential. You have some money; I do not know about Jim, but he is spending much."

"It may be all he has; he is not afraid of a risk," said Evelyn, with a touch of color, for she was fastidious and her mother was blunt.

Then for a moment or two she mused. She was afraid of a risk; this was the trouble. Adventure, romance, and to some extent passion urged, but caution deterred. The romance would vanish and Jim might jar.

"Langrigg gives its owner a firm position," Mrs. Halliday resumed. "Even if he were poor, his wife would take a leading place in the Holm country. People pretend to scoff at such things, but they count."

"Much would depend on the owner. If he broke the family traditions, defied our conventions, and made himself a joke——"

"Much would be forgiven him because he is a Dearham," Mrs. Halliday rejoined. "Still, of course, there is a limit and I see a risk. Jim needs guidance for a time and it's possible his Canadian friends encourage his un-English idiosyncrasies. The girl has some beauty; I would sooner she did not stay long. If Jim could be advised——"

Evelyn smiled. "I cannot advise him. Besides, he's very staunch and owes these people much."

"Oh, well," said Mrs. Halliday. "In such a matter, one cannot meddle unless it is certain one's advice would be well received. We must let it go. Perhaps the Winters do not mean to remain very long."

"I think Jake means to stay until the marsh is drained, and I don't suppose the others will go until he is ready."

Mrs. Halliday frowned. "Jim is rather annoying. Sometimes he vexes me, but in a sense it is our duty to protect him. It has been a disturbing day; I think I'll go to bed."



CHAPTER IX

JIM IS LEFT OUT

The sun shone on the terrace at Dryholm, the house kept off the wind, and a creeper made a glowing background for the group about the tea-table. A row of dahlias close by hung their heads after a night's frost, a gardener was sweeping dead leaves from the grass, and the beeches round the tarn were nearly bare.

Bernard took a cup from Mrs. Halliday and glancing at the long shadows that stretched across the lawn, indicated a sundial on a pillar.

"In another few minutes its usefulness will be gone and it warns me that mine is going," he said, and quoted a tag of Latin.

"I wonder why they carve such melancholy lines on sundials," somebody remarked.

"Perhaps there is a certain futility about the custom. You, for whom the sun is rising, don't heed the warning, and we others in the shadow know our day is done. I do not think I am a sentimentalist, but the news we got this morning proves the Latin motto true. Then it is hardly possible we shall have tea outside again, and we cannot tell if all will gather round the table when summer comes back."

Mrs. Halliday began to talk about a neighbor who had died the day before. "Alan Raine will be missed; he was a good and useful English type," she said. "Conscientious and public-spirited. One could depend on him for a subscription and a graceful speech. I have not known his equal for opening a village club or a flower show. Then the hunt ball was always a success since he managed it, and we have not had so good a master of otter-hounds."

"It is something to be remembered for these things. Alan will be missed," Bernard agreed and turned to Carrie. "You have heard our notion of an English gentleman's duty. What do you think about it?"

"It is not my notion. If I were a man, and rich, I should like to leave a deeper mark."

"Ah," said Bernard, "you come from a strenuous country that breeds another type. Your men fight with blizzards on the snowy trail and drive their shafts through ground the sun never melts. Sometimes they come to England and teach us to hustle by altering the landscape and destroying our old landmarks. Perhaps there is something to be said for the others who carry out quiet duties conscientiously."

"Oh, yes," said Carrie, with a sparkle in her eyes. "But I'd sooner have cornfields running across a drained marsh than a hunt ball for my monument."

"You have a good apologist," Bernard said to Jim.

The others laughed, and Mrs. Halliday, not liking the turn Bernard had given the talk, asked: "Who will take the otter-hounds?"

"The matter's important and cannot be decided rashly," Bernard replied with some dryness, and addressed Mordaunt. "I imagine Jim might fill the post. What do you think, Lance?"

"The choice lies between Langrigg and Dryholm, sir. The Dearhams have a kind of traditional right to keep the hounds. Joseph did so."

"I am too old."

"Then Jim ought to make a good master. That is, if he doesn't think otter-hunting an idle man's game."

Bernard turned to Jim, who laughed. "Lance's shot was fair. When I first came over I had some prejudices, but they are going and I don't see why I shouldn't play now and then." He paused and his look was serious when he resumed: "In a way, it's strange, but your English customs have a grip; they get hold of one. In fact, I'm getting English fast, but perhaps that is not quite right. I begin to feel I am English."

Mrs. Halliday gave him an approving smile. "You inherited more than Langrigg from the Dearhams, Jim. I like to see you realize you got some duties when you got the estate."

"I don't know if keeping the hounds is a duty," Jim rejoined. "Perhaps Lance was nearest when he called it a game. All the same, I think I'd like the job."

They began to talk about the advisability of moving the kennels and Carrie, sitting quiet, studied the others. She saw Mrs. Halliday was pleased and thought she understood this. Mordaunt puzzled her. His rather dark face was hard to read, but she had got a hint of disappointment when he said the choice lay between Langrigg and Dryholm and Bernard declared he was too old. Then she suspected a touch of bitterness in his next remark. The others had noted nothing, except perhaps Bernard, who had looked at Mordaunt hard. Carrie did not like Mordaunt; he sometimes sneered politely at Jim.

"It is something to know Jim is willing, but the post is not my gift," Bernard resumed. "A meeting will no doubt be held to weigh the matter and if Jim is chosen, I should not be surprised."

Then he got up and shivered as the creeping shadow touched the bench he occupied. Some of the others went off along the terrace and Jim and Evelyn crossed the lawn. They were talking animatedly and Carrie felt a pang when Jim's laugh came back to her. In the woods she had cheered him and he laughed at her jokes. Now he was always kind but he forgot her when Evelyn was about. She turned rather moodily towards the arch and saw Bernard standing in the gloom. His eyes were fixed on the figures on the lawn and Carrie thought he looked annoyed, but he smiled when he heard her step.

"They have left you alone?" he said. "Well, we must amuse each other, and there are some flowers in the hot-house that I don't think you have seen."

Carrie went with him thoughtfully. Bernard's remarks were often oracular; he left one to guess what he meant, but she imagined his glance was sympathetic. Although this was to some extent embarrassing, she began to talk; and when they reached the hot-house he answered her questions about the flowers with old-fashioned politeness. By and by he glanced at a thermometer and pulling down a skylight turned to Carrie, who was looking at the patches of glowing color that broke the long banks of green.

"Beautiful things but fragile, and they have no smell," he said. "I suppose we grow them because they cost us much. The flowers of the bleak North are sweet."

By and by Jim came in and after a glance about exclaimed: "These are very fine!"

"You have an eye for color," Bernard remarked. "Their beauty's almost insolent; I don't know if it's strange that they are foul-feeders and thrive on rottenness. Sometimes I think I'd give them all for the cloudberry bloom I trampled on the moors when I was young. It feeds on the melting snow and opens its chaste white cup nearest the sky."

"You declared you were not a sentimentalist," said Jim.

"Oh, well," said Bernard, "you must make allowances for an old man's inconsistency." He turned as a car began to throb, and smiled at Carrie. "One mustn't keep the engine running and I expect the others are waiting. Come back soon and cheer me up."

He went with them to the steps, and when they drove off Jim was thoughtful for a few minutes. He was glad Bernard liked Carrie, but perhaps it was strange he had not urged Evelyn to come back. Bernard, however, was puzzling; one could not understand his moods. Then Jim forgot about it as Mrs. Winter began to talk.

A week later, four gentlemen sat one evening in the smoking-room at a house on the rolling ground where the hills dip to the seaboard plain. Three were rather fat, gray-haired, and solemn, and one was young. The latter indicated a siphon and decanter on the table when Mordaunt came in.

"Help yourself," he said. "Where's Dick?"

"I arranged to pick him up at the cross-roads, but he wasn't there," Mordaunt replied. "Dick's a careless fellow and I didn't want to be late."

He filled a glass and when he sat down one of the others remarked: "Alan Raine has gone and it is our melancholy duty to fill his post. This will not be easy; Alan was a keen sportsman and a man of tact. He commanded the farmers' respect and had the interest of the hunt at heart. For all that, the hunt is a useful institution and must be kept up. Fish are getting scarce; modern field drainage sends down the water in sudden floods and when, between times, the rivers run low the trout and salmon are the otter's easy prey. It is our duty to preserve the fisheries, and help, as far as we are able, a bracing English sport."

He drained his glass while the others signed approval. Hodson had cleared the ground neatly and the business could begin.

"Our choice is somewhat limited," said another. "I think we have all found it a drawback to keep the hounds near the hills, since the meets are generally held by the deep water in the flat holms. In fact, one feels the hounds ought to go to Dryholm or Langrigg."

Mordaunt quietly lighted a cigarette and then replied: "I'm afraid you must rule out Dryholm. Bernard declares he is too old to take the hounds."

"But what about yourself?"

"I am too poor," said Mordaunt, smiling.

The others hesitated. They were cautious and did not want to venture on dangerous ground, but there was something to be said, and Herries, the youngest man, remarked: "After all, an offer of the hounds is a compliment and its acceptance, to some extent, a public duty. If this view were put before Bernard Dearham, some arrangement could perhaps be made."

"You mean I might fill the post and Bernard provide the money?" Mordaunt suggested. "Bernard, however, does not seem to see the advantage of the plan."

Herries gave him a keen glance. Mordaunt's face was calm; but the other imagined he had felt some disappointment.

"Then we must fall back on Langrigg. The new owner is your relation. What do you think about our asking him?"

"I imagine you couldn't find a better site for the kennels," Mordaunt replied. "Langrigg is near the deep water where the big fish lie and you can generally find an otter——"

He stopped, and Herries said, "Yes, of course! But this is not altogether what we mean. Do you think Dearham would take the post?"

"It's possible," said Mordaunt, very dryly. "Have you decided to ask him?"

The others were quiet for a moment or two. They felt they had got a hint, but the hint was vague. Somebody must take the hounds and they could not. They resolved to leave the thing to Herries; he was young and his remarks would not carry so much weight. Besides, he knew Mordaunt well.

"Let's be frank," he said, hiding some embarrassment by a twinkle meant for Mordaunt alone. "Choosing a master of hounds is an important job. Would Dearham fill the post properly?"

"I think not," Mordaunt answered in a quiet voice.

"Oh, well," remarked another. "I suppose there is no more to be said."

Mordaunt lighted a fresh cigarette. "I want you to understand. Jim Dearham is my relation, but I feel my responsibility. He is a good sort and I am not stating much to his disadvantage when I admit that he is not the proper man to take the hounds. He has not yet cultivated our sense of sport and his notions are utilitarian. I'm afraid he'd grumble about broken fences and trampled crops. Then, for example, he's dyking the marsh."

"Exactly!" said one. "I imagine we do understand. Well, we must ask Watson of Red Bank. He's rich enough and ambitious, although he's not altogether the man I'd like."

They agreed, and soon afterwards Dick came in and asked Mordaunt: "Why didn't you stop for me, as you promised?"

"I did stop. I waited some minutes."

"Then you must have come before the time."

"Look at your watch," said Mordaunt, who took out his. "I got the time at the station this afternoon."

Dick said it did not matter much and asked whom they meant to make the master of hounds.

"Watson, of Red Bank," one replied, and began to talk about something else when he had filled a glass for Dick. The latter was young and sometimes indiscreet; it was better he should not know what Mordaunt had said.

By and by two or three went off to the billiard-room and Herries said to Mordaunt: "Sorry I had to urge you; but I knew the others hadn't pluck enough and meant to leave the thing to me. Their notion was I didn't count and you wouldn't resent my remarks. Rather an awkward job, but we felt we could trust you. All the same, I like Jim, and expect he'll be popular when we get to know him. In fact, I imagine I'd have let him take the hounds."

"He'd have jolted the others badly," Mordaunt rejoined. "They belong to the old school; he belongs to the new."

"One or two rather need a jolt, but we'll let it go. I want to watch Dick's game; he's been playing well and using a new stroke."

They went to the billiard-room and stayed until the party broke up. Then, as the Dryholm car rolled up to the steps, Dick said to Mordaunt: "You got the wrong time, after all. I compared my watch with Hodson's. His was a presentation from the farmers' club, you know; the latest thing in watches, and he declares it's accurate."

"It's not very important."

"In a way, it is important," Dick objected. "If I'd been here soon enough, I'd have urged their choosing Jim." He paused and looked at Mordaunt hard. "It's curious, but I imagined Hodson was embarrassed when he said they meant to ask Watson. Why should they ask the fellow? He's not our sort."

"After all, Jim is not our sort."

"Rot!" exclaimed Dick. "Bernard is satisfied and I'd sooner trust him than Hodson. In fact, Bernard's a better judge than anybody in Hodson's stodgy lot."

Mordaunt shrugged, but was glad the rattle of the engine covered his silence and the driver looked up as if to see if he were coming. He got into the car and pondered as he drove back to Dryholm. Dick's manner was curious and his annoyance was plain Mordaunt wondered whether he suspected something. Still, except perhaps for Herries, the hunt committee were tactful; he did not think they would enlighten Dick.



CHAPTER X

BERNARD PONDERS

It was getting dark in the hall at Langrigg and Jim, who had just returned from the marsh, sat in the hollow of the big fireplace. Rain beat upon the windows, outside which the trees tossed their naked branches against the lowering sky, and a cold wind wailed about the ancient walls. Oak logs snapped in the grate and Carrie sat on the rug in the flickering light. She was toasting muffins, and a silver teapot and some cups stood on the low table in front of Mrs. Winter. Now the days were getting cold and short, tea by the hearth was a popular function. Carrie buttered a muffin and gave it Jim on the end of the fork.

"Jake must wait for the next. I can't toast the things fast enough for him," she said. "They're quite nice if you eat them hot, but they're not like the flapjacks I made in the woods. After all, we had some pretty good times on the new line; hadn't we, Jim? Mother doesn't know; she wasn't there."

"I was not," said Mrs. Winter. "If you had taken me along, I wouldn't be with you now. A roof that keeps out the rain, a warm room, and a comfortable chair are good enough for me."

"You'd have said for mine, not long since. Looks as if we were all getting English," Carrie replied. "Jim was very nice when he got you the chair. It's up against all the other things. If I was Jim, I'd hate to have it around."

Jim laughed. He had sent to London for the American spring rocking-chair that clashed with the old oak in the hall, but it was a pattern Mrs. Winter liked and he was satisfied. He ate his muffin silently, for he was tired, and Carrie's remarks had wakened memories of other fires that burned among the tall straight trunks in the Canadian wilds; he thought he could hear the snow-fed river brawl, and smell the smoke that drifted in blue wreaths about the lonely camp. Carrie had laughed and bantered him then and he had been happy. He was happy now and hoped to be happier yet, but Carrie was often quiet and he had a puzzling feeling that he had lost something he could not recapture.

Presently she picked up a local newspaper and lighted a candle with a shade. The light only spread a yard or two, but it touched the page she folded back and sparkled in her hair.

"They have got a master for the otter-hounds!" she exclaimed, and then her color rose and her eyes went hard. "I don't know the committee, but if the others are like Hodson, they're solemn old fools."

"I'd rather have liked the post, but it doesn't matter much," said Jim, and added, with a smile: "Now you're like the Carrie who went North with us."

"Bernard meant you to have the hounds; he's a dear, although some stupid people are afraid of him," Carrie went on. "He'd certainly have fixed it if he hadn't got lame again. But I remember—Dick went to their old meeting and was mad about something afterwards. I think it was something about Lance Mordaunt—now I begin to see!"

"I don't think it's worth while your bothering about the thing."

"Don't interrupt!" said Carrie. "I'm going to talk. Lance doesn't like you, and I imagine Dick doesn't trust him. Dick is smart sometimes and knows Lance is mean. He is mean; he has a yellow streak——"

She stopped, for she saw Jim's frown. He was not vexed with her, but her statement chimed with some vague doubts of his. She got up and made him a formal curtsy.

"I'm sorry, Jim. That was the Carrie you knew in the woods. If you don't want her, you oughtn't to burn logs and sit by the fire when it's getting dark, as we used to do. But she has gone back to the shadows that creep among the pines, and I don't think she will come out again."

She pulled up an easy-chair, and when she sat down and shielded her face from the fire with her hand Jake's eyes twinkled. He wondered whether Jim saw she was cleverly imitating Evelyn's graceful languidness. After a few moments she indicated the dark oak paneling and old furniture.

"That's your proper background, Jim, when you frown. It's plain that you belong to Langrigg. When you fought the Scots and hunted wolves I expect you often looked like you looked just now."

"But I didn't fight the Scots," Jim objected.

"Your people did," said Carrie. "Sometimes you're very dull."

Jim laughed and glanced at her. Flames leaped up round the logs and the red light played about her face. Her color was rather marked, she looked strangely alert and forceful, and something about her dress gave her a touch of stateliness, for Carrie had well chosen her English clothes. Jim knew her to be staunch and fearless, and although her humor was sometimes puzzling he felt her charm.

"By George!" he said impulsively, "I think you belong to the old days as much as I belong. One could have trusted you to hold the tower against all comers when your man went off to hunt."

Carrie held her hand to her face a moment, as if the fire were hot, and then smiled as she looked up.

"If my man had gone off often, I would have taken the wolf-spear and gone with him."

Mrs. Winter, who had quietly studied both, began to talk about something else, and presently a servant brought in some letters. Jim moved the shaded candle and opened his, but after a time put one down and looked straight in front, knitting his brows.

"What is it, partner?" Jake asked.

"I have got a knock. I told my Vancouver agent to sell some shares and send along a check. He says I'd better wait; the market's very flat."

"Then you bought the Bench-lands Irrigation stock?"

"I did. I have invested most of the money I got for the Bluebird mine."

"All ours is at the Merchants' Bank," Carrie remarked. "Jake wanted to buy Irrigation stock, but I wouldn't let him. However, the company ought to make good."

"I hope so. Jeffreys is doubtful. I bought because I know the Bench country and Martin was interested in the scheme. It seems they are having trouble about their water rights and an order has been granted to stop the ditches. Jeffreys says nobody wants the stock just now and imagines the lawsuit may go against them."

"Will this make things awkward for you?"

"To some extent. Langrigg costs much to run and the dykes are expensive. I'll get my farm rents soon, but they won't go very far. For all that, the dykes must be finished; it's the only way to get back the money I have spent."

"Besides, you want to finish them," Carrie suggested.

"That is so," Jim agreed. "You can't leave a job half done."

He began to ponder and struggle with a disturbing doubt. If the Irrigation Company failed, he must use economy, because the farm rents would not enable him to live at Langrigg like a country gentleman. For himself, this did not matter much; he did not want a number of servants and gardeners. But Evelyn was used to the extravagance at Whitelees, and he knew Mrs. Halliday's views.

"Well," said Carrie, "to begin with, the dykes must be finished. When your money runs out you will use ours."

"Carrie speaks for the rest of us," Jake declared. "What she says goes."

Jim hardly understood the emotion by which he was moved and said awkwardly: "Thanks! You're generous, but I can't let you pay for my mistakes."

"We are partners, Jim," said Carrie. "Until you break the partnership, all that's ours is yours. Go on with the dykes and when you need money, ask Jake for a check."

"Give him the book," said Mrs. Winter. "Jake can sign some forms."

Jim hesitated and smiled to hide his embarrassment. "We'll wait. I'm not broken yet, and since Martin is backing the scheme things can't go very wrong. However, it's lucky they didn't make me master of hounds."

In the evening he went to Dryholm and dined with Bernard at a small table in the spacious room. Afterwards they sat by the fire talking quietly. Flickering reflections played about the carved marble and bright steel; electric lights, half-hidden by the cornice, threw down a soft light, and Bernard looked old and worn as he leaned back languidly in his big chair.

"Since you have begun to drain the marsh, we may take it for granted you are going to stay at Langrigg," he said.

"Yes, I mean to stay."

"Then it's obvious that you ought to marry."

"I don't know if it's obvious or not," Jim rejoined. "However, since you are the head of the house, I dare say you are entitled to feel some curiosity."

Bernard smiled. "Suppose you think about me as an old man who would like to be your friend."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Jim. "We're an independent lot in Canada and I've fought for my own hand since I was a boy. Anyhow, I mean to marry Evelyn, if she is willing."

"It looks as if you had not asked her yet."

"I have not; I'm half-afraid. In one way, it would be a rash plunge for a girl like Evelyn. Though I've inherited Langrigg, I'm a Western adventurer; I've lived with rough men in the wilds. She's refined and cultivated. Well, I've gone slow, trying to persuade myself I was justified before I persuaded her. Then I wanted her, so to speak, to get used to me."

"You are modest," Bernard remarked. "You imply that Evelyn does not know."

"I don't think she knows. I have been cautious. If I hinted at my hopes too soon, she might get disturbed and alarmed."

Bernard smiled. "Well, perhaps you have taken a prudent line. But do you imagine your reserve has deceived Janet Halliday?"

"Perhaps it has not; Mrs. Halliday is clever. I think she is my friend."

"It's possible," Bernard agreed, with a touch of ironical humor. "How long do you think you must give Evelyn, in order to avoid the jar she might get if you prematurely revealed your hopes?"

Jim knitted his brows. He was used to Bernard's cynical dryness and trusted him. "It will be longer than I thought," he answered, grimly. "I have had a bad set-back."

He told Bernard about the risk of his losing his money, and the latter was silent for a minute or two. Then he remarked: "I suppose you see that if I thought it a good plan I could help you out."

"That is not why I told you," said Jim. "I could not take your help."

"I imagined you would not. Well, perhaps your frankness accounts for our friendship. You are unembarrassed because you have no grounds for indulging my caprices and expect nothing from me."

Jim made a little abrupt movement. He had once said something like that; to Mordaunt, he thought.

"Very well," Bernard resumed. "If you think I can help, I am willing; but I will not insist."

"Thank you," said Jim, "I must trust my own efforts."

Bernard lighted a cigar and pondered. He was satisfied and somewhat amused. It would not have cost him much to banish Jim's difficulties and he would have liked to earn his gratitude, but was glad the other had refused. It was better that Jim's troubles about money should not be banished yet. He was something of a romantic fool; but Bernard knew Evelyn was not. By and by he led Jim into confidential talk about his investments in Canada and his plans for developing his new estate, and then let him go.

When Jim had gone, he sat by the fire, thinking hard, and after a time sent a servant to the library for a bundle of architect's drawings. The drawings gave the plans and elevation of a new hospital and Bernard thought the plain, straight front, looked mean. Knowing something about building, he saw how it could be altered and ornamented, and the hospital enlarged, if funds permitted. He was one of the founders and thought it might be advisable to augment his gift.

Next day he went to Whitelees and was received by Mrs. Halliday in her drawing-room, which always annoyed him. He felt he wanted to clear out Janet's room and furnish it on another plan. Bernard hated sensual prettiness and liked bold, clean lines and subdued color. Besides, his gout was rather bad, the fragile chair was uncomfortable, and he could not rest his foot. When the pain gripped him he frowned, and Mrs. Halliday remarked that he was not looking well.

"I am getting old and have recently felt my age," he replied. "One must pay for a strenuous youth, and it's becoming plain that I ought to straighten my affairs while the opportunity is mine."

Mrs. Halliday looked sympathetic and felt curious. She had wondered when Bernard would give her his confidence. "Well," she said, "I suppose this is one's duty, although I hope you have no particular grounds for imagining it needful just now."

"One cannot tell," Bernard remarked. "Anyhow, I have responsibilities that must not be shirked. Well, Evelyn and Lance will get a share of my property; in fact, I have made some provision for them."

"I expect you have been generous," said Mrs. Halliday, who wondered how far she durst go. "But what about Jim?"

"His claim will need some thought. For that matter, he has hinted that he is satisfied with Langrigg. Independence like his is not common and perhaps ought to be indulged."

Mrs. Halliday was disturbed, but Bernard did not seem to be curious about her feelings and resumed: "In the meantime, I've been thinking about the new Brunstock hospital and am going to see the committee. Since you promised us a donation, I have brought the plans." He unrolled the elevation and gave it her. "This is not the kind of building we want and I mean to propose some alterations."

He indicated the alterations, and Mrs. Halliday said: "But it will cost a very large sum."

"I expect so. My money came from the iron mines; the Brunstock pitmen and furnace men earned the most part for me. A number get hurt and it is just that I should give them something back. Then if we called it the Dearham hospital, as the committee suggest, the building would keep my memory green, and I am vain enough to prefer a handsome monument."

"In some ways it is a good ambition," Mrs. Halliday agreed, although she was puzzled, for she thought Bernard had an object he had not stated. He certainly was not vain.

"Of course," he went on, "one must be just to one's relations, and it would be harsh to leave out Jim altogether. Still, you see, he's rash; we have an example in his dyking plan, and I would not like my money squandered. I expect you know he has lost much of his in a Canadian speculation?"

Mrs. Halliday did not know and got something of a jar. She gave Bernard a quick and rather anxious glance.

"But if he has lost his, your gift would be more needful."

Bernard made a sign of disagreement. "The drawback is, Jim might use it as rashly as he has used the rest."

"They sometimes waste money at hospitals."

"That is so, but if I carry out my plans, there will not be much waste at Brunstock. I have been pondering some stipulations, and if I give them a proper endowment, the trustees must consent."

"Do you mean to endow the new wards? We understood you would be satisfied with giving part of what they needed for the original building."

"Of course," said Bernard. "Since I'm going to urge the extension, I must find the money. The hospital is getting a hobby of mine and I may make the endowment much larger than I meant." He got up. "It's a long drive and I must not keep the committee."

He went off and Mrs. Halliday tried to brace herself. She had grounds for disturbance, but she must think. If Bernard carried out his plans, it was obvious that she must change hers.



CHAPTER XI

EVELYN'S ADVENTURE

After Bernard had gone, Mrs. Halliday talked to Evelyn. At first she was cautious and rather implied than stated her meaning, but by degrees she threw off her reserve. Although Evelyn and her mother generally agreed, Mrs. Halliday felt she was antagonistic, and this disturbed her. Evelyn was not romantic; as a rule, her judgment was cool and sound, but she was human, and it began to look as if she were strongly attracted by Jim Dearham.

"On the whole, it would be better if you did not go to Langrigg to-morrow," Mrs. Halliday concluded. "You can make an excuse."

"I think not," said Evelyn. "You urged me not to disappoint Jim the last time we went, but we will let this go. Now he has had bad luck, it would look significant if you suddenly withdrew your approval. He knew it was his not long since."

"In a way, I am forced to withdraw it. I like Jim——"

"But you do not like him to be poor," Evelyn interrupted with a smile. "Well, it seems to me a proper and tactful line for his friends to rally round him when he is in trouble."

"One can, of course, be sympathetic if one meets him."

Evelyn laughed. "But one need not go too far?" She paused and gave her mother a steady look. "Langrigg is a fine old house, I don't suppose Jim is ruined, and I have some money. Then you have taught me to expect that I may get some more."

"Bernard is capricious. He has a bitter humor and may disappoint us all. You have come to think refinement needful; you are extravagant and could not live with an impoverished husband. Let me beg you not to be obstinate and rash."

"Ah," said Evelyn, "I sometimes felt I would like to be rash, but was not brave enough. I do not know if I have much courage now."

Mrs. Halliday got up. Perhaps she had said enough and after all one could trust Evelyn when she was cool. It looked as if the girl's disappointment had been sharp, and the wise plan was to leave her alone. Yet she was puzzled; Evelyn had given signs of a recklessness her mother thought new.

When Mrs. Halliday went out Evelyn tried to formulate her thoughts. To begin with, her mother's calculating caution repelled her; it had made her feel shabby. Then she had, no doubt, taken much for granted. Jim had, perhaps, had bad luck, but this did not mean that he was impoverished, and after all there were many expensive things one could go without. She was not as greedy as some people thought. Indeed, it would be rather fine to make a plunge; to let cold caution go and play a romantic part.

She mused about Jim. He was marked by a certain roughness, but he had dignity. He gave one pleasant thrills—there was the scene on the dyke when she was half-shocked and yet strangely moved. His physical fineness appealed; his figure was like an old Greek athlete's, his face was sharply cut and somehow ascetic. He was hot-blooded, but one knew he was not gross. His was a clean virility.

Evelyn thought she loved him, as much as she could love anybody, for she had not been touched by passion, and it counted for something that he loved her. The reserve he thought he used was, of course, ridiculous. Evelyn resolved she would go to Langrigg and sympathize with Jim. Then she would wait and by and by her feelings might get stronger and she would see her way. She would not admit that the possibility of learning whether Jim would get over his difficulties had some influence.

Next evening she went to Langrigg, without Mrs. Halliday, who made an excuse. Jim called for her with his car, and, for the most part, she was quiet and he did not talk much. There were steep hills and awkward corners as they ran down from the rolling country to the plain. The evening was calm and the noise of the sea came softly out of the distance. Now and then plover and curlew cried, a half-moon hung in the west, and the black hills rose out of fleecy mist. Evelyn was imaginative and liked the drive across the flat holms in the dark. It was romantic ground, rich with traditions of the old Border raids, and now as she watched Jim, sitting, absorbed, with his hands on the wheel, she felt he, so to speak, dated back. He drove the powerful modern car with ease and skill, but somehow she imagined him wearing steel cap and leather jack and guiding a shaggy pony. Perhaps it was the picture in a hall she knew that haunted her. One saw the shadowy horsemen and glitter of spears in the moonlight.

Meanwhile, she gave herself to irresolute thought. Jim had some advantages and some drawbacks; Evelyn saw the drawbacks plainly. He attracted her; it would be exciting to let him carry her away and embark with him on a romantic adventure. She knew he had recently used a stern control, but he was hot-blooded and his reserve might be undermined. Yet there was a risk; she must give up much. She was drawn in different ways by romance and worldly caution and it looked as if caution would win.

Soon after she reached Langrigg Mordaunt arrived with Dick. The latter declared that Jim was a very good sort, and Evelyn knew his feeling was sincere, but she imagined Dick liked Carrie and was sometimes disturbed. For all that, she had been relieved to note that Carrie liked Dick.

Dinner was a cheerful function, but when they went back to the hall Evelyn was quiet. Joseph Dearham and others had made some renovations in the hall, but they harmonized with the crooked roof-beams and dark oak. There were one or two tall lamps and another that hung by iron chains, but Jim generally used candles in old silver stands. Evelyn wondered how Jim knew that candles were right. It was strange that he often, unconsciously, she thought, struck the proper note.

She studied him and Jake while she talked to Mrs. Winter. Jim seldom wore conventional evening clothes, but he had put on an American dinner-jacket. He and his comrade were strangely agile; their movements were quick, their step was light, like a cat's, and she noted how they lifted their feet. She did not know the prospector gets the habit by walking through tangled bush and across rough stones. They had a suppleness that came from using the long ax, and toil in the wilds had given them a fine-drawn look. In some ways both were modern, but in some they belonged to the past, when the fortress peels were built and the marsh-men fought the Scots.

Jim crossed the floor, and when he began to talk to Carrie, Evelyn felt a jealous pang. The girl had been in the woods with Jim; she had beauty and a curious primitive strength. Jim leaned forward, smiling as he talked to her; they talked confidentially, like tried comrades. Evelyn was moved to something near anger and went to the old grand piano Jim had brought from the drawing-room when he found that Carrie could play ragtime airs. Evelyn had a talent for music and meant to make an experiment. If Jim was what she thought, he would respond.

"If somebody will light the candles, I will sing," she said.

The candles had pale-yellow shades and when Jim struck a match the colored light touched her face and dress. Except for this, the corner was somewhat dark. Amber was Evelyn's color. She struck a few chords that seemed to echo in the distance and then, glancing at Jim, began a prelude with a measured beat. His face was intent; he seemed to search for something in the music that sounded as if it were getting nearer. She wondered whether he heard the call of trumpets and horses' feet drumming in the dark. Somehow she thought he did.

Perhaps she was debasing her talent; this kind of thing was rather a theatrical trick than music. For all that, it needed feeling, and she knew the old Border ballads and their almost forgotten airs. Jim was very still when she began to sing, for her voice and the music moved him strongly. The air was wild, the rude words rang with something one felt when one battled with floods and snowslides. They told how the moss-troopers rode down Ettrick water long ago; but human nature did not change and hard-bitten men now went out on the snowy trail, carrying shovels and axes instead of spears. But how did Evelyn, surrounded by luxurious refinements, understand?

"It's fine!" he exclaimed when she stopped. "You have got it just right; horses' feet, and harness jingling. But you go back of that to the feeling one has when one braces up and sets one's mouth tight."

Evelyn laughed and looked at Mordaunt, who frowned. "Perhaps you are easily satisfied, Jim, but music, critical folks contemptuously call descriptive, needs some talent." She paused and beat out a few bars imitating a horse's gallop. "It really does go back of this."

"Never mind critical folks," said Jim. "Sing another—the song of Flodden."

"I'm not sure the song you mean has really much to do with Flodden, but I know one that has. It's old and rude, like the Borderers. You know a band would not fight, but were too proud to run away. They stood fast, by themselves, and were shot down by the archers while the loyal Scots fell round their wounded king. This, however, is shocking art; it's like writing what you are meant to see at the top of a picture. I know it annoys Lance."

"I can endure much from you," Mordaunt rejoined.

Evelyn struck the keys and began to sing. Words and air had a strange barbaric force, and Jim pictured the stern Scots spearmen closing round their fallen monarch and their hate for the stubborn mutineers. The blood came to his skin when the music stopped and the girl's voice flung out a dying soldier's curse. The curse was strangely modern; one heard it often in the West.

"Thank you! You have not sung like this before," he said, and turned to Jake. "How does it strike you, partner?"

"It hits me where I feel it, and hits me hard. I reckon the men who fought that old battle meant to make good. I don't know how Miss Halliday knows what a man with red blood feels when he's got to put over a big hard job, but she does know."

"I'm afraid you would make me vain," said Evelyn.

She turned as she left the piano and gave Carrie a quick glance. A sharp jealousy seized her, for while she could imagine what a strong man felt, Carrie really knew. She had fronted danger with Jim; she had watched and helped his struggle in the lonely North. Evelyn was suddenly afraid of Carrie. She was a powerful rival.

The party went to the billiard-room, but Evelyn would not play and sat in a corner, thinking hard. She was highly-strung, and her hesitation had vanished. Jim loved her and nobody else should claim him. Perhaps she was rash, but she had begun to feel passion, and saw she must embark upon her great adventure now, when Jim had had reverses and was smarting from the blow. He must see that she had pluck and was willing to bear his troubles. After all, to have done with caution was exhilarating. Yet she knew her lover. He would not ask her to make a sacrifice for him; unless his luck changed he would keep up his reserve. Well, she must break it down, and she knew her power. Then she turned as Mordaunt stopped by the bench she occupied.

"I think you did not like my song," she said.

"You know I did not," Mordaunt rejoined. "Anyhow, I didn't like your exaggerated rendering of a ballad that is probably genuine, though one authority states it was written about an ancient football match. They played football before the Scottish wars in the Border towns."

"Is this important?"

"It is not. I thought you were putting your talent to a shabby use."

"Art is imitation," Evelyn remarked with a mocking smile. "Why should one not imitate the drumming of horses' feet? or, for example, a storm at sea? I believe that kind of thing is popular at cheap concerts."

Mordaunt frowned. "You well know what your gift is worth. It's too fine to be used in order to rouse crude emotions in a handsome savage like Jim."

"Ah," said Evelyn, with a sparkle in her eyes, "are the great emotions crude? Courage and loyalty that led to deeds that live four hundred years? I don't know if our refinements would stand comparison with the big primitive things."

"Jim is certainly primitive," Mordaunt sneered.

"And he's big! So big that he makes other men look small! I was disturbed when I saw him, bruised and muddy, that day at the marsh; but I begin to understand I was ridiculous. He fought the smith because he was accountable for his men."

"Oh, well; I expect he would value your approval," said Mordaunt, who saw Jim go out. "It looks as if he were getting bored."

Evelyn smiled. "He keeps some dyking plans in the hall. I don't think he will be bored if I join him." She got up languidly. "Since you are not very amusing, I will go."

She went off and found Jim opening a drawer. "You can study your plans; I won't disturb you," she said, sitting down by the fire. "I really don't care for billiards."

He shut the drawer and leaned against a table opposite. "You were not playing billiards; you were talking to Lance. That was why I went away."

"You flatter me," said Evelyn. "But don't leave the plans. I expect they are important."

"They are important. The rain is giving us trouble, and although I began the job to occupy my leisure, I'm going to finish it because I must."

"I think I understand. I am sorry you have had bad luck in Canada."

"Thank you. How did you know?"

"Bernard told us."

"I wonder why," Jim remarked, thoughtfully. "Although it doesn't matter much, I didn't expect him to tell."

Evelyn pondered. Bernard had, no doubt, had an object, but she could solve the puzzle afterwards. She was alone with Jim, and in a few minutes the others might return.

"I was rather hurt when I found you had given Bernard your confidence and left me out," she said. "But does this reverse in Canada hit you hard?"

"It was a nasty knock. I expect to get over it, but it will be some time before I recover the ground I've lost. Things will be better when we plow the land I'm reclaiming from the marsh."

"In the meantime, you will have to struggle?"

"Yes," said Jim, rather grimly, "it will be a struggle. But that is not all——"

He pulled himself up. There was a risk that he might say too much, and while he hesitated Evelyn listened. The door was open and the house was quiet, but she could not hear the click of the billiard balls. It looked as if Dick and Carrie had finished their game, there was no time for clever maneuvering; she must be frank. She gave Jim a quick glance and then looked away.

"Jim," she said, "I am not poor."

He started, and his face got red. Evelyn's meaning was obvious, but he could hardly persuade himself that he had grasped it.