There was a little murmur of astonishment, and Mrs. Acton straightened herself suddenly, while Nasmyth saw a gleam of amusement creep into Acton's eyes. The schooner man evidently felt that he had an interested audience, for he leaned upon the rail as he began to tell all he knew about the incident.

"I was asleep forward, when the skipper howled as if he was most scared out of his life," he said. "I got up out of the scuttle just as quick as I could, and there he was crawling round behind the stern-house with an axe in his hand, and the mate flat up against the rail.

"'Shut that slide quick,' says the skipper. 'Shut it. He's crawling up the ladder.'

"'I guess you can shut it yourself if you want it shut.' He asked for whisky. 'Tell him where it is,' says the mate."

There was no doubt that the listeners were interested, and the man made an impressive gesture. "It was kind of scaring. There was a soft flippety-flop going on in the stern-house, and I slipped out a handspike. Then the skipper sees me.

"'There's a drowned man crawling round the cabin with water running off him,' he says.

"Then a head came out of the scuttle and a wet arm, and a voice that didn't sound quite like a drowned man's says, 'Oh you——'"

Acton raised his arm restrainingly, and the narrator made a sign of comprehension.

"He called us fools," the man explained, "and for 'most a minute the skipper was going to take the axe to him. Then he hove it at the mate for being scared instead, and they all went down together, and I heard them light the stove. After that I went back and dropped off to sleep, and the skipper sent me off at sun-up to fetch the stranger's clothes. We set him ashore as soon as he'd got some breakfast into him."

The man rowed away in another minute or two, and, as he had evidently told his story with a relish, Nasmyth wondered whether Martial had contrived to offend him by endeavouring to purchase his silence. There are, of course, men one can offer a dollar to on that coast, but such an act requires a certain amount of circumspection.

Acton's eyes twinkled, and the men who were his guests looked at one another meaningly.

"Well," answered one of them, "I guess there is an explanation, though I didn't think Martial was that kind of man."

Nasmyth said nothing, but he saw Mrs. Acton's face flush with anger and disdain, and surmised that it was most unlikely that she would forgive the unfortunate Martial. The women in the party evidently felt that it would not be advisable to say anything further about the matter, and when George broke out the anchor the Tillicum steamed away.

It was after supper that night, and there was nobody except the helmsman on deck, when Miss Hamilton approached the forward scuttle where Nasmyth sat with his pipe in his hand. Nasmyth rose and spread out an old sail for her, and she sat down a little apart from him. The Tillicum was steaming northwards at a leisurely six knots, with her mastheads swaying rhythmically through the soft darkness, and a deep-toned gurgling at her bows. By-and-by Nasmyth became conscious that Miss Hamilton was looking at him, and, on the whole, he was glad that it was too dark for her to see him very well.

"I wonder if you were very much astonished at what you heard about Mr. Martial?" she asked.

"Well," said Nasmyth reflectively, "in one way at least, I certainly was. You see, I did not think Martial was, as our friend observed, that kind of man. In fact, I may admit that I feel reasonably sure of it still."

"I suppose you felt you owed him that?"

"I didn't want to leave you under a misapprehension."

There was silence for half a minute, and then Nasmyth turned towards the girl again.

"You are still a little curious about the affair?" he suggested.

"I am. I may mention that I found a certain dress of mine, which I do not remember tearing, had evidently been repaired by somebody quite unaccustomed to that kind of thing. Now there were, of course, only the skipper and yourself on board while we were away."

Nasmyth felt his face grow hot. "Well," he replied, "if it's any consolation to you, I am quite prepared, in one respect at least, to vindicate Martial's character. In any case, I think I shall have an interview with Mrs. Acton to-morrow."

His heart beat a little faster, for the girl laughed.

"It really wouldn't be any consolation at all to me," she admitted.

"Ah," said Nasmyth, "then, although you may have certain fancies, you are not dreadfully vexed with me?"

Violet Hamilton appeared to reflect. "Considering everything, I almost think you can be forgiven."

After that, they talked about other matters for at least an hour, while the Tillicum, with engines throbbing softly, crept on through the darkness, and Acton, who happened to notice them as he lounged under the companion scuttle with a cigar in his hand, smiled significantly. Acton had a liking for Nasmyth, and though he was not sure that Mrs. Acton would have been pleased had she known where Miss Hamilton was, the matter was, he reflected, after all, no concern of his.



CHAPTER XVI

ACTON'S WARNING

It was with somewhat natural misgivings, the next afternoon, that Nasmyth strolled forward along the Tillicum's deck toward the place where Mrs. Acton was sitting. Immaculately dressed, as usual, she reclined in a canvas chair with a book, which she had been reading, upon her knee. As Nasmyth approached her he became conscious that she was watching him with a curious expression in her keen, dark eyes. The steamer had dropped anchor in a little land-locked bay, and Nasmyth had just come back in the dinghy, after rowing one or two of the party ashore. Mrs. Acton indicated with a movement of her hand that he might sit upon the steamer's rail, and then, turning towards him, looked at him steadily. She was a woman of commanding personality, and imperiously managed her husband's social affairs. If he had permitted it, she probably would have undertaken, also, to look after his commercial interests.

"I wonder why you decided not to visit the Indian settlement with the others?" she inquired.

Nasmyth smiled. "I have been in many places of the kind," he answered. "Besides, there is something I think I ought to tell you."

"I almost fancied that was the case."

"Then I wonder if you have connected me with Martial's disappearance?"

"I may admit that my husband evidently has."

"He told you, then?" And Nasmyth realized next moment that the faint astonishment he had displayed was not altogether tactful.

"No," said Mrs. Acton, with a smile, "he did not. That was, I think, what made me more sure of it. James Acton can maintain a judicious silence when it appears advisable, and there are signs that he rather likes you."

Nasmyth bowed. "I should be very pleased to hear that you shared his views in this respect," he observed.

"I am, in the meanwhile, somewhat naturally rather uncertain upon the point," she returned.

"Well," confessed Nasmyth humbly, "I believe I am largely responsible for your guest's sudden disappearance. It was, of course, almost inexcusable, and I could not complain if you were very angry with me."

"I should, at least, like to know exactly what you did."

"That," said Nasmyth, "is a thing I would sooner you did not urge me to explain. After all, I feel I have done Martial sufficient injury, and I do not think he would like you to know. There are," he added somewhat diffidently, "one or two other reasons why I should prefer not to say anything further, but I would like to assure you that the explanation one of your friends suggested is not the correct one. I ventured to make this, at least, clear to Miss Hamilton."

Mrs. Acton regarded him with a suggestive smile. "Mr. Martial was not effusively pleasant to you. The affair was premeditated?"

"My one excuse is that the thing was done on the spur of the moment. I should never have undertaken it if I had reflected." Nasmyth made a gesture of submission. "I am in your hands."

Mrs. Acton sat silent for perhaps a minute gazing at the woods that swept round three sides of the little bay. Great cedars and pines and hemlocks rolled down to the water's edge, and the stretch of smooth green brine between them and the steamer flashed like a mirror.

"Well," she said, after a long pause, "I must admit that at first I was angry with you. Now"—and her eyes grew a bit scornful—"I am angry with Martial, instead. In fact, I think I shall wash my hands of him. I have no sympathy with a man who allows himself to be placed in a ludicrously painful position that reflects upon his friends."

"Especially when he has the privilege of your particular favour," added Nasmyth.

Mrs. Acton laughed. "That," she returned, "was a daring observation. It, at least, laid a certain obligation on Martial to prove it warranted, which he has signally failed to do. I presume you know why he took some little pains to make himself unpleasant to you?"

Nasmyth fancied that she was really angry with Martial, and that he understood her attitude. She was a capable, strong-willed woman, and had constituted herself the ally of the unfortunate man who had brought discredit on her by permitting himself to be shamefully driven from the field. It was also evident that she resented the fact that a guest from her husband's yacht should have been concerned in any proceedings of the nature that the schooner's deck-hand had described.

"I think I suspect why he was not cordial to me," Nasmyth admitted. "Still, the inference is so flattering that one would naturally feel a little diffident about believing that Martial's suppositions were correct."

"That," replied Mrs. Acton, "was tactfully expressed." She looked at the young man fixedly, and her next remark was characterized by the disconcerting frankness which is not unusual in the West. "Mr. Nasmyth," she said, "unless you have considerable means of your own, it would be wiser of you to put any ideas of the kind you have hinted at right out of your head."

"I might, perhaps, ask you for one or two reasons why I should adopt the course you suggest."

"You shall have them. Violet Hamilton is a lady with possessions, and I look upon her as a ward of my own. Any way, her father and mother are dead, and they were my dearest friends."

"Ah," agreed Nasmyth, "that naturally renders caution advisable. Well, I am in possession of three or four hundred dollars, and a project which I would like to believe may result to my advantage financially. Still, that is a thing I cannot be very sure about."

Mrs. Acton gazed at him thoughtfully. "Your uncle is a man of means."

"I believe he is. He may put three or four thousand dollars into the venture I mention, if he continues pleased with me. That is, I think, the most I could expect from him."

Mrs. Acton sat silent a while, and, though Nasmyth was not aware of it, favoured him with one or two glances of careful scrutiny. He was, as she had naturally noticed, a well-favoured man, and the flannels and straw hat he wore were becoming to him. What was more to the purpose, there was a certain graceful easiness in his voice and manner which were not characteristic of most of her husband's friends. Indeed, well-bred poise was not a characteristic of her own, though she recognized her lack. The polish that she coveted suggested an acquaintance with a world that she had not as yet succeeded in persuading her husband to enter. Acton was, from her point of view, regrettably contented with his commercial status in the new and crudely vigorous West.

"Well," she remarked thoughtfully, "none of us knows what there is in the future, and there are signs that you have intelligence and grit in you." Then she dismissed the subject. "I think you might take me for a row," she said.

Nasmyth pulled the dinghy alongside, and rowed her up and down the bay, but his intelligence was, after all, not sufficient for him to recognize the cleverness with which she led him on to talk about his uncle and England. He was not aware that he had been particularly communicative, but when he rowed back to the yacht Mrs. Acton was in possession of a great deal of information that was more or less satisfying.

The Tillicum steamed away again when the remainder of the party arrived, and she was leisurely swinging over a little froth-flecked sea that night, with the spray flying at her bows, when Acton came upon Nasmyth leaning on the rail.

"I wasn't quite certain what view Mrs. Acton might take of Martial's disappearance," said Acton. "Just now, however, I think that she is rather pleased with you."

"The fact," replied Nasmyth, "is naturally a cause for satisfaction."

Acton appeared amused. "Well," he said, "to some extent it depends upon what views she has for you. Mrs. Acton is a capable woman."

Acton strolled forward, leaving Nasmyth thoughtful. The hint was reasonably plain, but the younger man was not quite sure that he would be willing to fall in with the strong-willed woman's views. There was no doubt that Violet Hamilton attracted him—he admitted that without hesitation—for she had grace and wit and beauty, but she had, also, large possessions, which might prove a serious obstacle. Besides, he was sensible of a tenderness for the woman who had given him shelter and a great deal more than that in the lonely Bush. Laura, however, was still in the wilderness, and Miss Hamilton, whose society he found very pleasant, was then on board the Tillicum, facts that had their significance in the case of a man liable to be swayed by the impulses of the moment. By-and-by, he started, for while he thought about her, Miss Hamilton came out of the little companion-way, and stood looking round her, with her long light dress rustling in the breeze, until she moved forward as her eyes rested on him.

Nasmyth fancied that there was a particular significance in the fact that she appeared just then. He walked to meet her, and, drawing a low canvas chair into the shelter of the skylights, sat down with his back against them close at her feet. He did not remember what they talked about, and it was in all probability nothing very material, but they had already discovered that they had kindred views and likes, and they sat close together in the shelter of the skylights with a bright half-moon above them, while the Tillicum lurched on over a glittering sea. Both of them were surprised to discover that an hour had slipped by when their companions came up on deck, and Nasmyth was once more thoughtful before he went to sleep that night.

Next day the Tillicum brought up off a little mining town, and George, who went ashore, came back with several letters. Among the letters was a note for Nasmyth from a man interested in land exploitation. This man, with whom Nasmyth had been in communication, was then in the mining town, and he suggested that Nasmyth should call upon him at his hotel. Nasmyth showed Acton the letter.

"I understand these folks are straight?" the younger man remarked with inquiry in his tone.

Acton smiled dryly. "Any way," he said, "they're as straight as most. It's not a business that's conducive to unswerving rectitude. Hutton has come up here to see you about the thing?"

"He says he has some other business."

"Well," replied Acton, "perhaps he has." Then he turned to Wisbech, who sat close by. "I'll go ashore with Nasmyth. Will you come along?"

"No," said Wisbech; "I almost think I'll stay where I am. If Derrick can hold out any reasonable prospect of making interest on the money, it's quite possible I may put three or four thousand dollars into the thing, but I go no further. It's his affair. He must handle it himself."

Acton nodded. "That's sensible, in one way," he declared, and one could have fancied there was a certain suggestiveness in the qualification.

Wisbech appeared to notice it, for he looked hard at Acton. Then he made an abrupt gesture.

"It's my nephew's affair," he said.

"Oh, yes!" returned Acton, significantly. "Any way, I'll go ashore with him, as soon as George has the gig ready."

Acton and Nasmyth were rowed off together half an hour later, and they walked up through the hot main street of the little colliery town. It was not an attractive place, with rickety plank sidewalks raised several feet above the street, towering telegraph-poles, wooden stores, and square frame houses cracked by the weather, and mostly destitute of any adornment or paint. Blazing sunshine beat down upon the rutted street, and an unpleasant gritty dust blew along it.

There was evidently very little going on in the town that afternoon. Here and there a man leaned heavy-eyed, as if unaccustomed to the brightness, on the balustrade in front of a store, and raucous voices rose from one or two second-rate saloons, but there were few other signs of life, and Nasmyth was not sorry when they reached the wooden hotel. Acton stopped a moment in front of the building.

"Hutton's an acquaintance of mine, and if you have to apply to men of his kind, he is, perhaps, as reliable as most," he said. "Still, you want to remember that in this country it's every man for himself, especially when you undertake a deal in land." He smiled suggestively. "And now we'll go in and see him."

They came upon a man who appeared a little older than Nasmyth. He was sitting on the veranda, which was spacious, and had one or two wooden pillars with crude scroll-work attached to them in front. Acton nodded to the stranger.

"This is Mr. Nasmyth," he said. "He came up with me. Doing much round here?"

The question was abrupt, but the man smiled.

"Oh," he answered, "we endeavour to do a little everywhere."

"Then I'll leave you to it, and look round again by-and-by. I guess I may as well mention that Mr. Nasmyth is coming back with me."

Acton looked hard at Hutton, who smiled again. "Oh, yes," replied Hutton, "I understand that. It's quite likely we'll have the thing fixed up in half an hour or so. A cigar, Mr. Nasmyth?"

Nasmyth took a cigar, and went with Hutton to the little table which had been set out, on the inner side of the veranda, with a carafe of ice-water and a couple of bottles. They sat down at it, and Hutton took out two letters and glanced at them.

"Now," he said, "we'll get to work. I understand your proposition is to run the water out of the Cedar Valley. What's the area?"

"About four thousand acres available for ranching land, though it has never been surveyed."

"And you want to take up as many acres beforehand as you can, and can't quite raise the capital?"

Nasmyth said that was very much the state of affairs, and Hutton drummed his fingers on the table. He was a lean-faced man, dressed quietly and precisely, in city fashion, but he wore a big stone in a ring on one hand, which for no very evident reason prejudiced his companion against him.

"Well," he averred, "we might consider going into the thing and finding part of the capital. It's our business, but naturally we would want to be remunerated for the risk. It's rather a big one. You see, you would have to take up the whole four thousand acres."

"Then," replied Nasmyth, "what's your proposition?"

"We'll put up what money you can't raise, and our surveyor will locate land at present first-class Crown land figure. We'll charge you bank rate until the land's made marketable when you have run the water out. In a general way, that's my idea of the thing."

Nasmyth laid down his cigar and looked at him. "Isn't it a little exorbitant? You get the land at cost value, and a heavy charge on that, while I do the work?"

Hutton laughed. "Well," he said, "it's money we're out for, and unless you take it all up, your claim's no good. Anybody else could jump right in and buy a few hundred acres. Then he could locate water rights and stop you running down the river, unless you bought him out."

"The difficulty is that the Crown authorities haven't been selling land lately, and would sooner lease. They seem inclined to admit that this is a somewhat exceptional case; in fact, they have granted me one or two privileges."

"What you would call a first option?"

Nasmyth remembered Acton's manner when he had mentioned his acquaintance with his companion, and one or two things he had said.

"No," he said, "not exactly that. I merely mentioned certain privileges."

"Then, what's to stop me or anybody going right down to Victoria and buying the whole thing up to-morrow?"

"I'm inclined to fancy you would discover one or two things that would make it difficult," answered Nasmyth dryly. "For another thing, I hardly think you would get any of the regular rock-cutting or mine-sinking people to undertake the work about the fall at a figure that wouldn't make the risk too big. It's not a place that lends itself to modern methods or the use of machinery. Besides, after approaching you to a certain extent in confidence, it wouldn't be quite the thing."

Hutton waved the hand which bore the ring. "Well," he said, "we'll get back to our original offer. If it isn't good enough, how much more do you want?"

Nasmyth explained his views, and they discussed each proposition point by point, gradually drawing nearer to an agreement. Nasmyth was quite aware that in a matter of this kind the man who provides the capital usually takes the lion's share, but, after all, the project was his, and he naturally wanted something for himself. At length Hutton leaned forward with both elbows on the table, and a certain intentness in his lean face.

"Now," he said, "I've gone just about as far as I can. You have either got to close with my proposition or let it go."

Nasmyth said nothing, and there was silence for almost a minute while he lay back in his chair gazing at the weather-cracked front of the store across the street, and thinking hard. There was, he was quite aware, a very arduous task in front of him—one that he shrank from at times, for it could only be by strenuous toil that he could succeed in lowering the level of the river, and it was clear that if he accepted Mutton's offer, his share of the proceeds would not be a large one. Still, he must have more capital than he could see the means of raising, and once or twice he was on the point of signifying his concurrence. His face grew grimmer, and he straightened himself a trifle, but he did not see that the man who could supply the money was watching him with a smile.

Then it seemed to Nasmyth that he heard a footstep in the room behind him, but it was not particularly noticeable, and Hutton touched his arm.

"Well," said the promoter, "I'll just run over our terms again." He did so rapidly, and added: "If that doesn't take you, we'll call it off."

Nasmyth made a gesture which was vaguely expressive of resignation, and in another moment would have closed the bargain, but the footsteps grew plainer, and, as he turned round, Acton appeared at the open window close behind them. He stood still, looking at them with amusement in his shrewd eyes, and then, stepping out, dropped heavily into the nearest chair.

"Not through yet? I want a drink," he said.

It was probably not often that Hutton was disconcerted, but Nasmyth saw his fingers close sharply on his cigar, which crumpled under them, and that appeared significant to him. Acton looked round again as he filled his glass.

"When you're ready we'll go along," he suggested. "You can worry out anything Hutton has put before you to-night. When I've a matter of consequence on hand, I generally like to sleep on it."

Nasmyth rose and turned to Hutton. "I don't want to keep Mr. Acton, and I'm afraid I can't decide just yet," he said. "I'll let you know when I make up my mind."

Hutton made a sign of concurrence, but there was a suggestive frown on his face, when he leaned upon the balustrade, as Nasmyth and Acton went down the stairway together. When they were half-way down the street, Acton looked at Nasmyth with a dry smile.

"Well," he commented, "you have still got most of the wool on you?"

Nasmyth laughed, but there was relief in his voice.

"I was very nearly doing what I think would have been an unwise thing," he said. "It was fortunate you came along when you did."

Acton waved his hand. "I'm open to admit that Hutton has a voice like a boring bit. It would go through a door, any way. It's a thing he ought to remember."

"There is still a point or two I am not very clear upon;" and Nasmyth looked at him steadily.

Acton smiled again. "The fact is, Mrs. Acton gave me some instructions concerning you. She said I was to see you through." He made an expressive gesture. "She seemed to figure it might be advisable."

"Well," said Nasmyth reflectively, "I fancy she was right."

They said nothing further, but Nasmyth was unusually thoughtful as they proceeded towards the water-front.



CHAPTER XVII

AN EVENTFUL DAY

It was about eleven o'clock on a cloudy, unsettled morning when Nasmyth stood knee-deep in a swirling river-pool, holding a landing-net and watching Miss Hamilton, who stood on a neighbouring bank of shingle with a light trout-rod in her hand. The rod was bent, and the thin line, which was drawn tense and rigid, ripped through the surface of the pool, while there was also a suggestion of tension in the pose of the girl's figure. She was gazing at the moving line, with a fine crimson in her cheeks and a brightness in her eyes.

"Oh," she cried, "I'm afraid I'm going to lose it, after all."

Nasmyth smiled reassuringly. "Keep the butt well down, and your thumb upon the reel," he continued. "You have only to keep on a steady strain."

A big silvery object broke the surface a dozen yards away, and then, while the reel clinked, went down again; but the line was moving towards Nasmyth now, and, in another minute or two, he flung a sharp warning at the girl as he made a sweep with the net. Then he floundered ashore, dripping, with the gleaming trout, which he laid at her feet.

"You ran that fish very well," he told her. "In fact, there were one or two moments when I never expected you to hold it."

The colour grew a little plainer in his companion's face, though whether this was due to his commendation or to elation at her own success was a question. As she had just caught her first big fish, it was, perhaps, the latter.

"Oh," she said complacently, "it isn't so very difficult after all. But I wonder what can have become of the others of our party?"

It was at least an hour since Nasmyth had last seen their companions considerably lower down the river. He and Miss Hamilton had pushed on ahead of them into the Bush, which was a thing they had fallen into the habit of doing. The girl sat down on a boulder and seemed to be listening, but there was nothing to indicate the presence of any of the party. Except for the murmur of the river and the sighing among the pine-sprays high overhead, the Bush was very still, but it seemed to Nasmyth that there was more wind than there had been.

"I suppose we had better go back to them," observed the girl. The manner in which she spoke conveyed the impression that she would have been more or less contented to stay where she was with him; but next moment she added: "After all, they have the lunch with them, and it must have been seven o'clock when we breakfasted."

"Yes," said Nasmyth, "I think it was. Still, until this minute I had quite forgotten it."

"I certainly hadn't," said Violet Hamilton. "I don't think I ever had breakfast at seven o'clock in my life until this morning."

The fact had its significance to Nasmyth. It was one of the many little things that emphasized the difference between his life and hers, but he brushed it out of his mind, and they went back together down the waterside. Their progress was slow, for there was no trail at all, and while they laboriously plodded over the shingle, or crept in and out among the thickets, the wail of the breeze grew louder. Half an hour had passed when the faint hoot of the Tillicum's whistle reached them among the trees.

"What can the skipper be whistling for?" asked the girl.

"I fancy the wind is setting inshore moderately fresh, and he wants us to come off before it roughens the water," said Nasmyth.

They went on as fast as possible after that, though it was remarkably rough travelling; but they saw no sign of their companions, and the whistle, which had shrieked again, was silent, which evidently meant that the gig had already gone off. When they reached the inlet the river fell into, and found only the Tillicum's dinghy lying on the shingle, Nasmyth, looking down the lane of smooth green water somewhat anxiously, noticed that the sea was flecked with white. The Tillicum, as he remembered, was also lying well out from the beach.

"We had better get off at once," he said. "The breeze is freshening, and this dinghy isn't very big."

He helped the girl into the boat, and when he had thrust the little craft off sent her flying down the riband of sheltered water; but he set his lips and braced himself for an effort when they slid out past a point of froth-lapped shingle. There was already a white-topped sea running, and the spray from the oar-blades and the dinghy's bows blew aft into his companion's face in stinging wisps as he drove the plunging craft over it. Now and then an odd bucketful of brine came in and hit him on the back, while Miss Hamilton, who commenced to get very wet, shivered and drew her feet up as the water gathered deeper in the bottom of the boat.

"I'm afraid I must ask you to throw some of that water out," he said. "There is a can to scoop it up with."

The girl made an attempt to do so, but it was not surprising that in a few minutes, when the dinghy lurched viciously, she let the can slip from her fingers. Nasmyth set his lips tighter, and his face was anxious as he glanced over his shoulder. The sea was white-flecked between him and the Tillicum, which lay rolling wildly farther down the beach, at least half a mile away. It already taxed all Nasmyth's strength to drive the dinghy off shore, and every sea that broke a little more sharply than the rest splashed into the boat. He held on for another few minutes, glancing over his shoulder and pulling cautiously, for it was evident that he might fill the dinghy up or roll her over if he failed to swing neatly over the crest of some tumbling comber. In spite of his efforts, a wave broke on board, and sitting ankle-deep in water, he waited until there was a slightly smoother patch in front of him, and then swung the dinghy round.

"I'm afraid we'll have to make for the beach," he announced.

He would have preferred to head for the inlet, but that would have brought the little white seas, which were rapidly getting steeper, dangerously on her beam, and the thrust of one beneath her side probably would have been sufficient to turn the diminutive craft over. He accordingly pulled straight for the beach before the wind, and the perspiration dripped from his set face as he strove to hold the dinghy straight, when, with the foam boiling white about her, she swung up on the crest of a comber. Once or twice Nasmyth glanced at Violet Hamilton reassuringly, but she sat, half-crouching, against the transom, gazing forward, white in face, with her wet hair whipping about her. Nasmyth had not noticed it before, but her hat had evidently gone over. Speech was out of the question. He wanted all his breath, and recognized that it was not advisable to divert his attention for a moment from his task, for it depends very largely upon the man at the oars whether a diminutive dinghy keeps right side uppermost in any weight of breeze. Once or twice he risked a glance at the approaching land.

Sombre forest rolled down to the water's edge, and he could see that there was already a broad ribbon of frothy whiteness beneath it, while so far as he had noticed that beach consisted of rock ledges and very large boulders. It was about the last place he would have chosen to make a landing on, in a light and fragile dinghy.

After that, he looked resolutely astern over his companion's shoulders as she swung up between him and the sea with the slate-green ridges and tumbling white tops of the combers behind her. At length a hazarded glance showed him that they were close inshore, and he wondered for a moment whether he could swing the dinghy round without rolling the boat over. He did not think it could be done, and set his lips as he let her go, careering on a comber's crest, with at least half her length out of the water.

Then there was a white upheaval close alongside, and for a moment a black mass of stone appeared amidst the leaping foam. They swept by it, and he gasped with relief as he looked at Miss Hamilton.

"Get hold of me when she strikes," he said.

The dinghy swung round, twisting broadside-on with the brine pouring into her in spite of all that he could do; and while he tore at one oar, another white sea that curled menacingly rose up astern. It broke right into the boat, and in another moment there was a crash, and Nasmyth, who let the oars drop, stretched out his arms to the girl. He jumped when she clutched him, and found himself standing amid the swirling froth on what seemed to be a ledge of very slippery stone, with both arms about her, while the crushed-in dinghy swept up among the foam-lapped boulders. He sprang down from the stone as another sea came in, and floundered ashore waist-deep with it, after which he set his dripping companion down upon the beach.

"I'm afraid you're rather wet," he said, when he got his breath again. "Still, I really couldn't help it. There was a good deal more sea than I had expected."

Miss Hamilton, who sat down on a boulder with the water dripping from her skirt, looked ruefully at him and the dinghy, which was rolling over in the surf.

"How are we going to get off?" she inquired.

"Not in that dinghy, any way," answered Nasmyth. "She has knocked all one bilge in. They'll probably send the Tillicum's gig ashore for us by-and-by."

"But she's going away!" said the girl, with a gasp of consternation.

Nasmyth, who turned round, saw that this was certainly the case. A cloud of steam blew away from beside the yacht's funnel, and in another moment the shriek of a whistle reached him.

"I don't think we need worry about that," he remarked. "They evidently watched us get ashore. You see, with the breeze freshening she couldn't very well lie where she was. Still, if I remember, there's an inlet a couple of leagues or so away along the coast where she'd find shelter."

"But why didn't they send for us first?"

"The trouble is that there is really a nasty sea, and they couldn't very well take us off if they knocked a big hole in the gig. I fancy the wisest thing would be to walk towards that inlet along the beach."

They set off, when Nasmyth had pulled the dinghy out, but the beach was strewn with driftwood which was difficult to flounder over, as well as very rough. They made no greater progress when they tried the Bush. Fallen trees lay across one another, and there were thorny thickets in between, while, here and there, the undergrowth seemed as impenetrable as a wall. By-and-by it commenced to rain, and for an hour or two they plodded on dejectedly through the pitiless deluge. It rains exceedingly hard in that country. At last the girl sat down on a fallen tree. She had already lost her hat, and the water soaked out of Nasmyth's jacket, which he had tied by the arms about her shoulders. Her drenched skirt clung about her, rent to tatters, and one of her little shoes was caked with mire. The other gaped open.

"How far have we gone?" she asked.

"About a league," answered Nasmyth quietly. "I think we could make the inlet in another two hours. That is, if the beach isn't very much rougher."

The girl leaned against a branch wearily. "I'm afraid I can't go a step further," she replied with trembling lips.

The rain beat upon them, and Nasmyth stood still a moment looking at her.

"Well," he said, "we really can't stay here. Since there seems no other way, I think I could carry you."

His diffidence was evident, and Violet smiled. "Have you ever carried anybody—a distance—before?" she asked.

"No," said Nasmyth, "I certainly haven't."

"Then I don't think there would be much use in trying. You couldn't carry me for more than four or five minutes. That wouldn't be worth while, would it?"

Nasmyth said nothing for a minute or two, for he felt compassionate as well as a trifle confused. He had, in fact, already discovered that there are occasions when a young woman is apt to show greater self-possession and look facts in the face more plainly than a man. Then he set to work furiously with a branch which he tore from the fallen tree, ripping off rough slabs of bark, and in the course of half an hour had constructed a shelter about the base of a cedar. It, at least, kept the rain off when Violet sat under it.

"It might be as well if I pushed on for the inlet and brought George or Acton back with me," he suggested. "We could make something to carry you in, if there was too much sea for the gig."

A flush crept into the girl's face, and she looked at him reproachfully.

"How could I stay here alone?" she asked. "Don't say those foolish things. Come in out of the rain."

The bark shelter would just hold the two of them, and Nasmyth, dripping, sat down close beside her. She looked very forlorn.

"I'm sorry for you," he said awkwardly.

The girl showed faint signs of temper. "You have told me that before. Why don't you do something? You said you had lived in the Bush, and now you have only been a few hours in it. It was seven o'clock when we had breakfast. Can't you even make a fire?"

"I'm afraid I can't," answered Nasmyth deprecatingly. "You see, one has usually an axe and some matches, as well as a few other odds and ends, when one lives in the Bush. A man is a wretchedly helpless being when he has only his hands."

The fact was borne in upon Violet forcibly as she glanced out at the wet beach, tumbling sea, and dreary, dripping Bush. The Bush rolled back, a long succession of straggling pines that rose one behind the other in sombre ranks, to the rugged hills that cut against the hazy sky. There was, no doubt, all that man required to provide him with warmth and food and shelter in that forest, but it was certain that it was only by continuous and arduous toil that he could render it available. Indeed, since he could not make himself an axe or a saw or a rifle, it was also evident that his efforts would be fruitless unless backed by the toil of others who played their part in the great scheme of human co-operation.

It is, however, probable that Violet did not concern herself with this aspect of the matter, but she had led a sheltered life, and it was curiously disconcerting to find herself brought suddenly face to face with primitive realities. She was wet through and worn out, and although evening was not far away, she had eaten nothing since seven o'clock that morning. The momentary petulance deserted her.

"Oh!" she cried, "they mayn't be able to send off for us for perhaps a day or two."

"It is quite likely that the breeze will drop at sunset," Nasmyth replied cheerfully. "These westerly breezes often do. Anyway, the rain seems to be stopping, and I may be able to dry my matches. In the meanwhile I might come across something to eat. There are oysters on some of these beaches."

Violet glanced at the Bush apprehensively, and once more it was evident that she did not wish him to leave her. This sent a little thrill of satisfaction through him, and although he half-consciously contrasted her with Laura Waynefleet, it was not altogether to her disadvantage. It is a curious fact that some men, and probably women, too, feel more drawn to the persons upon whom they confer a benefit than to those from whom they receive one. Laura Waynefleet, he realized, would have urged him to make some attempt to reach the Tillicum, and in all probability would have insisted on taking a share in it, while his companion desired only to lean on him. After all, Laura's attitude was more pleasant to the subconscious vanity that was in his nature, and in this respect he probably differed but little from most of his fellows.

"You won't be very long away?" she said.

Nasmyth reassured her upon this point, and floundered down to the beach, where he carefully laid out to dry the little block of sulphur matches that he carried. Then he crawled among the boulders near low-water mark, and, since oysters are tolerably plentiful along those beaches, succeeded in collecting several dozen of them. After that he sat down and gazed seaward for a minute or two. There was no sign of the Tillicum, only a strip of dingy, slate-green sea smeared with streaks of froth, which shone white beneath a heavy, lowering sky. Close in front of him the sea hove itself up in rows of foam-crested ridges, which fell upon the boulders and swirled over them and among them a furious white seething. He fancied that it was near sunset, and it was clear that the breeze was a little lighter. It seemed to him just possible that four capable seamen might keep the gig afloat close enough to the beach for one to wade out to her, though there would be a certain peril in such a proceeding. Still, there were not four capable seamen on board the Tillicum!

Gathering up his matches, which had dried, Nasmyth went back to the bark shelter. He was pleasantly conscious of the relief in Miss Hamilton's eyes when he reached it, and fancied that she was too overwrought and anxious to care whether he noticed it or not; but he set about making a fire, and she helped him to collect brittle undergrowth and fallen branches. Then they sat down and ate the oysters that he had laid among the embers. He thought they were not in season, and they were certainly burnt and shrivelled, as well as somewhat gritty; but one is glad to eat anything after a long day of exertion, and Nasmyth watched his companion with quiet appreciation as she handled the rough shells daintily with little delicate fingers. Her evident reliance upon him had its effect.

He carried an armful of branches to the beach, and started another fire where it could be seen from seawards, after which he went back and sat outside the shelter near Miss Hamilton, while darkness crept up from the eastwards across the Bush. It grew dim and solemn, and the doleful wailing of the pines was curiously impressive. The girl shivered.

"The wind is very chilly," she said, with a tremor in her voice. "You will stay here where I can see you. You won't go away?"

"Only to keep up the fire on the beach," Nasmyth answered reassuringly.

She crept into the shelter, and he could see her dimly when the flickering light blazed up, but he could never remember how many journeys he made to the fire upon the beach before his eyes grew heavy as he sat amid the whirling smoke. He endeavoured to keep awake, and resolutely straightened himself once or twice, but at last his eyes closed altogether, and he did not hear the shriek of the Tillicum's whistle ring far across the shadowy Bush. Indeed, he did not waken when Acton and Wisbech came floundering into the light of the fire; and the two men looked at each other when they stopped beside it and saw him lying there, and then discovered the girl inside the shelter. Acton raised his hand warningly, while a faint twinkle crept into his eyes.

"I guess there's no reason why anybody else should hear of this," he said. "It seems to me that Miss Hamilton would be just as well pleased if we were not around when she awakens."

He stooped and shook Nasmyth's shoulder as Wisbech disappeared among the shadows.

"Get up," said Acton. "Wait until I get away, and then waken her."

It was a minute before Nasmyth, who stood up stiffly, quite understood him, and then the blood rose to his face as he crept into the shelter and touched the girl. She sprang to her feet with a little cry and clutched his arm. Then she suddenly let her hand fall back, and her cheeks flushed crimson.

"The steamer's close by," said Nasmyth reassuringly. "They have sent for us at last."

They went out together, and it was a minute or two later when they came upon Wisbech and Acton in the Bush. Nasmyth entered into confused explanations as they proceeded towards the beach. The sky was a little lighter when they reached it, and standing near the sinking fire, they could dimly see the gig plunging amidst the froth and spray. Then George's voice reached them.

"Can't you let us have them, Mr. Acton? It's most all we can do to keep her off the beach," he said.

Acton glanced at the strip of tumbling foam—through which he had waded waist-deep—between them and the boat, and Nasmyth turned towards Miss Hamilton, who, to his astonishment, recoiled from him. Acton, however, made him a sign of command.

"I guess," he said, "she'd be safer with you."

Nasmyth said nothing, but he picked the girl up, as unconcernedly as he could, for the second time that day, and staggered down the rough beach with her. He contrived to keep his footing when a frothing sea broke against him, and, floundering through the seething water, reached the lurching boat. George seized his burden, and gently deposited it in one of the seats. Scrambling on board, Nasmyth groped for an oar, and in another minute or two they laboriously drove the gig out towards the blinking lights of the Tillicum.



CHAPTER XVIII

TRANQUILLITY

The afternoon was very hot when Nasmyth plodded down a steep hillside through the thick red dust of the waggon trail. A fire had swept the undergrowth away, and there was no shade among the trees which, stripped of their branches, towered about him, great charred and blackened columns. Close ahead the primeval Bush rose in an unbroken sombre mass, and Nasmyth, who quickened his pace a trifle, sat down with a gasp of satisfaction when he reached the first of the shadow. It was fresh and cool there. The Bush was scented with the odours of pine and cedar, and filled with the soft murmur of falling water, while he knew that just beyond it Bonavista stood above the sparkling sea.

He was on his way from the railroad depot. It was just a fortnight since he had left the Tillicum at the little mining town, on the day after the one he and Violet Hamilton had spent on the beach, and he had not seen her before he went. Now he fancied that a welcome awaited him, and he felt sincerely pleased to be back again. As he sat beneath a great cedar filling his pipe, it seemed to him only appropriate that he should approach Bonavista through that belt of cool, sweet-scented Bush. It made it easier to feel that he had left behind him all that associated him with the strife and bustle of the hot and noisy cities. At Bonavista were leisure, comfort, and tranquillity, which were, after all, things that made a strong appeal to one side of his nature, and he had made no progress in the city. There was also no doubt that both Mr. and Mrs. Acton were glad to entertain him for a time. He sat still a few minutes, and then went on slowly beneath the towering redwoods and cedars until he came out of the forest, and saw the sunlight stream down on the shingled roof of Bonavista close ahead.

The house appeared to be empty, and he had shed his dusty city clothes in his room and had dressed again before he came upon Mrs. Acton, sitting half asleep on a secluded strip of veranda. She roused herself and smiled when she saw him.

"So you have come back at last. We have been expecting you all the past week," she said.

"That," returned Nasmyth, "was remarkably good of you. In fact, I have wondered now and then, with some misgivings, whether you have not seen too much of me already."

Mrs. Acton laughed. "You needn't worry yourself on that point. We have all our little hobbies. My husband's is the acquisition of dollars and the opening of mines and mills. Mine is the amusing of my friends, or, rather, the permitting them to amuse themselves, which is why I had Bonavista built. I make only one stipulation—it is that when you stay with us, you are amused."

With a little sigh of content, Nasmyth settled himself in a canvas chair, and glanced out between the slender pillars of the cool veranda at the wall of dusky forest and the flashing sea.

"Ah," he replied, "can you doubt it, my dear lady? After logging camp and mine and city, this is an enchanted land. I think it is always summer afternoon at Bonavista."

Mrs. Acton smiled at him graciously. "That," she observed, "was quite nice of you. Things haven't gone just as you would have liked them to go, in the city?"

"They haven't," admitted Nasmyth whimsically. "As a matter of fact, they very seldom do. Still, I wouldn't like you to think that was the only reason I am glad to get back."

Mrs. Acton's eyes twinkled. "I imagine I am acquainted with the other. You were rather tactful in going away."

"I went because Mr. Acton handed me a letter which said that a business man in Victoria would like a talk with me."

"In any case, Miss Hamilton seems to be under the impression that it was nice of you."

"Nice of me to go away?" and Nasmyth's tone was mildly reproachful.

"One would not resent a desire to save one any little embarrassment."

"Still," observed Nasmyth, with an air of reflection, "the trouble is that I couldn't contrive to keep out of her sight continually even if I wanted to, and"—he lowered his voice confidentially—"as it happens, I don't."

Mrs. Acton laughed. "I don't know of any particular reason why you should do that. Violet has probably quite recovered her equanimity and decided on her attitude towards you." Then she changed the subject abruptly. "I wonder if I may point out that there has been a change in you, since my husband brought you here. For one thing, you are much more amusing. Even your voice is different."

Nasmyth bowed. "But not my hands," he said; and as he held up one hand, she noticed the scars on it and the coarseness of his nails. "That tells a tale, I think. My dear lady, I scarcely think you quite realize all that you have given me. You have never seen how we lived in the lonely logging camps—packed like cattle in a reeking shed—and you do not know the grim side of our life in the Bush. It would be no great use to tell you that I have now and then limped for days together over the ballast of a railroad track, wondering where my next dollar was to come from. These are the things one could not expect you to understand."

Mrs. Acton's face softened a little. "Still, I think my husband does," she replied. Then she smiled at him. "It almost seems to me that you need never go back to that life again unless you like it. I mean, of course, that, for one thing, your uncle has his views concerning you. He has to some extent taken Mr. Acton into his confidence."

Nasmyth made no comment, and Mrs. Acton sank down a little further into her long chair. "The others are down on the beach," she announced drowsily. "I really think I was going to sleep when you made your appearance."

Nasmyth could take a hint, and he strolled away down the veranda stairway and around the edge of the wide clearing in the shadow of the Bush, until he stood looking down upon the sea from the crown of the bluff. Then he felt a little thrill, for some twenty or thirty feet beneath him was a patch of something white in the shadow of the shrubbery. He went down quietly until he stopped, and, stooping, touched Violet Hamilton's shoulder. She looked around with a start, and a faint trace of embarrassment crept into her face at the sight of him.

"Oh," she said, "I thought you were in Victoria."

Nasmyth stretched himself out upon a ledge of rock near her feet. "Mrs. Acton was good enough to imply that she had been expecting me more or less anxiously for several days," he rejoined in a tone of reproach. "In fact, she used the plural pronoun, which led me to believe that somebody else must have shared her anxiety. She did not, however, point out who it was that she meant."

"Her husband, in all probability. She could, at least, speak for him."

Nasmyth appeared to ponder over this, though his heart was beating faster than usual, for the suggestion of confusion which he had noticed in the girl's manner had its significance for him.

"Well," he conceded, "it may have been Acton, but I almost ventured to believe she meant somebody else. In any case, I shouldn't like to think you were displeased at my reappearance. If you are, I can, of course, go away again."

"I am not the only person at Bonavista. Wouldn't anybody else's wishes count—Mr. Acton's, for instance?"

"No," asserted Nasmyth reflectively. "At least, not to anything like the same extent."

Violet laughed. "The difficulty is that nobody can tell how much you really mean. You are so seldom serious." She cast a quick glance at him. "You were not like that when you first came here."

"Then," said Nasmyth, "you can blame it on Bonavista. As I have been trying to explain to Mrs. Acton, who made a similar observation, there is glamour in this air. It gets hold of one. I was, no doubt, a tediously solemn person when I left the Bush, but you will remember that soon after I arrived here, you and I sailed out together into the realms of moonlight and mystery. I sometimes feel that I must have brought a little of the latter back with me."

Violet said nothing for half a minute, during which she lay resting on one elbow, looking down upon the cool, green flashing of the water a hundred feet below, and again Nasmyth felt a little thrill run through him. She was so very dainty in speech and thought and person, a woman of the world he had once belonged to, and which it now seemed he might enter again. Her delicately chiselled, half-averted face matched the slight but finely moulded figure about which the thin white draperies clung. She turned and looked at him.

"You certainly can't be serious now," she declared.

"I assure you that when I mentioned the glamour and mystery, I was never half so serious in my life. They are, after all, very real things."

He was, as a matter of fact, grimly serious for the moment as he wondered at the change that had come over him. His life in the silent Bush, the struggle with the icy river, and even Laura Waynefleet, who had encouraged him in his work of rehabilitation, had by degrees become no more than a dim, blurred memory. He knew that he could recall it all, but he had no wish to make the effort, for it was more pleasant to hear the sighing of the summer wind about the firs of Bonavista, and wonder languidly what his companion thought.

"I haven't thanked you for taking care of me the day we were left behind on the beach," said Violet.

Nasmyth made a sign of protest. "I don't think you are under any very great obligation to me. As a matter of fact, my efforts on your behalf nearly resulted in my drowning you. Besides, you see, there was really not the slightest cause for uneasiness. Acton certainly would have sent for us when the wind dropped."

"But it might have blown for days."

"Then," said Nasmyth, with a twinkle in his eyes, "we would have lived on salmon and berries until it stopped. One really can live on them for a considerable time, though they are not remarkably palatable when one has anything else to eat; in fact, it's a thing I've done."

Salmon is not esteemed in that country, except for the purpose of sending East in cans, and it is seldom that anybody eats it except the Indians. There is probably no diet that more rapidly grows satiating.

"Ah," exclaimed the girl, with a shiver, "it would have been horrible."

She was evidently not thinking of the salmon, but of the dreary, dripping Bush, and Nasmyth looked at her with reproach in his eyes.

"I really don't think it would have been," he said. "In fact, I believe we could have lived there for a little while very contentedly—that is, when I had fixed things up a bit. After all, there is a certain glamour in the Bush when one gets used to it."

He saw the faint colour creep into her face, and, though it cost him an effort, laid a restraint upon himself.

"Well," he said, "I at least would not have felt that I had any cause to complain, though, no doubt, it would have been different with you. You see"—and he made an expressive gesture—"I have had a long tough tussle since I came to Canada, and experiences of that sort have their effect on one. In fact, they set one apart from those who haven't undergone them. It seems to have struck you that I was prematurely solemn and serious when I came to Bonavista."

He thought he saw sympathy in Violet Hamilton's eyes, and her next observation made it clear that her mind was busy with the suggestion that he had conveyed.

"After all," she said softly, "you cannot be very much older than I am."

"Four years, perhaps," returned Nasmyth, with a trace of grimness. "That is, in one sense. In another, I think I am double your age. You see, you have never been brought into contact with the realities of life. If you had been, you would probably not be so ready to take me for what you think I am, as I believe you have graciously done. After all, you know so very little about me."

He felt that he was doing no more than discharging an obligation in giving her this warning. He desired to afford her every opportunity of satisfying herself concerning him, for he was not a fool, and he had seen for a moment or two a suggestive softness in her face. It is possible that she did not know it had been there, but he felt that if he roused himself and made the effort, he might sweep away the barriers between them.

Violet appeared troubled by his words. She sat silent, while Nasmyth wondered what she would say. He was aware that a good deal depended upon her next remark. Then there were footsteps on the slope behind them, and, turning suddenly, he saw Acton and another man approaching them. He rose with a little start when he recognized the second man as Gordon, who was neatly attired in city clothes. Gordon looked down at Nasmyth with a faint sardonic smile.

"Mr. Gordon turned up half an hour ago," Acton said. "It appears that he was going into the city, and got off the cars to talk over things with you. I believe he had a notion of going on again to-night, but Mrs. Acton won't hear of it."

Gordon bowed in the direction of his host.

"I'd have put up a more vigorous protest against troubling Mrs. Acton than I did, if I had felt it would have been of any use," he said.

"Well," replied Acton, smiling, "I guess they'll be getting supper ready, and we were sent here to bring our friend and Miss Hamilton in."

They went back to the house together, where they found the long table spread. It was characteristic of the owner of Bonavista that he still called the evening meal supper. There were, besides Nasmyth and Wisbech, five or six other guests from Victoria and one of the rising cities on Puget Sound, and Gordon speedily made himself very much at home. Most of his new acquaintances found what he had to say entertaining, but Miss Hamilton was, as Nasmyth noticed, somewhat silent. Nasmyth, on his part, felt slightly restless, for his old comrade's presence had an unsettling effect on him. It was, however, not until an hour or two later that he and Gordon were able to discuss their own affairs. They sat on the veranda looking down upon the sea, while the dusk slowly crept up from the east.

"Now," said Gordon, "I should like to hear what you have done."

"I'm afraid it's not a great deal," replied Nasmyth. "The Crown land authorities appear disposed to sell the land instead of leasing it, which of late has been the more usual course; but they insist on counting a certain proportion of the hillside and big timber in. I may get one or two concessions, and I'm still keeping the affair before them. In the meanwhile I've been seeing what can be done to raise enough capital to take up all the land, but haven't met with any great success. The folks I've been in communication with, as usual, want all the profit; in fact, I almost fancy it might be as well to raise what money we can around the settlement, and content ourselves with locating a portion of the valley."

Gordon nodded. "You can't do much about the fall until after the autumn freshets, anyway, and there's a good deal you can't get at until the frost sets in," he declared. "In the meanwhile the offers Wheeler and I made you hold."

They discussed the matter until Mrs. Acton appeared on the veranda and shook her head at them.

"What are you two doing here when there are pretty girls in the house waiting for a dance?" she inquired.

"I'm afraid we have been very remiss," apologized Nasmyth, when they joined her. "Still, we didn't know, and we had some business to talk about."

"There will be plenty of time for that to-morrow."

"The trouble is that I shall be in the city then," said Gordon.

Mrs. Acton laughed. "Oh, no!" she contradicted. "We are all going for a sail on the straits to-morrow, and we certainly expect you to join us. In the meanwhile, I believe there are two young women waiting for partners."

She silenced Gordon's objections as they turned back towards the house. They found the dancing had commenced, and Nasmyth failed to secure Miss Hamilton as a partner for any time in the evening. He could not help a fancy that she had taken some little trouble to bring about this result.



CHAPTER XIX

NASMYTH HEARS THE RIVER

Darkness had settled down on Bonavista next evening when Nasmyth lay in a canvas chair on the veranda, while Gordon leaned against the balustrade in front of him with a cigar in his hand. A blaze of light streamed out from one of the long open windows a few yards away, and somebody was singing in the room behind it, while the splash of the gentle surf came up from the foot of the promontory in a deep monotone. Now and then a shadowy figure strolled into the veranda or crossed it to the terrace below, but for the time being nobody disturbed the two men.

"I haven't had a word with you since last night," said Nasmyth. "How are the boys at the settlement?"

"Hustling along as usual." Gordon laughed. "Is there anybody else you feel inclined to ask about?"

"Yes," said Nasmyth, "there certainly is. How is Miss Waynefleet?"

Gordon looked down at his cigar. "Well," he said, "I'm a little worried on her account. She was attempting to do a great deal more than was good for her when I last saw her. They have no longer a hired man at the ranch. Waynefleet, I understand, is rather tightly fixed for money, and, as you know, he isn't the kind of man who would deny himself. He was talking of selling some stock."

Nasmyth suddenly straightened himself, and closed one hand rather hard on the arm of his chair.

"What right have you and I to be lounging here when that girl is working late and early on the ranch?" he asked. "Gordon, you will have to buy two or three head of that stock at double value for me."

"It's rather a big question;" and Gordon's tone was serious. "In fact, I fancy it's one that neither you nor I can throw much light upon. Anyway, I may as well point out that I arrived here only yesterday, and I'm going on again in the morning. As to the other matter, Laura Waynefleet has friends who will stand by her."

"Don't you count me one of them?" Nasmyth demanded. "That girl saved my life for me."

Gordon glanced round sharply, for there were light footsteps on the veranda, and he almost imagined that a white figure in filmy draperies stopped a moment. It, however, went on again and vanished in the shadow.

"I believe she did," he admitted. "Well, if there's anything that can be done, you may rely on me." He made an abrupt gesture, and as he turned, the light from the window fell upon his face, showing the curious smile on it. "What are you doing here?"

He flung the question at his comrade, and Nasmyth, who knew what he meant, sat for a moment or two with wrinkled forehead. There was no reason why he should not stay there so long as Mr. and Mrs. Acton desired his company, but it did not seem fitting that he should spend those summer days in luxurious idleness while Laura Waynefleet toiled late and early at the lonely ranch. Again, he seemed to see her steady eyes with the quiet courage in them, and the gleam of her red-gold hair. Even then she was, he reflected, in all probability occupied with some severe drudgery. It was a thing he did not like to contemplate, and he almost resented the fact that Gordon should have brought such thoughts into his mind. His comrade had broken in upon his contentment like a frosty wind that stung him to action. Still, he answered quietly.

"I am within easy reach of the city here," he explained. "Acton, who has once or twice given me good advice, is acquainted with most of the folks likely to be of any use to us, and has laid the scheme before one or two of them. That, at least, is one reason why I am staying at Bonavista. It's perfectly evident that it wouldn't be any benefit to Miss Waynefleet if I went back to the Bush."

"No," agreed Gordon grimly; "if you were likely to be of any use or consolation to her, you'd go, if I had to drag you."

Nasmyth smiled. He was too well acquainted with his comrade's manner to take offence at this remark, and the man's devotion to the girl who, he knew, would never regard him as more than a friend also had its effect.

"Well," he said, "since plain speaking seems admissible, you are probably aware that Laura Waynefleet has nothing beyond a kindly interest in me. She is, I needn't point out, a remarkably sensible young lady."

He stopped somewhat abruptly, for Wisbech emerged from the shadows beneath the pillars, and sat down in a chair close by.

"Yes," said Wisbech, "I heard, and it seems to me Derrick's right in one respect. Though I don't know how far it accounts for the other fact he has just impressed on you, Miss Waynefleet certainly possesses a considerable amount of sense. She is also a young lady I have a high opinion of. Still, if he had gone back to the Bush merely because you insisted on it, I think I should have cast him off."

Gordon appeared to ponder over this, and he then laughed softly. "It's quite natural, and I guess I sympathize with you," he remarked. "In one way, however, your nephew's acquitting himself creditably, considering that there are apparently three people anxious to exert a beneficent influence upon him. The effect of that kind of thing is apt to become a trifle bewildering, especially as it's evident their views can't invariably coincide."

"Three?" said Wisbech, with a twinkle in his eyes. "If you count me in, I almost fancy there are four."

Nasmyth said nothing, though he felt his face grow hot. Gordon smiled.

"As a matter of fact," he admitted, "I had a notion that Miss Hamilton resented my being here. Any way, she didn't take any very noticeable trouble to be pleasant to me to-day. No doubt she considers any influence she may choose to exert should be quite sufficient."

"It should be," said Nasmyth. "That is, to any man who happened to be a judge of character, and had eyes in his head."

Gordon waved one hand. "Oh," he averred, "she's very dainty, and I think there's a little more than prettiness there, which is a very liberal admission, since I'm troubled with an impression that she isn't quite pleased with me. Still, when the woods are full of pretty girls, I guess it's wisest of a man who has anything worth while to do in front of him to keep his eyes right on the trail, and go steadily ahead." He turned to Wisbech deprecatingly. "We don't mind you, sir. We regard you as part of the concern."

"Thanks," said Wisbech, with a certain dryness. "I believe I am interested in it—at least, financially."

"Well," said Gordon, "when I break loose, as I do now and then, I quite often say a little more than is strictly advisable without meaning to. It's a habit some folks have. Your observation, however, switches us off on to a different matter. I've been telling your nephew we leave him to handle the thing and stand by our offers."

"That is precisely what I mean to do. The affair is Derrick's. He must take his own course," declared Wisbech.

Gordon grinned as he turned to Nasmyth. "There will be no reinforcements. You have to win your spurs." Then he looked at Wisbech. "If you will not be offended, sir, I would like to say I'm pleased to notice that your ideas coincide with mine. He'll be the tougher afterwards if you let him put up his fight alone."

"The assurance is naturally satisfactory," said Wisbech with quiet amusement. Then he held up one hand. "It seems to me the person at the piano is playing exceptionally well."

They sat silent while the crashing opening chords rang out from the lighted room, and then Nasmyth, who was a lover of music, found himself listening with a strained attention as the theme stole out of them, for it chimed with his mood. He had been restless and disturbed in mind before Gordon had flung his veiled hints at him, and the reality underlying his comrade's badinage had a further unsettling effect. He did not know what the music was, but it seemed in keeping with the throb of the sea against the crag and the fitful wailing of the pines. There was a suggestion of effort and struggle in it, and, it seemed to him, something that spoke of a great dominant force steadily pressing on; and, as he listened, the splash of the sea grew fainter, and he heard instead the roar of the icy flood and the crash of mighty trees driving down upon his half-built dam. These were sounds which sometimes haunted him against his will, and once or twice he had been a little surprised to find that, now that they were past, he could look back upon the months of tense effort with a curious, half-regretful pleasure. He was relieved when the music, that swelled in a sonorous crescendo, stopped, and he saw Gordon glance at Wisbech.

"I think that man has understanding and the gift of expressing what he feels," said Wisbech. "The music suggested something to you?"

"The fast freight," confessed Gordon.—"When she's coming down the big canyon under a full head of steam. I don't know if that's quite an elegant simile, in one way. Still, if you care to think how that track was built, it's not difficult to fancy there's triumph in the whistles and the roar of the freight-car wheels."

Wisbech made a sign of comprehension, and Gordon looked hard at Nasmyth. "It's your call."

"I heard the river," said Nasmyth. "In fact, I often hear it, and now and then wish I didn't. It's unsettling."

Gordon laughed in a suggestive fashion. "Well," he declared, "most of us hear something of that kind at times, and no doubt it's just as well we do. It's apt to have results if you listen. You have been most of a month in the city one way or another. You took to it kindly?"

"I didn't," Nasmyth answered, and it was evident that he was serious. "I came back here feeling that I had had quite enough of it."

"Bonavista is a good deal more pleasant?" And there was a certain meaning in Gordon's tone. "You seemed to have achieved some social success here, too."

He saw the flush in Nasmyth's face, and his gaze grew insistent. "Well," he said, "you're not going to let that content you, now you can hear the river. You'll hear it more and more plainly frothing in the black canyon where the big trees come down. You have lived with the exiles, and the wilderness has got its grip on you. What's more, I guess when it does that it never quite lets go."

He broke off abruptly, and just then Acton stepped out from the window. "Mr. Gordon," he said, "it's my wife's wish that you should come in and sing."

Gordon said that he was in Mrs. Acton's hands, and then turned to Nasmyth.

"I've had my say," he observed. "If there's any meaning in my remarks, you can worry it out."

He went away with Acton, and Wisbech looked at his nephew over his cigar.

"Mr. Gordon expresses himself in a rather extravagant fashion, but I'm disposed to fancy there is something in what he says," he commented.

Nasmyth did not answer him. He was, on the whole, glad that Gordon had gone, but he still seemed to hear the river, and the restlessness that had troubled him was becoming stronger. He retired somewhat early, but he did not sleep quite so soundly as usual that night. As it happened, Gordon rose before him next morning. Gordon went out of doors, and presently came upon Miss Hamilton, who was strolling bareheaded where the early sunshine streamed in among the pines. It struck him that he was not the person whom she would have been most pleased to see, but she walked with him to the crown of the promontory, where she stopped and looked up at him steadily.

"Mr. Gordon," she inquired, "what is Laura Waynefleet?"

Gordon started, and the girl smiled.

"I crossed the veranda last night," she told him, when he hesitated before answering her.

The man looked down on her with an unusual gravity. "Well," he said simply, "Laura Waynefleet is quietness, and sweetness, and courage. In fact, I sometimes think it was to make these things evident that she was sent into this world."

He thought he saw a gleam of comprehension in the girl's eyes, and made a gesture of protest. "No," he assured her, "I'm not fit to brush her little shoes. For that matter, though he is my comrade, Nasmyth isn't either. What is perhaps more to the purpose, I guess he is quite aware of it."

A delicate tinge of colour crept into Violet Hamilton's face, and the man realized that in case his suppositions were correct, what he had implied could hardly be considered as a compliment. He could also fancy that there was a certain uneasiness in her eyes.

"Ah," she said, "perhaps it is a subject I should not have ventured to inquire into."

Gordon smiled reassuringly. "I don't know of any reason why you shouldn't have done so, but I have scarcely told you anything about her yet. Miss Waynefleet lives at a desolate ranch in the Bush. Sometimes she drives oxen, and I believe she invariably makes her own clothes. I don't think Nasmyth would feel any great diffidence in speaking about her."

He believed this, or at least he strove to convince himself that he did, but he was relieved when the appearance of Acton, who strolled towards them, rendered any further confidential conversation out of the question. Gordon set out for Victoria that afternoon, and Nasmyth, who went with him to the railroad, returned to Bonavista in a restless mood, and almost disposed to be angry with his comrade for having rudely broken in upon his tranquillity. In fact, he felt disinclined to face his fellow-guests, which was one reason why he was sauntering towards the inlet when he came upon Wisbech sitting with a book in the shadow of the pines. Wisbech looked up at his moody face.

"You are annoyed because Gordon wouldn't stay?" he suggested.

"No," said Nasmyth. "In fact, I'm a little relieved that he has gone away. I naturally like Gordon, but just now he has an unsettling effect on me."

Wisbech made a gesture of comprehension. "That man," he said, "is in some respects fortunate. He has a simple programme, and is evidently more or less content with it. His work is plain in front of him. You are not quite sure about yours yet. To some extent, you feel yourself adrift?"

"I have felt something of the kind."

Wisbech thought for a moment. "I suppose," he said, "it hasn't occurred to you that your classical features—they're Nasmyth features—might be of some assistance to you in your career?"

Nasmyth felt the blood rise into his face, but he laughed. "They certainly haven't proved of any great benefit to me hitherto. It is scarcely likely that they will do so either in the canyon."

"Then you are still determined on directing operations in person? I was commencing to wonder if you had any reason for modifying your plans."

The man's tone was dry, but Nasmyth met his gaze, which was now inquisitive.

"If it is in my power to do it, I shall certainly run the water out of the valley," said Nasmyth.

Then he swung round and strolled away, while Wisbech smiled in a fashion which suggested that he was pleased. It was some little time later when Nasmyth, pacing moodily over the white shingle beside the winding inlet, came upon Violet Hamilton sitting in the shadow of a great boulder. The girl's light dress matched the rock's pale tinting, and he did not see her until he was within a yard or two of her. He stopped abruptly, with a deepened colour in his face. Violet made a sign, which seemed to invite him to sit down, and he stretched himself out upon the shingle close in front of her.

"It is very hot in the house this afternoon, but it is cool and quiet here," she observed.

Nasmyth glanced at the still water and the shadow that the pines which clung in the crevices flung athwart the dark rock's side.

"Stillness sometimes means stagnation. Miss Hamilton," he said.

The girl flashed a quick glance at him. "Well," she rejoined, "I suppose it does; but, after all, that is a question we need not discuss. What were you thinking of so hard as you came along? You didn't see me until you almost stepped upon my dress."

"That," said Nasmyth, with a laugh, "is proof that I was thinking very hard indeed. It's not a thing I often indulge in, but I was thinking of the Bush."

"You sometimes feel you would like to be back there?"

"No," answered Nasmyth reflectively; "I suppose I ought to feel that, but I'm not sure that I do."

"Ah," Violet remarked, "you have told me a good deal at one time or another about your life and friends there, but I almost fancied now and then that you were keeping something back. After all"—and she smiled at him—"I suppose that would have been only natural."

Nasmyth raised himself on one elbow, and looked hard at her. "Well," he admitted, "there was one thing I did not tell you, though I had meant to do so sooner or later. You see, there was nothing to warrant it in the meanwhile."

"Ah," queried the girl, "it concerns Miss Waynefleet?"

Nasmyth's face grew suddenly grave. He did not ask himself how she came to know. Indeed, for the time being, that did not seem to matter. There was, it seemed, only one course open to him, and he adopted it.

"Yes," he answered, "I will tell you about her."

He had meant to be brief and matter-of-fact in his narrative, but as he proceeded, the subject carried him away. Indeed, he was scarcely conscious that Miss Hamilton was intently watching him, for once more he seemed to feel Laura Waynefleet's eyes fixed upon his face, and they were clear and brave and still. He spoke with a certain dramatic force, and it was a somewhat striking picture he drew of the girl. Violet could realize her personality and the self-denying life that she led. It is possible that Nasmyth had told her more than he intended, when he broke off for a moment with a startling abruptness.

"I believe she saved my life," he added. "She certainly gave me back my courage, and set me on my feet again."

Violet looked at him with a strained expression in her eyes. "And because of that she will have a hold upon you while you live."

Nasmyth seemed to consider this. "I think I shall always realize what I owe to her. Still—and how shall I say it?—that recognition is the most I would venture to offer, or that she would accept from me."

He stopped for a moment, and then went on a trifle hastily. "Laura Waynefleet could never have taken more than a half-compassionate interest in me," he asserted. "There could scarcely be any doubt upon that point."

"You said half-compassionate?"

"Yes," replied Nasmyth; "I almost think that describes it. You see, I am naturally aware of my own disabilities."

"Still," persisted Violet, "she nursed you when you were very ill, and, as you said, set you on your feet again. That would probably count for a good deal with her."

Nasmyth made a hasty gesture. "You don't understand. She would no doubt have taken pity on any dumb creature. She did it because she could not help it. One could fancy that kind of thing was born in her."

Violet did not speak for a moment or two. Although it still remained uncertain whether the girl in the Bush had any tenderness for the man she had set upon his feet again, he had spoken of her in a manner which did not quite please Violet.

"Well," she ventured, with a little diffident glance at him, "some day you will go back into the Bush."

Nasmyth nodded. "Yes," he said, "I think that's certain. In fact, it's probable that I shall go back very soon. As it happens, I have undertaken a big and rather difficult thing, which will give me a considerable lift up if I am successful."

He lay silent for a minute before he turned to her again. "You see, I have been some time in this country, and never have done anything worth mentioning. Chopping trees and driving cattle are no doubt useful occupations, but they don't lead to anything. I feel that I am, so to speak, on my probation. I have still to win my spurs."

"I wonder if that is one of the ideas Miss Waynefleet gave you?"

Nasmyth smiled. "I really believe it originated with her, but, as a matter of fact, it might have gone no further, which is an admission. Still, the desire to win those spurs has been growing so strong of late that I can't resist it. In one way, I scarcely think that is very astonishing."

Violet looked away from him, for she saw the gleam in his eyes, and fancied she understood what the new motive he had hinted at might be. Still, he did not appear disposed to mention it.

"Then you would have to go away?" she asked.

A flush crept into Nasmyth's face. She was a woman of his own caste, and probably without intending it, she had shown him in many ways that she was not averse from him. He felt his heart beat fast when for a moment she met his gaze.

"The trouble is that if I do not go I shall never have the right to come back again," he told her.

"Then," replied the girl very softly, "you wish to come back?"

"That is why I am going. There are those spurs to win. I have to make my mark."

"But it is sometimes a little difficult to make one's mark, isn't it? You may be ever so long, and it must be a little hazardous in that horrible canyon."

"If it gives me the right to come back, I think it will be very well worth while."

"But suppose you don't succeed, after all?"

"That," admitted Nasmyth, "is a thing I daren't contemplate, because, if it happened, it is scarcely likely that any of my friends at Bonavista would ever be troubled with me again."

Violet looked away from him. "Ah," she said, "don't you think that would be a little hard on them? Is it very easy for you to go away?"

The restraint Nasmyth had imposed upon himself suddenly deserted him. He moved a little nearer to her, and seized one of her hands. She sat still, and made no effort to draw it away from him.

"I had never meant to say what I am going to say just now," he declared. "I had meant to wait until there was something successfully accomplished to my credit. I am, you see, a thriftless, wandering adventurer—one who has taken things as they came, and never has been serious. When I have shown that I can also be something else, I shall ask you formally if you will marry me. Until then the thing is, of course, out of the question."

He broke off for a moment, and held her silent by a gesture until he went on again. "I have been swept away, and even if you were willing to make it, I would take no promise from you. Until I have won the right to come back you must be absolutely free. Now you know this, it would be very much wiser if I went away as soon as possible."

"Ah," the girl answered with a thrill in her voice, "whenever you come back you will find me ready to listen to you."

Nasmyth let her hand go. "Now," he asserted, "I think I cannot fail. Still, it must be remembered that you are absolutely free."

He would have said something more, but there was just then a laugh and a patter of feet on the path above, and, looking up, he saw two of Mrs. Acton's guests descending the bluff.



CHAPTER XX

NASMYTH GOES AWAY

Mrs. Acton was sitting on the veranda next morning when Nasmyth, fresh from a swim in the deep cold water of the inlet, came up across the clearing. It had brought a clear glow into his bronzed skin and a brightness to his eyes, and as he flung a word to a man who greeted him, his laugh had a clean, wholesome ring. He walked straight toward the veranda, and Mrs. Acton, sitting still, favoured him with a very keen and careful scrutiny. He was dressed in light flannels, which, she admitted, became him rather well; but it was the lithe gracefulness of his movements that she noticed most. His easy, half-whimsical manner had their effect on her; they won her favour. He was the kind of guest she had pleasure in welcoming at Bonavista.

He went up the veranda stairway, and, stopping near where she was sitting, looked down at her with a curious little glow in his eyes. She started, for she had not expected to see it there so soon.

"You seem unusually satisfied with everything this morning," she observed. "There is probably some cause for it?"

Nasmyth laughed. "I believe I am. As I dare say you have noticed, tranquil contentment is one of my virtues. It is, however, one that is remarkably easy to exercise at Bonavista."

"Still, contentment does not, as a rule, carry a young man very far in this country. In fact, it is now and then a little difficult to distinguish between it and something else that is less creditable to the man who possesses it."

Nasmyth smiled good-humouredly. "Well," he replied, "I have discovered that if you worry Fortune too much she resents it, and flies away from you. It seems to me there is something to be said for the quietly expectant attitude. After all, one is now and then given much more than one could by any effort possibly deserve."

Mrs. Acton noticed the faint ring in his voice. "Ah," she said, "then something of that kind has befallen you? Hadn't you better come to the point?"

Nasmyth became grave. "Madam," he said, "I have a confession to make. I am very much afraid I lost my head yesterday, and I should not be astonished if you were very angry with me."

He spoke with a certain diffidence, and Mrs. Acton, who straightened herself in her chair, watched him steadily while he made his confession. He paused with a gesture of deprecation.

"In one sense, it is a preposterous folly, but I am not quite sure that folly is not now and then better than wisdom," he added. "It has certainly proved to be so in my case."

"No doubt." Mrs. Acton's tone was suggestive. "It is, however, Miss Hamilton I am most interested in."

Nasmyth spread one hand out forcibly. "I want you to understand that she is absolutely free. I have only told you because you once mentioned that you considered her a ward of yours. Nothing will be said to anybody else, and, if she should change her mind, I will not complain. In fact, I have decided that it would be most fitting for me to go away."

"I think," asserted Mrs. Acton, "you have been either too generous or not quite generous enough. The trouble with men of your kind is that when for once they take the trouble to reflect, they become too cautious."

"I'm afraid I don't quite grasp the point of that."

"You should either have said nothing, which is the course you ought to have adopted, or a little more. I fancy Violet would have been just as pleased if you had shown yourself determined to make sure of her."