"A good deal, off and on. But it's getting chilly and I half expect a reproving lecture from Miss Hume when I go in. First, though, tell me a little more about the young Canadian you had with you."

"I don't know much. I met him by accident—he has an interest in some mines, I believe, but he struck me as a remarkably fine type. Clever at woodcraft, as handy with the ax and paddle as our professional guide, but when he talked about other things he seemed to know a good deal more than I do." He smiled. "After all, that's not surprising. But what I liked most was the earnestness of the fellow; he had a downright way of grappling with things, or explaining them to you. Sensible, but direct, not subtle."

"I've met men of that description, and I'm rather prejudiced in their favor," declared Millicent, smiling. "But what was he like in person—slightly rugged?"

"No; that's where you and others sometimes go wrong. There's nothing of the barbarian about these bushmen. Physically, they're as fine a type as we are—I might go farther—straight in the limb, clean-lined every way, square in the shoulder. They'd make an impression at any London gathering."

"So long as they didn't speak?"

"It wouldn't matter. Allowing for a few colloquialisms, they're worth listening to; which is more than I'd care to say for a number of the people one meets in this country."

Millicent laughed.

"Well, I'll be glad to see him when he comes." Her voice grew graver. "I feel grateful to him already for what he told you about George."

They went in together and half an hour later Nasmyth walked home across the moor. He had never thought more highly of Millicent, but somehow he now felt sorry for her. It scarcely seemed fitting that she should live in that lonely spot with only the company of an elderly and staid companion, though he hardly thought she would be happier if she plunged into a round of purposeless amusements in the cities. Still, she was young and very attractive; he felt that she should have more than the thinly-peopled countryside had to offer.



CHAPTER VII

ON THE MOORS

Nearly a year had passed since Nasmyth's return when Lisle at length reached England. Soon after his arrival, he was, as Nasmyth's guest, invited to join a shooting party, and one bright afternoon he stood behind a bank of sods high on a grouse-moor overlooking the wastes of the Border. The heath was stained with the bell-heather's regal purple, interspersed with the vivid red of the more fragile ling, and where the uplands sloped away broad blotches of the same rich colors checkered the grass. In the foreground a river gleamed athwart the picture, and overhead there stretched an arch of cloudless blue. There was no wind; the day was still and hot.

A young lad whose sunburned face already bore the stamp of self-indulgence was stationed behind the butt with Lisle, and the latter was not favorably impressed with his appearance or conversation.

"Look out," he cautioned by and by. "You were a little slow last time. They travel pretty fast."

Lisle picked up his gun; he had used one in the West, though he was more accustomed to the rifle. Cutting clear against the dazzling sky, a straggling line of dark specks was moving toward him, and a series of sharp cracks broke out from the farther wing of the row of butts, which stretched across the moor. Lisle watched the birds, with fingers tightening on his gun; one cluster was coming his way, each flitting body growing in size and distinctness with marvelous rapidity. Then there was a flash beside him, and another crash as he pitched up his gun. Something struck the heather with a thud not far away, and swinging the muzzle a little, he pulled again. He was not surprised to hear a second thud, and laying down his gun he turned to his youthful companion, while a thin cloud of acrid vapor hung about him.

"Get anything?" he asked.

"I didn't," was the sullen answer. "Couldn't expect it with the second barrel, after you'd filled the place with smoke. Wonder why Gladwyne's man gave you the old black powder?"

As nearly everybody else used smokeless, this was a point that had aroused Lisle's curiosity, though it was not a matter of much importance. Nasmyth had provided him with cartridges, but they had somehow been left behind, and on applying to Gladwyne's keeper he had been supplied with ammunition which, it seemed, was out of date.

"After all, you have done well enough," his companion resumed. "We'd better get on to our next station—it's right across the moor on the high ridge yonder. Don't bother about the birds."

"Shall I leave them there?"

"Certainly! Do you want to carry them all the afternoon? One of the keeper fellows will bring them along."

The lad's tone was half contemptuous; he had already shown that he considered the Canadian what he would have called an outsider; but he was willing to make use of him.

"You might look after Bella; she's alone in the next butt—and I've something else to do," he said. "There's an awkward ghyll to cross and she won't carry anything lighter than a 14-gun. See she doesn't leave the cartridges in it."

He strode away across the heather, and Lisle turned toward the turf shelter indicated. As he approached it, a girl appeared and glanced at him with very obvious curiosity; but as he supposed that she was the sister of his late companion he did not expect any diffidence from her. She was short in stature and slight in figure, and dressed in grayish brown; hat, coat, and remarkably short skirt all of the same material. Her hair was of a copper color; her eyes, which were rather narrow, of a pale grayish-green. He would have called them hard, and there was a hint of arrogance in her expression. Yet she was piquantly pretty.

"I suppose you're Nasmyth's Canadian friend?" she began, and went on without waiting for an answer: "As we occupy adjoining butts on the next drive, you may take my gun. Teddy has deserted me."

"Teddy?" queried Lisle, who wondered if she were referring to her brother. "I thought his name was Jim."

"It's Marple's stout friend with the dyed hair I mean. I told him what would happen if he ate as he persisted in doing at lunch. It's too hot to gormandize; I wasn't astonished when he collapsed at the steep place on the last walk. Reflecting that it was his own fault, I left him."

Lisle was not charmed with the girl's manners, but he could not check a smile.

"Are you tired? You oughtn't to be," she continued with another bold glance at him.

"No," he replied; "if it's any consolation to you, I'm far from exhausted yet."

"That's reassuring," she retorted. "You haven't taken my gun."

Having forgotten it for the moment, he flushed a little, and she watched him with unconcealed amusement while he opened the weapon and took out the cartridges.

"What's that for?" she asked impertinently. "It's hammerless; there's nothing to catch."

"The pull-off's probably very light, if it's been made for a lady's use. It's sometimes possible to jar the strikers down when they set the springs to yield at a touch."

"Then you know something about guns?" she said, as if she had not expected this.

"Not a great deal about the scatter kind, though I've stripped a few."

"We never do that," she informed him. "We send them to London. Still, you're right; the gun did go off when I knocked it jumping down from a wall."

"If you'll let me have it to-night, I'll alter that. I understand we're going out again to-morrow."

She considered a moment.

"Well," she consented, with the air of one conferring a favor, "you may take it when we've finished."

Lisle wondered what had prompted him to make the offer. The way she had addressed him was not ingratiating, but he delighted in examining any fine mechanism and he had never handled such a beautifully made weapon.

They plodded on side by side through the heather, which was long and matted, and presently, seeing that she was breathless, he stopped on the crest of a higher rise and once more looked about with keen appreciation.

In front of him the crimson and purple heath was rent and fissured, and in the deep gaps washed out by heavy rains the peat gleamed a warm chocolate-brown. Elsewhere, patches of moss shone with an emerald brightness, and there were outcrops of rock tinted lustrous gray and silver with lichens. Below, near the foot of the moor, ran a straight dark line of firs, the one coldly-somber streak in the scene; but beyond it the rolling, sunlit plain ran back, fading through ever varying and softening colors to the hazy blue heights of Scotland.

Lisle's companion noticed his intent expression.

"It is rather fine up here," she conceded. "I sometimes feel it's almost a pity one couldn't live among the heather. Certain things would be easier on these high levels."

"Yes?" interrogated Lisle, slightly puzzled and astonished.

"You're obviously from the woods," she smiled. "If you had spent a few years among my friends, you would understand. I was referring to the cultivation of ideas and manners which seem to be considered out of date now."

Lisle made no reply to this, but he glanced too directly at a red stain on her hand.

"Blood," she explained. "I had a bet with Alan that I'd get a brace more than Flo; that's why I went after a cripple running in the ling. It wasn't dead when I picked it up—rather horrid, wasn't it?"

The man was conscious of some disgust. She looked very young and, slight as she was, her figure was prettily rounded and she had a soft, kittenish gracefulness; but she spoke with the assurance of a dowager. Though he had killed and cut up many a deer, he shrank from the small red stain on her delicate hand. She saw it and laughed, and then with a sudden change of mood she stooped and swiftly rubbed her fingers in the heather.

"Now," she said sharply, "if you're sufficiently rested, we'll go on."

Lisle moved away, but he asked a question:

"Do many girls shoot in this country?"

"No," she answered with a mocking smile; "not so many, after all. That's comforting, isn't it? This kind of thing is hard work, and damaging to the complexion."

Presently they came to a wall, and Lisle stopped in some uncertainty. It was as high as his shoulders and built of loose, rough stones.

"Get over," she ordered him. "Then pull a lot of it down."

He did so, making, though he endeavored to avoid this, a rather wide hole.

She scrambled through agilely and then regarded him with surprise as he proceeded to replace the stones.

"Why are you doing that?" she asked.

"There are sheep up here."

"Too many, considering that it's a grouse-moor; but what of it? They don't belong to us."

"They belong to somebody who would rather they didn't stray," Lisle rejoined. "In the country I come from, it's considered a serious transgression to knock over another person's fence and not put it up again."

He calmly went on with his task, and sitting down she took out a silver cigarette-case. After a minute or two she looked up at him.

"You're doing that very neatly," she remarked.

"I've done something of the kind for a living," Lisle informed her.

"Oh! It's curious that you seem proud of it. In this case, I don't mind your keeping me, because they can't drive up the birds until we have crossed the higher moor. It will annoy Gladwyne and his keeper, and I'm not pleased with either of them. I wanted Flo Marple's station at the first butts."

Lisle considered this. He had wondered why she had favored him with her company, when, although her previous companion had deserted her, she could by hurrying a little have joined the others. The butts were not spaced very far apart. Their late occupants had, however, now vanished into a dip of the moor. He asked himself why a girl with her assurance should have troubled to offer him an explanation.

When he had finished the repairs to the wall, they went on, and a little later he heard a sharp "Cruck—cruck-curruck," to one side of him. Swinging around, he saw a grouse skimming the heather.

"A pair of gloves to a sovereign that you miss!" cried his companion.

The bird was flying fast; Lisle had to load, and by the time he had snapped in a cartridge it was a long range. This, however, was somewhat in his favor, as he was better used to the rifle. There was a flash and the bird struck the heath. The girl glanced at him in unveiled appreciation.

"A clean kill!" she exclaimed. "You have won the gloves; and you'll deserve them before you have heard the last of this incident. I suppose you don't know that you shouldn't have fired a shot except from behind the butts."

She watched his expression with open amusement.

"You don't like to ask why I tempted you," she went on. "It was to vex the keeper; you may have turned back the birds the beaters are driving up."

"Thanks for the information," Lisle said coolly. "Do you mind my inquiring whether you would have taken the sovereign in case I'd missed? As you suggested, I'm lately from the wilds."

"Of course!" she mocked. "I could have had it drilled and worn it on a chain!"

The man made no comment as they went on. Presently they came to a deep rift in the moor through which a stream leaped sparkling. The girl scrambled down, waist-deep in yellow fern, but the other side was steep and stony and she was glad of help when he held out his hand. They made the ascent with some difficulty and on reaching the summit she looked around, breathless.

"This is a romantic spot, if you're interested in the legends of the Border," she told him.

"I am," Lisle said; and she sat down among the heather.

"It's an excuse for a rest," she confessed. "The old moss-troopers used to ride this way to ravage Cumberland. It was advisable for them to follow hidden paths among the moors, and once an interesting little skirmish took place among those brakes down the hollow."

She pointed toward a spot where the ravine widened into a level strip of quaggy grass and moss which glowed a brilliant emerald. On either side of it a gnarled and stunted growth of alders and birches fringed the foot of the steep slopes, and between them the stream spread out across a stretch of milk-white stones. The hollow was flooded with light and filled with the soft murmur of running water.

"It would be a strong place to hold, if the defenders had time to choose their ground," Lisle remarked.

"So it proved," replied his companion. "Well, once upon a time, a bold Scots reaver, riding south, saw a maid who pleased him near a Cumberland pele. His admiration was not reciprocated, but he came again, often, though being an armed thief by profession there was a price upon his head. It is stated that on each occasion he returned unaccompanied by any of the cattle belonging to his lady's relatives, which was an unusual piece of forbearance. In those days, men must have been able to disassociate business from their love-making."

"Don't they do so now?" Lisle inquired lazily.

She looked at him with a smile which had a hint of real bitterness in its light mockery.

"Not often, one would imagine. Perhaps they can't be blamed—I'm afraid we're all given to cultivating dreadfully expensive tastes. No doubt, when it was needful, the Border chieftain of the story could live on oatmeal and water, and instead of buying pedigree hunters he probably stole his pony. He haunted the neighborhood of the pele until the maid became afraid and urged her kinsmen to rid her of him. Several of them tried and failed—which wasn't surprising."

"Love made him invulnerable?" Lisle suggested.

"No," retorted his companion. "A man with a heart constant and stout enough to face the risks he ran would be hard to kill. When you read between the lines, it's a moving tale. Think of the long, perilous rides he made through an enemy's land, all for a glance at his disdainful lady! They watched the fords in those days, but neither brawling rivers nor well-mounted horsemen could stop him. At last, he came one night with a dozen spears, broke in the barmkin gate and carried her off. All her relatives rode hard after them and came up with them in this ghyll. Then there happened what was, in one way, a rather remarkable thing—the abducted maid firmly declined to be rescued. There was a brisk encounter, I believe two or three were killed; but she rode off to Scotland with her lover. I suppose I needn't point the moral?"

"I can see only the ancient one—that it's unwise to take a lady's 'No' as conclusive," Lisle ventured.

She laughed at him in a daring manner.

"The pity is that we haven't often a chance of saying it to any one worth while. But I'll express the moral in a prettier way—sometimes disinterested steadfastness and real devotion count with us. Unfortunately, they're scarce."

There was a challenge in her glance, but the man, not knowing what was expected of him, made no answer. At first he had been almost repelled by the girl, but he was becoming mildly interested in her. She could, he thought, be daring to the verge of coarseness, and he did not admire her pessimism, which was probably a pose; but there was a vein of elfish mischief in her that appealed to him. Sitting among the heather, small, lithe, and felinely graceful, watching him with a provocative smile in her rather narrow eyes, she compelled his attention.

"Well," she laughed, "you're not much of a courtier. But doesn't that story bring you back into touch with elemental things—treacherous mosses, dark nights, flooded rivers, passion, peril, dauntlessness? Now we're wrapped about with empty futilities."

He understood part of what was in her mind and sympathized with it. He had lived close to nature in stern grapple with her unbridled forces. From women he demanded no more than beauty or gentleness; but a man, he thought, should for a time, at least, be forced to learn the stress and joy of the tense struggle with cold and hunger, heat and thirst, on long marches or in some dogged attack on rock and flood. He had only contempt for the well-fed idlers who lounged through life, not always, as he suspected, even gracefully. These, however, were ideas he had no intention of expressing.

"There are still people who have to face realities in the newer lands; and I dare say you have some in this country, on your railroads and in your mines, for example," he said. "But hadn't we better be getting on?"

They left the brink of the hollow and plodded through the heather toward where a row of butts stood beneath a lofty ridge of the moor. A man appeared from behind one as they approached and glanced at them with unconcealed disapproval.

"Couldn't you have got here earlier, Bella?" he asked. "In another few minutes you'd have spoiled the drive—the birds can't be far off the dip of the ridge. Hardly fair to the keepers or the rest of us to take these risks, is it?"

"When I do wrong, I never confess it, Clarence," the girl replied. "You ought to know that by now."

Lisle heard the name and became suddenly intent—this was Clarence Gladwyne! There was no doubt that he was a handsome man. He was tall and held himself finely; he had a light, springy figure, with dark eyes and hair. Besides, there was a certain stamp of refinement or fastidiousness upon him which was only slightly spoiled by the veiled hint of languid insolence in his expression.

"I heard a shot," he resumed.

"I've no doubt you did," the girl agreed. "An old cock grouse got up in front of us—it was irresistibly tempting."

Gladwyne turned to Lisle with a slight movement of his shoulders which was somehow expressive of half-indulgent contempt.

"You're Nasmyth's friend from Canada? I guess you don't understand these things, but you might have made the birds break back," he said. "However, we must get under cover now—there's your butt. I'll see you later."

He turned away and Lisle took up his station behind the wall of turf pointed to. He had once upon a time been forcibly rebuked for his clumsiness at some unaccustomed task in the Canadian bush and had not resented it, but the faint movement of Gladwyne's shoulders had brought a warmth to his face. The girl noticed this.

"Clarence can be unpleasant when he likes, but there are excuses for him," she said. "A day's shooting is one of the things we take seriously, and manners are not at a higher premium here than I suppose they are in the wilds."

Lisle made no response, and there was silence on the sun-steeped moor until a row of small dark objects skimming the crest of the ridge above became silhouetted against the sky. Then a gun cracked away to the right and in another moment a dropping fusillade broke out.



CHAPTER VIII

GLADWYNE RECEIVES A SHOCK

It was about nine o'clock in the evening, and Gladwyne's somewhat noisy guests were scattered about his house and the terrace in front of it. Several of them had gathered in the hall, and Bella Crestwick, Lisle's companion on the moors, stood, cigarette in hand, with one foot on the old-fashioned hearth-irons, frankly discussing him. A few birch logs glowed behind the bars, for on those high uplands the autumn nights were chilly, but the wide door stood open, revealing a pale green band of light behind the black hills, and allowing the sweet, cool air of the moors to flow in.

The girl had gained something by the change from her outdoor attire to the clinging evening dress, but it was with characteristic unconcern that she disregarded the fact that the thin skirt fell well away from one shapely ankle effectively displayed by a stocking of the finest texture.

"The man," she said, "is a bit of a Puritan. They still live over there, don't they? His idea of English women is evidently derived from what his father told him, or from early-Victorian literature. I'm inclined to believe I shocked him."

"It's highly probable," laughed a man lounging near. "Still, I believe the descendants of the folks you mention live three thousand miles from his country, in the neighborhood of the Atlantic shore. One wouldn't fancy that you'd like Puritans."

There was nothing offensive in the words, but his glance was a little too bold and too familiar, and Bella looked at him with a gleam of malice in her eyes.

"Extremes meet; it's the middle—the medium mediocrity—that's irreconcilable with either end," she retorted. "For instance, I led a life of severe asceticism all last Lent." There were incredulous smiles, though the statement was perfectly correct. "It's a course I could confidently recommend to you," she proceeded, unheeding; "of late you have been putting on flesh with an alarming rapidity."

The man made no response and Bella resumed:

"Besides, the Puritans have their good points; they're so refreshingly sure of themselves and their views, while the rest of us don't believe in anything. You can't be a fanatic without being thorough, and in renouncing the world and the flesh you may gain more than a passable figure. Among other things, the ascetic life means straight shooting, steady hands, and an eye you can depend upon. The overcivilized man who does nothing to counterbalance his luxuriousness is generally a rotter."

"But what has all this to do with Nasmyth's Canadian?" somebody asked.

Bella waved her cigarette.

"Try to walk a steep moor with him and you'll see. If that's not sufficient, take the same butt with him when the grouse are coming over."

Suddenly she straightened herself, dropping her foot from the iron and flinging the cigarette into the fire, as a gray-haired lady entered the hall. She had been a beauty years ago and now her fragility emphasized the fineness of her features and the clear pallor of her skin. She was dressed in a thin black fabric, and her beautifully shaped hands gleamed unusually white against its somber folds.

"Where's Clarence?" she asked the group collectively, in a voice that was singularly clear and penetrative. "I haven't seen him for the last half-hour."

One of the men immediately went in search of him, and the lady crossed the hall to where Millicent Gladwyne was sitting, for the time being alone. Millicent had noticed Bella's sudden change of demeanor upon her hostess's entrance, with something between amusement and faint disgust. Mrs. Gladwyne was what Bella would have called early-Victorian in her views, and she would occasionally have been disturbed by the conversation of some of her son's guests, had she not been a little deaf.

"Sitting quiet?" she said to Millicent, who was a favorite of hers; and her voice carried farther than she was aware of as she continued: "I heard the laughter and it brought me down, though I want to tell Clarence something. I like to see bright faces; but the times have changed since I was young. We were a little more reserved and not so noisy then."

"A dear old thing! It's a pity she's quite so antediluvian," Bella remarked to a man at her side.

"Isn't that the natural penalty of being a dear old thing?" laughed her companion. "There's no doubt we have progressed pretty rapidly of late."

Clarence appeared shortly after this and was gently chidden by his mother for going out without his hat, because the autumn nights were getting chilly. A few minutes later, footsteps became audible outside the open door and Nasmyth entered the hall with Lisle. It was spacious and indifferently lighted; the others, standing near the hostess, concealed her, and Lisle stopped for a word with Bella. Then Nasmyth noticed Mrs. Gladwyne and called to his companion.

"This way, Vernon."

Clarence swung round with a start and cast a swift glance at the stranger, and Millicent wondered why his face set hard; but the next moment Nasmyth led up the Canadian and presented him. Mrs. Gladwyne had risen and Lisle made a little respectful inclination over the delicate hand she held out. Age had but slightly spoiled her beauty; she had still a striking presence, and a manner in which a trace of stateliness was counterbalanced by gentle good-humor. Lisle was strongly impressed, but, as Millicent noticed, he betrayed no awkwardness.

"I seem to have heard your name before in connection with Canada," said Mrs. Gladwyne, confusing it with his surname. "Ah, yes! Of course; it was George's guide I was thinking of." She turned to Millicent, adding in an audible aside: "I've a bad habit of forgetting. Forgive me, my dear."

Everything considered, it was, perhaps, the most awkward thing she could have said; but Lisle's bronzed face was imperturbable, and Gladwyne had promptly recovered his composure as he realized the mistake. Still, for a moment, he had been badly startled. Nobody noticed Nasmyth, which was fortunate, because his unnatural immobility would have betrayed him.

"I'd been expecting you both earlier; told you to come to dinner," said his host.

Then he addressed Lisle.

"As my mother mentioned, I had once something to do with a man called Vernon, in Canada."

Knowing what he did, Lisle fancied that Gladwyne's indifferent tone had cost him an effort.

"It's only my Christian name, as you have heard," he explained.

"You were up in the bush with Nasmyth, were you not?"

"Yes," answered Lisle. "I met him quite by chance in a Victoria hotel when I happened to have a few weeks at my disposal which I thought of spending in the wilds. When he heard that I intended making a trip through the northern part of the country and suggested that we should go together I was glad to consent."

"Then you belong to Victoria?"

"I was located there when I met Nasmyth. Before that I was up in the Yukon district for some time. Since leaving him I've lived in the city."

He thought Gladwyne was relieved at his answer, for the latter smiled genially.

"Well," he said, "we must try to make your visit to this country pleasant."

Shortly after this, the group broke up and Gladwyne, escaping from his guests, slipped out on to the terrace and walked up and down. Nasmyth had merely mentioned that he had a Canadian friend staying with him; somehow a formal introduction had been omitted during the day on the moors, and Gladwyne had been badly disconcerted when he heard the man addressed as Vernon. The name vividly recalled a Canadian episode that he greatly desired to forget, and he had, indeed, to some extent succeeded in doing so. That unfortunate affair was done with, he had assured himself; for two years it had scarcely been mentioned in his hearing, but for a horrible moment which had taxed his courage to the utmost he had almost fancied that it was about to be brought to light again. Lisle's answer and manner had, however, reassured him. Nasmyth had met the man accidentally and it was merely as the result of this that they had made the journey through the bush together. It was evident that he had been needlessly alarmed.

For all that, he was troubled. Living for his own pleasure, as he did, he was nevertheless a man who valued other people's good opinion and prided himself upon doing the correct and most graceful thing. There was no doubt that he had once badly failed in this, but it was in a moment of physical weakness, when he was exhausted and famishing. After all, it was most probable that his cousin had died before he could have reached him, and there were, he thought, few men who, if similarly situated, would have faced the risk of the return journey. Still, the truth would have had an ugly sound had it come out. This was why he had spread the story of the guide's defection, which he now regretted. It might not have been strictly necessary, but he had reached the trappers' camp on the verge of a collapse, too far gone to reason out the matter calmly. A man in that condition could hardly be held accountable for his action. Besides, it was incredible that the guide's statement that he had made the journey without replenishing his provisions could be correct.

His reflections were interrupted by Mrs. Gladwyne, who came out, wrapped in a shawl.

"Why are you here alone?" she asked. "You look disturbed. Has anything gone wrong?"

Gladwyne was sorry that she had joined him where the light from a window fell on his face, but he smiled.

"No," he answered quietly, for he was always gentle with her. "I only felt that I'd rather avoid the chatter of the others for a few minutes. I suppose it was the man's name, together with your reference to George, that upset me."

Mrs. Gladwyne laid her hand on his arm. She was inordinately fond and proud of the son whom she had spoiled.

"I sometimes think you are too sensitive on that point, Clarence," she said. "Of course, it was very tragic and we both owe George a great deal, but you did all that anybody could have done."

The man winced, and it was fortunate that they had now left the light behind and his mother could not see his face.

"I could have stayed and died with him," he broke out with unaffected bitterness. "There were times at the beginning when I was sorry I let him send me away."

Mrs. Gladwyne shook her head reproachfully. She was gracious and quietly dignified and refined in thought, but for all that she was not one to appreciate such a sacrifice as he had indicated.

"I'm afraid that was an undue exaggeration of a natural feeling," she remonstrated. "How could your staying have helped him, when by going in search of help you increased his only chance of safety? I have always been glad you were clear-headed enough to realize it, instead of yielding to mistaken emotional inclinations."

Gladwyne felt hot with shame. His mother had an unshaken confidence in his honor, which was the less surprising because her perceptions had never been very keen and she had always shrunk from the contemplation of unpleasant things. It was an amiable weakness of hers to idealize those she loved, and by resolutely shutting her eyes on occasions she succeeded in accomplishing it more or less successfully. Clarence was, of course, aware of this, and it hurt to remember that in deserting his cousin he had been prompted chiefly by craven fear. His mother, however, quite unconscious of what she was doing, further humiliated him.

"Of course," she continued, "if you had found the cache of provisions, it would have been your duty to return to George at any hazard, and I have no doubt whatever that you would have gone."

The damp stood beaded on the man's forehead. He realized that even his lenient and indulgent mother would shrink from him if she knew that he had abandoned his dying benefactor like a treacherous coward. He said nothing and they had strolled to the end of the terrace before she spoke again.

"I think it would be better to go back to the others and drive away these morbid ideas," she advised. "It's a duty to look at the brightest side of everything."

He made no answer, but he strove with some degree of success to recover his usual tranquillity as they turned toward the entrance of the hall.

In the meanwhile, Lisle had been talking to Millicent. She had already made a marked impression on him, for in the wilds the man had acquired a swift and true insight into character. One has time to think in the lonely places where, since life itself often depends upon their accuracy, a man's perceptions grow keen, and though some of the minor complexities and subtleties of modern civilization might have puzzled him he was seldom mistaken in essentials.

He liked her direct and calmly searching gaze; he liked her voice which, while soft and pleasant, had a trace of gravity in it. He knew that her fine carriage was a sign of physical vigor and he recognized how it had been gained by the clear, warm tinting of her slightly sun-darkened skin. But, apart from this and her comeliness, which was marked, there was that in her personality which spoke of evenness and depth of character. She was steadfast, not lightly to be swayed from a resolve, he thought.

"Nasmyth has often spoken about you," she told him. "I understand it was chiefly by your help that he succeeded in reaching the scene of my brother's death. I want to thank you for that."

Her voice was quiet, but it did not betoken indifference; he knew that she was not one to forget. He could not think of any apposite answer, but she saw the sympathy in his eyes and it pleased her more than words would have done.

"It was a relief to me that Nasmyth made that journey," she went on. "I wanted to learn everything that could be known—instead of shrinking from it. You see, I had a great faith in my brother."

"He deserved it," Lisle declared warmly. "I have gathered enough to convince me of that!"

"Thank you! Clarence was not in a condition to notice anything very clearly during his journey, and I think what he suffered blunted his recollection. Besides, the subject is a distressing one to him, and it is seldom he can be induced to speak about it. Perhaps that is a pity; I find it does not always save one trouble in the end to avoid a little immediate pain."

Lisle was gratified. She had spoken so unrestrainedly, though he imagined that it was a somewhat unusual thing for her to take a stranger into her confidence.

"Yes," he replied; "I think that's very true. It's better to face it and get it over. The wound sooner heals."

She smiled rather wistfully and changed the subject.

"I told Nasmyth that you taught him to see."

"I suppose I did," acknowledged Lisle. "Still, it was only as far as it concerned the things that I'm acquainted with. I'm not sure that my meaning's very clear?"

"I understand. You knew what to expect; that carries one a long way. Were you disappointed in finding it?"

He was a little surprised at her keenness, and rather confused. This was a question that could not be directly answered.

"What I was more particularly referring to was the meaning of such things as a broken branch, a gap in a thicket, or a few displaced stones," he explained. "I taught him what to infer from those."

"Yes," she said; "I understand that you discovered nothing new—I mean nothing that could throw any further light upon what befell my brother after the others left him."

He was glad that he could answer her candidly.

"No; we can only suppose that the conclusions the rescue party came to were correct. But all that we found relating to the week or two before the separation spoke of the courageous struggle that your brother made and his generosity in sending the others away."

She bent her head.

"That," she said quietly, "is only what one would have expected. He left a diary; you must come over and see it."

"I should like to, if it wouldn't be painful to you."

"No," she replied; "I shall be glad to show it to you."

She left him shortly after this and strolled out on to the terrace, thinking about him. The little she had seen of him had pleased her; he had earnest eyes and a resolute air, and she liked the men who lived in the open. He was direct, and perhaps a little rudimentary without being awkward, which was in his favor, for subtlety of any kind was distasteful to her. Still, in one respect, she was disappointed—he had in no way amplified Nasmyth's story, and she had expected to hear a little more of the expedition from him.



CHAPTER IX

LISLE GATHERS INFORMATION

Nasmyth's dinner was over and he lay, pipe in hand, in an easy-chair in his smoking-room, with Lisle lounging opposite him. They had been walking up partridges among the higher turnip fields all day, and now both were pleasantly tired and filled with languid good-humor. Nasmyth's house was old—it had been built out of the remains of a Border pele—and the room was paneled to the ceiling and very simply furnished. It had an ancient look and an ancient smell, and the few articles of plain oak furniture harmonized with it. The window stood wide open, and the fragrance of a grove of silver firs outside drifted in. The surroundings had their effect on Lisle, who had not been accustomed to dwellings of that kind.

"You have been here a fortnight and must have formed a few opinions about us," Nasmyth remarked at length. "You needn't be shy about expressing them, and I've no doubt there are things you'd like to ask."

"As a whole, my opinion's highly favorable," Lisle announced with a smile. "I'd be uncommonly hard to please if it weren't."

"That's flattering. But I'm not sure that I meant as a whole; I had a few particular instances in my mind. Bella Crestwick, for example; I'm curious to hear what you think of her. She seems quite favorably impressed with you."

"She's interesting," Lisle replied. "A type that's new to me; the latest development, isn't it? Anyway, I like her—whatever the admission's worth—though I must say that I found her rather startling at first. She's honest, I think, and that counts for a good deal."

"I suppose you're not aware that she's desirably rich?"

"I wasn't. It's not a fact of any moment to me. Besides, I've a suspicion that it's Gladwyne's scalp she's after."

Nasmyth nodded.

"You're pretty shrewd. Though I've had much greater opportunities for observation, that idea has only lately occurred to me. Of course, in a general way, I shouldn't discuss my acquaintances in this casual fashion, but as you are likely to see a good deal of us there are things you'd better know."

"I'll explain my point of view," said Lisle, refilling his pipe. "You have seen something of the kind of life I've led. Half my time, I suppose, has been spent in primeval surroundings; the rest in contact with the latest efforts of a rather unfinished civilization. Well, what you have to show me here is vastly different. These old houses, your smoothed-down ways, are a revelation to me. The polish on some of your furniture has taken several hundred years to put on; that in my Victoria quarters smells of the factory, and the board walls of other hotels I've lived in rend into big cracks because they're fresh from the mill. I'm full of interest; everything's new to me. But so far my curiosity's impersonal; I'm taking no hand in anything."

His companion's face grew grave.

"The trouble is that you may not be able to avoid it later. You're here, and some part will probably be forced on you. However, as I said, I think you're right about Bella."

"But her money would be no great inducement to Gladwyne."

"That's not certain. Clarence has a way of squandering money, and you may as well understand that there's very little to be derived from agricultural property. George had his mother's money, but he left it to Millicent; Clarence got only the land. That's what made a match between them seem so desirable."

"Desirable!" Lisle broke out. "It's impossible! Not to be contemplated!"

"Yes," Nasmyth agreed quietly. "If necessary, it will have to be prevented. I was only stating popular opinion."

There was something curious in his tone and Lisle looked hard at him. Their eyes met full for a moment and the thoughts of each were clear to the other.

"If anything must be done, it will fall to you," Nasmyth went on. "In this case it would be particularly invidious for me to interfere. But, if there had been nobody else, I'd have broken off the match."

Lisle made no comment, but there was comprehension and sympathy in his expression, and Nasmyth nodded.

"Yes," he acknowledged; "it's an open secret that I would have looked for nothing better than to marry Millicent Gladwyne." He paused with a slight flush creeping into his bronzed face. "For all that, I knew some years ago that I hadn't the faintest chance and never would have. I have her confidence and friendship; that has to be enough."

"I think it's a good deal," said Lisle.

There was silence for a minute or two, and then Lisle asked a question:

"How could a girl like Millicent Gladwyne ever contemplate the possibility of marrying Clarence?"

"It's puzzling to me. These things often are to outsiders. Still, Clarence is a handsome man, and I think George was in favor of the match, which would count with her. Then, in a way, she was always fond of Clarence, and now that she has the money and he's far from prospering on the land, the idea that she could set him firmly on his feet by sharing her possessions with him may prove tempting. It's very much the sort of thing that would appeal to her."

"You suggest that she isn't strongly attached to the man."

"I really believe she isn't; but, for all that, I'm sometimes afraid she'll end by marrying him. It's very probable that she suspects some of his faults, but I'm not sure they'd deter her. It would make her more compassionate, believing it was her duty to help him—that kind of thing's an old delusion. Still, to do the fellow justice, he hasn't of late shown much eagerness to profit by his opportunities."

Lisle mused for a few moments. It struck him that Nasmyth had described a very fine type of woman, which was quite in accordance with his own ideas of Miss Gladwyne.

"What led Gladwyne to cultivate Marple and the Crestwicks?" he asked. "They're different from the rest of you."

"I can't say. It's a point I've wondered about, though Marple and his rather rowdy friends are prosperous. I can better see why they got hold of Clarence."

"I don't see it," responded Lisle. "Remember I'm an unsophisticated stranger in search of information. If they've means enough, can't they associate with whom they like?"

Nasmyth smiled, but there was a trace of diffidence in his manner.

"In a way, you're right; but there are limits, more particularly in such a place as this. The counties, I'm sometimes thankful, don't keep pace with London. It's a little difficult to explain, but we're old-fashioned and possibly prejudiced here. Anyhow, we exercise a certain amount of caution in the choice of our friends."

"But Mrs. Gladwyne seems cordial to the people you object to, and one would imagine that she's the embodiment of your best traditions, a worthy representative of the old regime."

"Mrs. Gladwyne is a remarkably fine lady, but it's unfortunate that she's a little deaf and—it must be owned—not particularly intelligent. A good deal of what goes on escapes her. Besides, she has always idolized Clarence, and that would account for her not seeing his friends' failings."

"It's curious that Gladwyne makes so much of that young Crestwick."

"I've wondered about it," Nasmyth confessed. "The lad's vicious—and I've an idea that the influence Clarence has over him isn't beneficial. In fact, I'm sorry for his sister. She has been given her head too young, but, in my opinion, the girl's the pick of a very indifferent bunch."

"But you haven't accounted for these people's desire to be on good terms with Gladwyne."

Nasmyth hesitated.

"Oh, well, since you're so persistent, the Crestwicks have evidently been left with ample means, acquired by their parents, not much education, and big ambitions. They can get into certain circles, but that won't content them, and other doors, which Gladwyne can open to them, are shut. After all, he's a good sportsman, a man of some culture, with a manner that's likely to impress such people. The lad's holding on to him and taking his worst aspect for a copy, while Clarence seems willing to extend his patronage."

"For some consideration?"

Nasmyth looked disturbed.

"It's unpleasant, but I can't help feeling that you're right. One way or another, young Crestwick will have to pay his entrance fees." He rose and stretched himself lazily. "I'll spoil my temper if I say any more about it, and as we've had a long day I'm off to bed."

Lisle followed him from the room, but he was up early the next morning and strolled down to the river while the light was creeping across the moors and the dew lay thick upon the grass, thinking over what he had heard on the previous night. It was his nature to be interested in almost everything and he was curious to learn what he could of the people to whom his father had belonged. In Canada he had, for the most part, met only men of somewhat primitive habits and simple desires, grappling with rock and forest, or with single purpose toiling to acquire wealth in the new cities. What was more to the purpose, few of them were married. Now he was thrown among a people not more intelligent—indeed, he thought they were less endowed with practically useful knowledge—but in some respects more complex, actuated by different and less obvious ambitions and desires. He felt impelled to watch them, though he recognized that, as Nasmyth had predicted, this might not be all. It was possible that sooner or later he would be drawn into action.

He reached the stream at a spot where it flowed, still and clear, beneath a birch wood. A few of the leaves were green, but most of them gleamed a delicate saffron among the gray and silver stems, and the ground beneath was flecked with yellow. Behind the trees rough, lichened rock and stony slopes ran up to a bare ridge, silhouetted against the roseate glow of the morning sky. The sun had not risen, the water lay in shadow; it was very quiet and rather cold, and Lisle was surprised to see Millicent Gladwyne picking her way cautiously over a bank of stones. It was only her movements that betrayed her, for her neutral-tinted attire harmonized with the background; but when she caught sight of him she left the foot of the slope she was skirting and came directly toward him. He thought she looked wonderfully fresh and wholesome, and he noticed that she carried a small camera.

"I'm afraid you have spoiled my sport," she laughed. "I was after an otter—though you mustn't tell Nasmyth that there is one about here."

"Certainly not," acquiesced Lisle. "But why?"

"He would consider it his duty to bring up the hounds the next meet. Isn't it curious how slaughter appeals to a man? But Nasmyth isn't unreasonable; there are reserves in which even the jays he longs to shoot have sanctuary."

"But you were looking for an otter?"

"Yes; I wanted its picture, not its life. I've got several, but I'm not satisfied; though I've been lucky lately. I got a dabchick—they're growing scarce—not long ago."

"We'll try the next pool, if you'll let me come," suggested Lisle. "I'm pretty good at trailing. But what do you want with their pictures?"

"For my book," she told him. "I have to make ever so many drawings in color before I get them right. If you're fond of the wild creatures, I'll show them to you."

Lisle said that he would be delighted, and they went on, keeping back among tall brushwood where they skirted the swift stream at the head of the pool, and then proceeding cautiously with the outline of their figures softened by the heathy slopes behind. At length, creeping up through a thin growth of alders, they stopped near another still reach and the girl pointed to a few floating objects on its surface.

"You're good at trailing or they'd have taken fright," she said. "Still, I think I will surprise you, if you will wait here."

"Mallard," Lisle commented. "Young birds—even where we seldom disturb them, they're shy."

She slipped away through the alders and he noticed how little noise she made, though the lower branches here and there brushed against her gliding form. She was wonderfully light and graceful in her movements. As she came out into the open there was a startled quack or two from the birds. Lisle expected to see them rise from the water, but she called softly and, to his vast astonishment, they ceased paddling away from her. She called again and they turned and swam cautiously toward her, and when she took a handful of something from a pocket and flung it upon the surface of the stream, three or four heads were stretched forward to seize the morsels.

While the birds drew nearer Lisle looked on admiring. She had roused his interest when he had first seen her in her rich evening dress, but now he thought she made a far more striking picture, and her sympathy with the timid wild creatures which evidently knew and trusted her awakened something responsive in him. Half the pool now glimmered in the rosy light, with here and there an alder branch reflected upon its mirror-like surface, and Millicent stood on a strip of gravel with her figure clearly outlined against it. Dressed in closely-fitting, soft-colored tweed, tall and finely symmetrical, she harmonized with rock and flood wonderfully well. Lisle had occasionally seen a bush rancher's daughter, armed with gun or fishing-rod, look very much at home in similar surroundings; but this English lady, of culture and station, reared in civilized luxury, appeared equally in her right place.

He afterward recollected each adjunct of the scene—the stillness, the pale gleam of the water, and the aromatic smell of fallen leaves, but the alluring, central figure formed the sharpest memory. By and by she clapped her hands, the ducks rose and flew away up-stream with necks stretched out, and she came back toward him, laughing softly.

"Sometimes they will come almost up to my feet; but I'm afraid it's hardly fair to inspire them with an undue confidence in human nature. It might cost them dear."

"You're wonderful!" Lisle exclaimed, expressing what he felt, for she seemed to him endowed with every gracious quality.

"Oh," she smiled, "there's nothing really remarkable in what I showed you. I happened to find the nest and by slow degrees disarmed the mother bird's suspicions; mallard have been domesticated, you know, though they're often hard to get very near. But we may as well turn back; it's now too late to see an otter. I'm inclined to think they're the shyest of all the British wild creatures."

They moved away down-stream side by side, and some time later she left him where a stile-path crossed a meadow.

"Come and see my drawings whenever you like," she said on parting.

Lisle determined to go as soon as possible. Quite apart from the drawings, the idea of going had its attractions for him, and he walked homeward determined that this girl should never marry Clarence Gladwyne. It was unthinkable—that was the only word for it.



CHAPTER X

BELLA'S CHAMPION

It was early in the afternoon when Lisle arrived at Millicent's house and, after a glance at its quaint exterior, was ushered into her drawing-room. There he sat down and looked about while he waited. The salient tones of its decoration were white and aqueous blue, and the effect struck him as pleasantly chaste and cool. Among the rather mixed ornaments were a couple of marble statuettes, the figures airily poised and very finely wrought. Next, he noticed some daintily carved objects in ivory, and a picture in water-color of a wide, gray stretch of moor with distance and solitude skilfully conveyed. He had risen to examine it when Millicent entered.

"I'm glad you came, though, as you're used to the life of the woods and rivers, I'm a little diffident about showing you my sketches," she said. "I'm afraid I've kept you waiting."

Lisle smiled and she liked the candidly humorous gleam in his eyes.

"Nasmyth warned me that I was early—or rather he said that if I were going to visit anybody else I would have been too soon. I'd better confess, however, that I've been making a good use of the time. Things of this kind"—he indicated the statuettes—"are almost new to me. They strike me as unusually fine."

"Yes," she answered, realizing that he had an artistic eye, "they are beautiful—and one sees so many that are not. George brought them from Italy for me. This"—she moved toward a representation in ivory of a Mogul gateway—"is of course a different style, but it's remarkable in its patient elaboration of detail. The mosque's not so fine. Nasmyth sent me the pair from India; he once made a trip to the fringe of the Himalayas."

Lisle examined the object carefully, and she waited with some interest for his comment.

"It's wonderful," he declared. "I suppose it's a truthful copy?"

"I'm inclined to think the man who carved that had not the gift of imagination. He merely reproduced faithfully what he saw."

"Different peoples have strikingly different ways, haven't they?" commented Lisle. "While they were making that small Eastern arch, we'd fling up a thriving wooden town or build a hotel of steel and cement to hold a thousand guests. The biggest bridges that carry our great freight-trains across the roaring gorges in the Rockies cost less labor."

"I should imagine it. What then?"

He studied the carved ivory.

"In a dry climate the original of this would last for centuries—it has lasted since the days of the Moguls—an object of beauty for generations to enjoy. Perhaps those old builders used their time as well as we do. Our works serve their purpose, but one can't call them pretty."

She was pleased with his answer.

"I think that gets the strongest hold on me," he went on, glancing toward the picture of the moor; "it's real!"

There was a hint of diffidence in Millicent's expression.

"But you can hardly judge, can you? You have scarcely seen the English moors."

"I've spent a while on the high Albertan plains, and you have the same things yonder; the vast sweep of sky, the rolling waste running on forever. It's all in that picture; how expressed, I don't know—there are only the grades of color, scarcely a line to gage the distance by. Still, the sense of space is vivid."

Millicent blushed.

"You're an indulgent critic; that drawing is my own."

He did not appear embarrassed, though she saw that he had not suspected the fact. She had already noticed that when he might, perhaps, have looked awkward he only looked serious.

"After what you have said," she resumed, "I'll show you the other things with greater confidence. Do you know, I thought all you Western people were grimly utilitarian?"

He sat down and considered this. The man could laugh readily, but he was also characterized by a certain gravity, which she found refreshing by contrast with the light glibness to which she was more accustomed.

"Well," he reasoned, "in my opinion, the white man's greatest superiority over all other peoples is his capacity for making useful things—even if they're only ugly sawmills or grimy locomotives. Philosophy never fed any one or lightened anybody's toil; commerce is a convenience, but the man who makes a big profit out of it is only levying a heavy toll on somebody else. It seems to me that all our actual benefits come from the constructor."

"Have you been building sawmills?" Millicent asked mischievously.

He laughed with open good-humor. "Oh, no; that's why I'm free to talk. I happened to find a lode with some gold in it, and gold is only a handy means of exchanging things. I'll own that I was probably doing more useful work when I stood up to my waist in ice-water, fitting sharp stones into a pulp-mill dam."

"Perhaps you're right," Millicent agreed, "but it sounds severe. What of the people who never do anything directly useful at all?"

"There are a few who, by just going up and down in it, keep the world sweet and clean. Some of the rest could very well be spared."

"Then you believe that everybody must practically justify his existence?"

"If he fails to do so with us, his existence generally ceases. The wilderness where I found the gold is full of the bones of the unfit."

Millicent spread out some drawings. Most were in color, in some cases several of the same object, done with patient care, and she was strangely pleased when she saw the quick appreciation in his eyes.

"An otter; it's alive," he remarked. "You've shown it working through a shallow, looking much less like an animal than a fish—that's right."

"I made half a dozen sketches, and I'm not satisfied yet."

"Thorough," he commented. "You get there, if you have to hammer the heart out of whatever you're up against."

"It's my brother's book," she answered. "I'm finishing it for him. He did other things—most of them useful, indirectly. I've only this—and I'd like my part to be good."

He nodded sympathetically, looking troubled.

"I can understand," he said. "I had a partner—I owe him more than I could ever have repaid, and he left a troublesome piece of work to me. It will have to be put through. But let me see some more; they're great."

She showed him a red jay; a tiny gold-crest perched on a thorn branch; a kingfisher gleaming with turquoise hues, poised ready for a dive upon a froth-lapped stone. He was no cultured critic, but he knew the ways of the wild creatures and saw that she had talent, for her representations of them were instinct with life.

They were interrupted by a scratching at the door and when she opened it a white setter hobbled awkwardly in and curled itself at her feet.

"He's rather a big dog for the house, but I can't keep him away from me," she explained. "As you see, he has lost a foot, in a trap, and he was marked for destruction when I asked for him. Sometimes I think he knows that I saved his life."

The dog looked up and raising a paw scraped at her hand, until she opened it, when he thrust his chin into her palm. It was a trivial incident, but it somehow stirred the man.

"Now I know where you got power to draw these lesser brethren," he said. "Study alone would never have given it to you."

She let this pass. He was almost embarrassing in his directness, though she acquitted him of any crude intention of flattering her.

"I promised to let you read my brother's diary," she reminded him. "If you will wait a few moments, I'll get it."

The dog pattered after her, as though unwilling to remain out of her sight, and she came back presently with a small leather case and opening it took out a tattered notebook. Noticing how she handled it and that the case was beautifully made, Lisle fancied that it was precious to her, in which he was correct. Indeed, she was then wondering why she had volunteered to show it to this stranger when only two of her intimate friends had seen it.

"Thank you," he said, when she gave it to him; and drawing his chair nearer the window he began to read.

Though he was already acquainted with most of it, the story gripped him. On the surface, it was merely a plain record of a hazardous and laborious journey; but to one gifted with understanding it was more than this—a vivid narrative of a struggle waged against physical suffering, weakness, and hunger, by optimistic human nature. An odd word here, a line or two in another place, was eloquent of simple, steadfast courage and endurance; and even when the weakening man clearly knew that his end was near there was no outbreak of desperation or sign of faltering. He had dragged himself onward to the last, indomitable.

Then Lisle proceeded to examine the book more closely. It showed the effects of exposure to the weather to an unusual degree, considering that the covers were thick and that the rescue party had recovered it shortly after its owner's death. Moreover, Lisle did not think that George Gladwyne would have left it in the snow. Several pages were missing, and having been over the ground, he knew that they recorded the part of the journey during which the two caches of provisions had been made, and he had already decided that there would be a list of their contents. This conclusion was confirmed by the fact that Gladwyne had enumerated the stores they started with, and had once or twice made a reduced list when they had afterward taken stock. The abstraction of the records was clearly Clarence's work. Then he realized that he had spent some time in perusing the diary and he handed it back to Millicent with something that implied a respect for it. She noticed the sparkle in his eyes and her heart warmed toward him.

"It's the greatest story I've ever read," he declared.

She made no answer, but he knew that she was pleased and it filled him with a wish to tell her that she was very much like her dead brother. More he could not have said, but remembering that he had already gone as far as was permissible he had sense enough to repress the inclination. He saw the girl's lips close firmly, as if she were conscious of some emotion, but there was silence for a minute or two. He broke it at length.

"I know that you have granted me a very great privilege, and I'm grateful," he told her, and added, because he thought a partial change of the subject might be considerate: "In a way, it's hard to realize that tale in this restful place. It's easier out yonder, where what you could call the general tone is different."

"Nasmyth once said something like that," Millicent replied. "I suppose the change is marked."

Lisle nodded.

"Here you have order, peace, security. In the wilds, it's all battle, the survival of the strong; frost and ice rending the solid hills, rivers scoring out deep ravines, beast destroying beast, or struggling with starvation. Man's not exempt either; a small blunder—a deer missed or a flour bag lost—may cost him his life. For the difference you have to thank the constructor, the maker of plows and spades and more complex machines."

"That's one of your pet hobbies, isn't it?"

He once more changed the subject.

"I wish that I could show you the wilderness," he said.

Millicent looked thoughtful.

"I should like to see it. I've an idea that if this book is well received I might, perhaps, try something a little more ambitious—the larger beasts and wilder birds of other countries. In that case, I should choose British Columbia."

"Then you will let me be your guide?"

She made a conditional promise, and shortly afterward he left her. Meeting Nasmyth he walked with him toward Gladwyne's house, where they found the guests assembled on the lawn and Mrs. Gladwyne sitting by a tea-table. One or two young women were standing near and several men had gathered about a mat laid upon the grass fifty yards from where a small target had been set up. Lisle joined Bella Crestwick, who detached herself from the others.

"What is this?" he asked. "It's a very short range."

"Miniature rifle shooting," she informed him. "It's becoming popular. Gladwyne has been trying to form a club. My brother Jim is president of some league. He's rather keen and there are reasons why I'm glad of it."

She added the last words confidentially and Lisle ventured to nod. It struck him that a healthy interest in any organized work or amusement would be beneficial to young Crestwick. The girl looked at him, as if considering something; and then she seemed to make up her mind.

"There's one thing I don't like," she complained. "They will shoot for high stakes. Jim isn't a bad shot, but he's too eager. I'm afraid he's inclined to be venturesome just now."

Lisle thought that she had a request to make. There was something about him that inspired confidence, and the girl had made a friend of him.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

She made a sign of impatience; he was too direct. "Oh," she pouted, "aren't you taking a good deal for granted? Still, you bushmen can shoot, can't you?"

"As a rule," Lisle answered. "I almost think I see."

"Then," she retorted, "you shouldn't have said so; you should merely have smiled and acted."

"I'm from the wilds; you mustn't expect too much. Well, if you'll excuse me."

She flashed a grateful glance at him, and he sauntered toward the group of men, among whom Gladwyne stood. There was a sharp crack as he approached them, a thin streak of smoke drifted across the figure lying on the mat, and a man beside it lowered the glasses he held.

"High to the left," he announced. "You're not in good form, Jim. Hadn't you better give up?"

Lisle studied the speaker, whom he had met once or twice already. He was approaching middle-age and was inclined to corpulence, but there was something in his pose that suggested a military training. His face was fleshy, but the features were bold and he was coarsely handsome. As a rule, he affected an easy good-humor, but Lisle had felt that there was something about him which he could best describe as predatory. He occasionally spoke of business ties, so he had an occupation, but he had not in Lisle's hearing mentioned what it was.

Crestwick's face was hot as he answered his remark.

"Not at all, Batley. The trouble is that I'm used to the Roberts target, and the spots on the card are puzzling after the rings. I'll get into it presently."

"Oh, well," acquiesced the other. "As you didn't fix a time limit, we'll go on again, though it's getting tame and I want some tea."

"I'll increase the interest again, if you like," the lad replied.

Lisle joined the group.

"What's it all about?" he asked.

"Batley's a pretty good rifle shot, but if he won't mind my saying so he's a little opinionated," Gladwyne explained. "Crestwick questioned an idea of his, and the end of it was that Batley offered to prove his point—that a stiff pull-off is as good as a light one in practised hands—by backing himself to beat the field. Crestwick took him up, and since the rest of us were obviously out of it, the thing has resolved itself into a match between the two. Crestwick is using an easy-triggered rifle; Batley's has an unusually hard spring."

Lisle considered. Remembering Bella's remarks, he thought it would be easy to lure the lad into a rash bet. He was headstrong and his manners might have been more conciliatory, but Lisle, learning the amount of the stakes, decided that his host should not have let the thing go so far.

"Crestwick doubled several times; he's stubborn and doesn't like to be beaten," Gladwyne resumed. "I had the same ideas when I was as young as he is."

"I've offered to let him off," Batley broke in. "I'd do so now only he's kept me shooting for the last half-hour. As Gladwyne says, he's obstinate, and it's a pity that he's wrong. If he'd trained his wrist-tendons by using a harder trigger, he'd have made a passably good shot."

Lisle was aware that while there was something to be said for Batley's view, Crestwick was justified in contending that the lighter tension was more adapted to the case of the average person; but he recognized that the indulgent manner of the older men was calculated, he thought intentionally, to exasperate the hot-headed lad.

"Well," he observed, addressing Batley, "you have the courage of your convictions if you have offered to maintain them against all comers, which I understand is what you have done."

The man nodded carelessly and Lisle went on:

"After all, since I dare say these gentlemen are more used to the shotgun, your superiority doesn't prove very much."

Crestwick looked around at him quickly.

"Most of you Colonials can use the rifle; do you feel inclined to take him on? You're a dark horse, but I'll double the stakes if he'll throw you in."

This was what Lisle wanted, but he turned to the others.

"I've never had a small rifle in my hands—we use the 44-70, and I must leave you to decide whether my shooting would be fair to Mr. Batley. In that case, I'll put up half the stakes."

The men said there was no reason why he should not join, and Batley made no protest, though Lisle fancied that he was not pleased. Lying down on the mat, he took the light-springed rifle and the six cartridges handed him and fixed his eyes on the target, which was a playing-card pinned to a thick plank. He got the first shot off before he was quite ready—the light pull was new to him—and somebody called that he had touched the left top corner. The next shot was down at the bottom, and the four following marks were scattered about the card. When he got up, Batley looked reassured and proceeded to make a neat pattern around the center of another card. There was no doubt that Crestwick was anxious, and when he took his turn he shot badly. In the meanwhile, the rest of the party on the lawn had gradually gathered round; the eager attitude of the original spectators hinted that something out of the usual course was going on.

Lisle was very cool when he lay down again. A swift, encouraging glance from Bella Crestwick made him determined, and during his previous six shots he had, he thought, learned the right tension on the trigger.

"Wipe it out for me, somebody," he said, holding up the rifle.

Bella seized it and deftly used the rod, regardless of soiled fingers.

"May it bring you luck," she wished, with a defiant glance at Batley, who smiled at her as she returned the weapon.

Then there was a hush of expectancy. Lisle took his time; a sharp crack, a streak of smoke, and Gladwyne raising his glasses, laughed.

"High!" he called. "Top spot!"

It was a three of hearts, and Gladwyne's smile lingered for a moment after Lisle fired again.

"Bottom now; you're low!" he cried, and then his expression slightly changed. Both spots were drilled out—this did not look altogether like an accident.

"Center!" he announced after another shot, and all the faces surrounding him became intent. The three hearts were neatly punched.

"A fresh card!" exclaimed Crestwick, looking around at Batley with an exultant sparkle in his eyes. "You offered to let me off. Shall I return the compliment?"

The man laughed carelessly, though Lisle thought it cost him an effort.

"No," he retorted; "I can't show myself less of a sportsman than you are; but I think I've the option of demanding a longer range. Move the mat back twenty-five yards and put up an ace of spades; it's the plainest. Three shots each should suffice at the distance."

Crestwick got down and thrice touched the outside of the card; Batley did better, for two shots broke the edge of the black and one was close above them. It was good shooting at so small a mark, and Lisle was a little anxious as he very deliberately stretched himself out on the mat. Having little of the gambler's instinct in his nature, he was reluctant to lose the money at stake, but he was more unwilling to let Batley fleece the lad whom, as he recognized now, he had been asked to aid. He meant to do so, if the thing were possible, and twice he paused and relaxed his grip when his sight grew slightly blurred.

Then there was a sharp crack, and he smiled when he heard Gladwyne's report.

"I can't see it. These are only opera-glasses."

Dead silence followed the next shot, which left no visible mark on the target; and Lisle did not look around as he thrust his last cartridge into the rifle. He let it lie beside him for half a minute while he opened and shut his right hand, and then, taking it up quickly, fired. Still there was no blur on the white surface of the card and Gladwyne sharply shut his glasses, while two of the onlookers ran toward the target. They came back in silence and one significantly held up the ace. There were three small holes in the black center.

Gladwyne had turned away when Lisle got up, but Batley concealed his feelings very well.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed. "As I can't beat that, the only thing left me is to pay up."

Lisle turned to Crestwick, who looked hot and excited.

"You made the bet," he said. "Will you use my half in buying a competition cup for one of your clubs?"

He saw Batley's smile and a somewhat curious look in Gladwyne's face, but the group broke up and he strolled back across the lawn with Bella.

"I'm grateful," she said softly. "I was a little afraid at first that I was asking too much of you."

Lisle met her glance with a good assumption of surprise.

"Grateful? Because I indulged in a rather enjoyable match?"

She laughed.

"You learn rapidly. But I'd better say in excuse that I didn't think I'd involved you in a very serious risk. He hasn't your eyes and hands—one couldn't expect it. You don't need pick-me-ups in the morning, do you?"

Lisle was slightly embarrassed. This girl's knowledge of life was too extensive, and he would have preferred that she should exhibit it to somebody else.

"Well," she concluded as they approached the tea-table, "my thanks are yours, even if you don't value them."

"What do you expect me to say?" he asked, regarding her with some amusement and appreciation. She was alluringly pretty in her rather elaborate light dress.

"Yes," she smiled mockingly, disregarding his question; "these things become me better than the tweeds, don't they? They make one look nice and soft and fluffy; but that's deceptive. You see, I can scratch; in fact, I felt I could have scratched Batley badly if I'd got the chance. There's another hint for you—make what you like of it."

Then with a laugh she swung round and left him, puzzled.



CHAPTER XI

CRESTWICK GIVES TROUBLE

The little room in Marple's house, where the Crestwicks were staying, was hot and partly filled with cigar smoke which drifted in filmy streaks athwart the light of the green-shaded hanging-lamp. Lisle sat beneath the lamp, studying the cards in his hand, until he leaned back in his chair and flung a glance about the table. There were no counters on it, but Gladwyne had just noted something in a little book and was waiting with a languid smile upon his handsome face. Next to him sat Batley, looking thoughtful; and Crestwick sat opposite Lisle, eager and unhealthily flushed. His forehead showed damp in the lamplight and there was an unpleasant glitter in his eyes. It was close on to midnight and luck had gone hard against him during the past hour, half of which Lisle had spent in his company. This had cost Lisle more money than he was willing to part with.

"It's getting late," he said with a yawn. "After this hand, I'll drop out; I dare say one of the other two will take my place. Crestwick, I believe your sister and Miss Leslie will be waiting. You're going with them, aren't you?"

The lad, turning in his chair, reached toward a near-by table on which there were bottles and siphons, and took a glass from it. He had been invited to join a shooting party at a house in the neighborhood and was to spend the night there.

"Oh!" he exclaimed with some irritation; "Bella's always in such an unreasonable hurry. The others can't be going yet. I think I hear Flo Marple singing."

A voice from somewhere below reached them through the open door. It was a good voice, but the words were a silly jingle and the humor in them could not be considered delicate. Lisle, glancing at Gladwyne, noticed his slight frown, but one of the two young men lounging by the second table watching the game hummed the refrain with an appreciative smile upon his heavy and somewhat fatuous face.

"They'll take half an hour to get ready," declared Batley. "Better play out this round, anyhow."

They laid down their cards in turn and then Crestwick noisily thrust his chair back.

"Another knock-out!" he exclaimed savagely. "I don't like to get up so far behind. Shall we double on another deal?"

"As you like," returned Batley. "You're plucky, considering the cards you've had; but if Fortune's fickle, she's supposed to favor a determined suitor."

It was innocent enough, but Lisle fancied that there was sufficient flattery in the speech to incite the headstrong lad, who had now emptied the glass at his hand. He remembered that on another occasion when there had been a good deal at stake, Batley had played on Crestwick's feelings, though in a slightly different manner. Whether or not the young man lost more than he could afford was, in one way, no concern of Lisle's, and he did not find him in the least attractive; but half an hour previously Bella had met him in the hall and had hinted, with a troubled look, that she would appreciate it if he could get her brother away. It was this that accounted for the Canadian's presence in the card-room.

"I'm going, anyway," he said, taking out some notes and gold and laying them down. "There has been a smart shower and you had better remember that Miss Leslie walked over—the roads will be wet. As you know, I promised to take the girls back in Nasmyth's trap, and he won't thank me if I keep his groom up."

Crestwick grumbled and hesitated, and he grew rather red in face as he turned to Batley.

"I've only these two notes," he explained. "Expected all along I'd pull up even. Will you arrange things? See you about it when I come back."

Batley nodded carelessly, and the lad stood up, looking irresolutely at the table.

"Fact is," he went on, "I'd like to get straight before I go. I'm in pretty heavy for one night; another round might do something to set me straight."

"Gladwyne and I are quite willing to give you your chance," was Batley's quick reply; but Lisle unceremoniously laid his hand on Crestwick's shoulder.

"Come along," he urged, laughing. "Luck's against you; you've had quite enough."

He had the lad out of the door in another moment, and looking back from the landing he saw a curious look in Gladwyne's face which he thought was one of disgust. Batley, however, was frowning openly; and the two men's expressions had a meaning for him. He was inclined to wonder whether he had used force too ostensibly in ejecting the lad; but, after all, that did not very much matter—his excuse was good enough. As they went down the stairs, Crestwick turned to him, hot and angry.

"It strikes me you're pretty officious! Never saw you until two or three weeks ago," he muttered. "Not accustomed to being treated in that offhand manner. It's Colonial, I suppose!"

"Sorry," Lisle apologized with a smile. "I've an idea that you'll be grateful when you cool off. You've been going it pretty strong to-night."

"That's true," agreed the other with a show of pride. "Kept on raising them; made things lively!"

"Found it expensive, didn't you?" Lisle suggested; and as they reached the foot of the stairs he led his companion toward the door. "Suppose we take a turn along the terrace before we look for your sister."

Crestwick went with him, but presently he stopped and leaned on the low wall.

"Do you ever feel inclined for a flutter on the stock-market?" he inquired. "There's a thing Batley put me on to—there'll be developments in a month or two; it's going to a big premium. Let you have a hundred shares at par. Rather in a hole, temporarily."

Lisle had no intention of buying the stock, but he asked a few questions. It appeared that it had been issued by a new company formed to grow coffee and rubber in the tropics.

"No," he said; "a deal of that kind is out of my line. Why not sell them through a broker and get your full profit?"

"It would take some days," answered the other. "Besides, they won't move up until the directors let things out at the next meeting. Something of that kind, anyway; I forget—Batley explained it." He paused and added irritably: "Believe I told you I'm in a hole."

"You must meet your losses and don't know how to manage it?"

Lisle was curious and had no diffidence about putting the question, though the lad was obviously off his guard.

"I can raise the money right enough—Batley'll see to that; but I'd sooner do it another way. The interest's high enough to make one think, and in this case I'm paying it on money he's putting into his pocket."

There was a good deal to be inferred from this reply, but Lisle considered before he spoke again.

"You're twenty-one, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes," assented the lad, "but the trustees keep hold until I'm twenty-four."

He turned with quick suspicion to the Canadian.

"I don't see what that has to do with you!"

"It isn't very obvious," Lisle agreed. "Shall we go in?"

They found Bella in the hall, and when her brother went to get-his coat she walked out on to the terrace with Lisle.

"Thank you," she said gratefully when they were out of sight from the hall. "It was a relief to see you had succeeded in getting him away."

"I'm sorry I was unable to do so sooner," Lisle replied.

"Ah! Then he has been losing heavily again?"

"I'm afraid so. I couldn't make my interference too marked." Obeying some impulse, he laid his hand on her arm. "Rather a handful for you, isn't he?"

Bella nodded, making no attempt to shake off his grasp.

"Yes," she acknowledged with some bitterness; "but I can hardly complain that I have no control over him. It would be astonishing if I had." She broke into a little harsh laugh. "Anyway, I manage to keep my head, and do not deceive myself, as he does. I know what our welcome's worth and what the few people whose opinion counts for anything think of us."

"Well," offered Lisle, "if I can be of service in any respect—"

"Thanks," she interrupted, and turned back toward the door.

When they reached the hall she glanced at her companion as the light fell on his face.

"Your offer's genuine," she said impulsively. "I can't see what you expect in return."

Lisle was puzzled by her expression. She was variable in her moods, generally somewhat daring, and addicted to light mockery. He could not tell whether she spoke in bitterness or in mischief.

"No," he replied gravely, "nor do I."

She left him with a laugh; and a little later he drove her and her companions away and afterward returned to Nasmyth's house to find that his host had retired. Lisle followed his example and rising early the next morning they set off for the river, up which the sea-trout were running. They were busy all morning and it was not until noon, when they lay in the sunshine eating their lunch on a bank of gravel, that either of them made any allusion to the previous evening.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?" Nasmyth asked.

"Fairly," Lisle responded, smiling. "I've already confessed that you people interest me. At the same time, I had my difficulties—first of all to explain to the Marples why you didn't come. The reasons you gave didn't sound convincing."

"They were good enough. It's probable that Marple understood them. Like most of my neighbors, I go once or twice in a year; his subscription to the otter hounds entitles him to that."

"We don't look at things in that way in the parts of Canada I'm acquainted with," laughed Lisle.

"Then I've no doubt you'll come to it," Nasmyth replied with some dryness. "They've done so already in the older cities. Now—since you're fond of candor—you have been glad to earn a dollar or two a day by chopping and shoveling, haven't you? Have you felt left out in the cold at all during the little while you have spent among us?"

"Not in the least," Lisle owned.

"Then you can infer what you like from that. In this country, we take a good deal for granted and avoid explanations. But you haven't said anything about the proceedings at Marple's. I suppose you were invited to take a hand at cards?"

"I invited myself; result, sixty dollars to the bad in half an hour. I used to hold my own in our mining camps, and I hadn't the worst cards."

Nasmyth laughed with unconcealed enjoyment.

"The only fault I have to find with you Westerners is that you're rather apt to overrate yourselves. I suppose they let young Crestwick in a good deal deeper?"