Gladwyne's face burned, he looked savage, but Batley continued to watch him with an ironical smile.

"I don't want to drive you too hard, but I'm only stating an obvious fact," he concluded. "Now I'll leave you to think it over while I interview the porter of the sleeping-car."



CHAPTER XXVIII

CLARENCE REACHES CAMP

The evening was dull and gloomy, a gray sky hung over the desolate hills, and Millicent, sitting alone on a rocky slope, felt troubled and depressed. Beneath her, the long hollow that crossed the big divide stretched back, colored in cheerless neutral tints, into drifting mist. It was sprinkled with little ponds, and banded here and there with belts of stunted trees, small birches and willows, and ragged cedars that hid the oozy muskegs under them.

The girl was worn with travel, for Lisle had abandoned the canoes some time ago, and the party had followed, by what he called easy stages, the trail he and the packers had broken, though the women had found the way hard enough. This, he had informed them, would shorten the journey a good deal, and he expected to fall in with some Indians, from whom canoes could be obtained, once they had crossed the divide; failing this, they might be compelled to retrace their steps.

It was up the forbidding hollow they had lately reached that George Gladwyne had doggedly plodded, faint with hunger, on his last journey. Millicent had followed his trail for the past two days and she had found them filled with painful memories. All that Lisle had shown her had brought back her brother and once more she mourned for him. But that was an old wound that had partly healed and she could face the sorrowful story of George's last struggles with a certain pride; he had endured with unwavering courage, and the manner of his death became him. The girl had other troubles which clouded the present and filled her with misgivings for the future.

During her first few weeks in the wilderness, lying all day under clear sunshine and cloudless skies, it had seemed to her an enchanted land. Snow-peaks, and crystal lakes that mirrored ranks of climbing firs, struck her as endowed with an almost unearthly beauty and as wonderful a tranquillity; and when she pushed on through the savage portals of the mountains there was something that stirred her nature in the sight of the foaming rivers and the roar of the spray-veiled falls. Now, however, the glamour had gone, it had been rudely banished on the night when Lisle had helped her down the rocks. She, who had allowed Clarence to believe that she would marry him, had found a strange delight in the company of another man; one whom she might have loved had she been free, she tried to convince herself, in a determined attempt to hide the fact that her heart cried out for him.

Lisle had pushed on with a single companion on the previous night to see if he could obtain canoes; the packers were breaking a trail, and the others were resting in camp. Millicent was glad of this, for she wanted to be alone. Suddenly, as she looked down the hollow, two indistinct figures appeared out of the mist. The packers had gone up the valley, but there was no doubt that it was two men she saw, and they were apparently making for the camp. As the party had met nobody since entering the wilderness, she felt curious about the strangers. There was something in the carriage of one of them that seemed familiar; and then the uneasiness of which she had already been conscious became intensified as she recognized that he walked like Clarence.

A few minutes later the men were hidden by a growth of willows and she sped back to camp, scrambling among the rocks with a haste that was born of nervous tension. She did not see the men again—it was needful to pick a path down the steep descent very carefully—and when she came, breathless, upon the clump of birches among which the tents were pitched it was evident from the hum of voices that the strangers had already arrived. Pushing in among the trees, she stopped, with her heart beating unpleasantly fast, face to face with Clarence.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, moving forward to meet her; "now I'm rewarded for my journey. How fit and brown you look, Millicent!"

She stood still a moment, with an expressionless face, finding no words to say; then with an effort she roused herself and shook hands with him.

"You must have had a trying march if you followed our trail," she said. "But how did you get here—I mean why did you leave Switzerland?"

Crestwick chuckled.

"That's very much what we all asked him," he broke in. "In one way, it's hardly civil; if we'd known he was coming, we'd have been better prepared to express our delight."

The lad was not, as a rule, considerate and he suffered from want of tact, but there was truth behind what he said. It is given to only a few to be sure of a warm and sincere welcome when they take their friends by surprise. Nasmyth frowned at Crestwick, who had rashly hinted at the feeling of constraint that had seized upon the party. Millicent, however, was looking at Gladwyne and her heart grew softer as she noticed his weariness and his strained expression.

"Well," she said when he had answered her, "you must sit down and rest. Nasmyth and Crestwick will get you something to eat as soon as possible."

It was not what she would have wished to say—it sounded dreadfully commonplace—but Batley came forward with an easy laugh.

"I'm afraid our young friend"—he indicated Crestwick—"is not a diplomatist, but on the whole his fault's a good one; he's more or less honest. You'll forgive us for surprising you; it was quite impossible to send you a warning."

Millicent smiled, the tension suddenly slackened, and as the packer who cooked was away with his comrade, they all set about preparing a meal which, thanks to Batley, was eaten amid a flow of lively conversation. The man was weary, but he could rise to an occasion and summon to his aid a genial wit. Clarence was glad of this; fatigue had reacted on him, increasing his anxiety, and he had been chilled by the coldness of his reception. Even the cordiality his companions now displayed was suspicious, because it suggested that they wished to atone for something that had previously been lacking. He ate, however, and talked when he found an opportunity, and afterward acquiesced when Millicent declined to be drawn away from the others.

When the meal was finished, they sat close together about the fire, for coldness came with the dusk, but by degrees the conversation languished. The increasing chill, the gloom and the desolation of their surroundings affected them all; and nobody had been quite at ease since Gladwyne's arrival. He was too tired to make more than spasmodic attempts to talk, and though Millicent was sorry for him she could not help contrasting him with Lisle. She had seen the latter almost worn out with severe labor, but even then he had been cheerful, ready to encourage his companions with lively badinage. He seemed to take pleasure in forcing his body to the utmost strain it could bear.

The light had died away into the partial obscurity which would last until sunrise when Lisle walked into camp. The fire had burned up, and Millicent saw his start and his face set hard at the sight of Gladwyne.

"This is a surprise," he said. "When did you get here?"

"About two hours ago. We found where you left the water and followed up your trail," Gladwyne answered.

"How many packers and what stores did you bring?"

"Two packers," replied Gladwyne. "There were no more available at the last settlement. Batley has a list of the provisions—we cut them down as much as possible. As we were anxious to overtake you, we traveled light."

Lisle took the list Batley gave him and examined it by the glow of the fire.

"It looks as if you didn't mind endangering the safety of the whole party," he broke out. "This expedition is already quite large enough, and you add four people to it with less than half the necessary stores, so that you could save yourself a little trouble on the journey! What's more important, we can't make up for the shortage by better speed. Only two of you can pack an average load, though all four must be fed."

Millicent had listened, hot with anger and a little surprised. Lisle had his faults, including a shortness of temper, but he was now showing a strain of what she considered primitive barbarism which he had hitherto concealed. A cultured Englishman would have led Clarence aside or waited for an opportunity before remonstrating with him; and then her face burned as she wondered whether Lisle had been actuated by savage jealousy. It was, however, insufferable that he should display it in this fashion.

"I must point out that I organized the expedition," she said. "Everybody here is my guest."

"Did you invite Gladwyne and Batley?"

"I did not," Millicent was compelled to own. "For all that, they are now in the same position as the rest. I must ask you to remember it."

Lisle had some trouble in controlling himself, but he nodded. "Well," he responded, "I'll have to alter several of our arrangements and I'll go along and talk it over with the packers. I've got the canoes required, and we'll take the trail at seven to-morrow."

He strode away toward the packers' fire, quite aware that he had not behaved in a very seemly way, but still consumed with indignation against Gladwyne. When he had disappeared, Clarence looked up.

"I'm sorry if we have given you unnecessary trouble; but does your guide often adopt that rather hectoring tone?"

His languid contempt roused Crestwick.

"Lisle's responsible for the safety of all of us," the lad broke out, "and you haven't shown much regard for it in making your loads as light as you could!"

Millicent raised her hand.

"We'll talk about something else for a few minutes and then break up. It's an early start to-morrow."

They dispersed shortly afterward, but Batley sought Lisle before retiring to rest.

"I regret that we have added to your anxiety," he began. "Of course, transport is a serious difficulty—I've had some little experience of this kind of thing."

"In the field?" Lisle asked bluntly. "I've had a suspicion of it. Then why didn't you remember?" He saw Batley's smile, for they were standing by the packers' fire. "Oh," he added, "you needn't trouble to shield Gladwyne. I formed my opinion of him some time ago—he's a mighty poor specimen."

"I'm inclined to agree with you," replied Batley dryly.

They set off early the next morning, and after his forced march, Gladwyne found the load given him sufficiently heavy. He was badly jaded, aching all over, and disturbed in mind, when they camped near the summit of the divide late in the afternoon without his having been able to secure a word with Millicent alone. He felt that he must gain her consent to a formal engagement before Lisle let fall any hint of his suspicions, which he did not believe had been done so far. Afterward, knowing Millicent, he thought she would staunchly refuse to listen to anything to his discredit, and he could, if it were needful, ascribe Lisle's attack to jealousy. He must, however, also contrive to push on ahead of the party, on some excuse, and obliterate any remaining trace of the former expedition's provision caches; then he would be safe.

Millicent had strolled away from the others and was standing among the rocks when he overtook her. The signs of fatigue and tension in his face softened her toward him. Still, it was only compassion; she felt no thrill, but rather an involuntary shrinking and a sense of alarm. She was to be called upon to fulfil a duty to which she had somehow pledged herself.

"Millicent," he began, "things can't go on as they have been doing—pleasant as it was. I have waited patiently, but you can't expect too much. Now I have come a long way to claim my reward. I want the right to look after you, and to tell the others so."

His abruptness and hoarseness were expressive, but she felt that there was something lacking and she answered with a flippancy she seldom indulged in.

"You thought it needful to bring your privy counselor with you?"

"No; he came without even asking my permission."

"Well," she said, sitting down with forced calmness, "it doesn't matter; but are you quite sure now that you really want me?"

There was no doubt that he was desperately anxious for her formal word; there was a feverish eagerness in his eyes. It puzzled her, but it left her unmoved and cold.

"Want you!" he cried. "Can you ask? Haven't I constantly shown my devotion?"

"For the last few months—I mean after Lisle went back to Canada," she replied with gathering color. "Before then, for a time, I think one could reasonably have doubted it."

He looked confused; that Bella had attracted him had been obvious, and there was no way of getting over the fact gracefully.

"I'm afraid I have my weaknesses—want of balance, impulsiveness, and a capacity for being easily piqued," he confessed. "Well, though perhaps I deserved it, you were cold and aloof enough to madden a more patient man, and I suppose I slackly yielded to wounded vanity. All the time, you were the one I had chosen, the only woman who had ever really stirred or could influence me. Nearly as long as I can remember I have loved and respected you. Occasionally you unbent enough to show me that you recognized it."

There was some truth in this, and seeing the change in her expression, he went on:

"You can't cast me off and fling me back upon myself—I couldn't face that. During those last few months in England, you helped me forward far more than you suspected—showed me my duties, enabled me to carry them out. I can't go on alone; I'm your responsibility; having taken it up, you can't deny it now."

Millicent smiled faintly.

"No," she admitted; "I suppose that would be hardly fair."

He would have thrown his arm about her, but she laid a hand on his shoulder and with gentle firmness held him back.

"No," she said, with a deep color in her face; "not yet. We have been associated as cousins; I must get used to the new position."

He had wit enough to yield, but he kissed her hands exultantly.

"It's a pledge! I may tell the others?"

"Yes," she consented quietly, "I think you may."

For a while he sat at her feet, with her hand on his shoulder, talking about the future, and she was sensible of a certain calm satisfaction which had in it more than a trace of resignation. She had not shirked her duty, she was safe from temptation, and she had after all a sincere, half-pitying tenderness for the man. Her liking for him would, she thought, grow stronger, and the passion which Lisle had once or twice half awakened in her was a thing to be subdued and dreaded. Though Gladwyne saw that she was but lightly moved, he was content, and some time had passed when they went slowly back together to the camp.

Miss Hume was the first to notice them and when Millicent smiled she went hastily forward and kissed her. Then Bella joined them and Batley offered his good wishes in fitting terms. When Lisle and Nasmyth came up, a word from Bella was sufficient for them. For a moment the girl was startled by what she read in the Canadian's face. It was, however, invisible to Millicent. Turning suddenly round without speaking he strode away, followed by Nasmyth. Stopping when he was hidden from the camp among the rocks Lisle turned savagely to his companion.

"You heard what Bella said!"

"I did!" replied Nasmyth. "The hound! It must be stopped!"

"Yes," asserted Lisle, more coolly, "that's a sure thing. Still, there are difficulties—she may not believe my story now. I almost think I'll wait until we reach the two caches; then with something to back my statements, I might force the truth from him."

"In that case, you had better watch him," warned Nasmyth, looking deeply disturbed. "He may try to reach them first."

The next moment Crestwick joined them.

"What's to be done, Vernon?" he exclaimed. "Miss Gladwyne's engagement's formally announced—it can't go on!"

"Why?" Lisle's voice was stern. "What has it to do with you?"

"Well," explained Crestwick, hesitating, "the man's not to be trusted, he's dangerous. He simply can't be allowed to make this match!" He paused and spread out his hands. "I'm horribly troubled about it—I'd better tell you that I know—"

"You know nothing that need be mentioned," Lisle interrupted him. "That's positive; you have to remember it. As to the rest, you'll leave the matter entirely in my hands."

"Oh, well," agreed Crestwick, "if you order it. That relieves me of my responsibility. I'm uncommonly glad to get rid of it."

Lisle abruptly strode away, and Crestwick saw that Nasmyth was regarding him curiously.

"Lisle was quite right," Nasmyth said. "He only forestalled me in instructions I meant to give you."

"Then you understand what I was referring to?" exclaimed Crestwick.

"I've a good idea," Nasmyth answered dryly. "In my opinion, so has Lisle."

"But you were on the far side of the hedge on the morning we tried the horse, and Lisle was down. He wasn't conscious when I broke through the thorns."

"Quite correct; but it's most unlikely he lost consciousness from the fall, and he was lying with his face turned toward the jump—it wasn't until the chestnut came down on his shoulder that he was badly hurt. The doctor agreed with me on that point."

"That might have struck me," Crestwick rejoined. "But you owned that you had an idea of what happened at the jump. How did you get it? Did Lisle tell you?"

Nasmyth smiled grimly.

"I'm firmly convinced that he'll never mention what he saw or suspects to anybody, unless it's to Gladwyne. As to the rest, the hedge wasn't thick enough to prevent my seeing through it."

"He's an unusual man," declared Crestwick in an admiring tone. "I haven't met his equal. But I'll keep my eye on Gladwyne—there's risk enough at some of the rapids—the hound shan't have another chance if I can help it."

They turned and went back to camp, but on reaching it they sat down among the packers, avoiding Gladwyne and Millicent.



CHAPTER XXIX

A BOLD SCHEME

The sense of security which Millicent experienced on announcing her engagement was not permanent and in a few days the doubts that had troubled her crept back into her mind. She had never entertained any marked illusions about Clarence and although, now that she was irrevocably pledged to him, she endeavored to fix her thoughts on his most likable qualities, even these appeared in a less favorable light than they had formerly done. The growth of the warmer attachment she had expected to feel was strangely slow, and though it was early to indulge in regrets her heart sometimes grew heavy as she looked forward to the future. Clarence was considerate, attentive and deferential in a polished way, but he lacked something one looked for in a lover. Besides, she was anxious about him; he looked worn, his manner suggested that he was bearing a strain, but this was in his favor, for it roused her compassion. She fancied that the cause of it was financial, and this in a sense was encouraging, because this was a trouble from which she could purchase him immunity.

In the meanwhile she was stirred by mournful memories as she followed the last stages of her brother's journey and visited the lonely spot where he had met his end. Somehow the thought of him encouraged her—George had quietly done his duty, regardless of the cost, and even if her burden proved heavy, which it was premature to admit, she must bear it cheerfully.

At length they stopped one evening at a portage, and Lisle examined the stores.

"The food's getting short," he announced. "One or two of you had better take out your rifles the first thing to-morrow, while the rest go fishing. I'll tackle the portage with two packers."

He began his work at sunrise the next morning and it was toward evening when Crestwick came back exultant with a blacktail buck. Nasmyth was fishing near the camp and Lisle was busy with a canoe near by.

"Where are the rest? How have they got on?" Lisle asked.

"I think Batley went back to the last reach with Carew's rod," Crestwick answered. "I met Gladwyne and one of the packers on the low range back yonder; they'd only got a blue grouse."

"I could have done with the man here," said Lisle. "Which way were they heading?"

"Back up-river, the way we came."

Lisle made no comment, but Crestwick thought he found the information reassuring, and thrusting out the canoe he was swept away down the easiest part of the rapid, while Crestwick assisted Nasmyth to land a trout. Lisle had returned to the camp when the packer who had accompanied Clarence came in alone, bringing a couple of grouse.

"What's become of Mr. Gladwyne?" Lisle asked him.

"Hasn't he got back?" replied the other, glancing about. "I lost him on the far slope of the bluff about noon, but as he could see the river most anywhere from the top I went right on. There was a deer trail I was trying to follow."

Lisle said nothing more to the packer but walked rapidly toward where the cook was getting supper ready. Nasmyth followed him.

"Did you give Mr. Gladwyne any lunch to carry with him when he left camp?" Lisle asked the man.

"I was busy when he came along and I told him to look around for himself. I think he took some canned stuff and there was quite a big loaf missing."

"Bring the box you keep the canned goods in!"

The cook produced it.

"There's two meat cans gone, anyway," he remarked. "Looks as if Mr. Gladwyne figured on getting mighty hungry."

Lisle nodded.

"Put me up enough bread and fish for two of us for two days."

He moved away with Nasmyth, and they had left the fire behind when he spoke, his voice hoarse with anger.

"Gladwyne's gone to the cache! He's got half a day's clear start of us and he knows the country. It's pretty open and he'll make quite a good pace on a straight trail, while the river bends. Get the stuff I asked for while I give the others a few instructions."

"You mean to start after him at once?"

"As soon as you're ready," Lisle said shortly.

He turned back toward where the others were sitting waiting for supper.

"As Gladwyne hasn't turned up, Nasmyth and I are going to look for him," he announced. "There's nothing to be alarmed about, but it's quite likely we may not be back in the morning. If we don't turn up by noon, you had better start down-river and we'll pick you up farther on. I don't want to waste another day."

"Do you think he has got lost altogether?" Millicent asked anxiously.

"No," answered Lisle, in a reassuring manner. "Still, some of these ridges are bad to climb and quite a lot of things may happen to delay him."

He called to a packer and gave him definite orders to take the party down-river and wait at a spot agreed upon; and a few minutes later he and Nasmyth left the camp.

Shortly afterward Batley came in.

"Where are the others?" he asked.

They told him and he looked thoughtful.

"So Lisle started at once! Which way did he and Nasmyth go?"

"Up the ridge behind us, but they turned down-stream when they reached the top," Carew replied.

Batley scented a mystery.

"Well," he said, "I think I'll go after them; I might be useful. Of course, you'll start to-morrow as Lisle told you, and if I'm not back by then, I'll follow the river to the rendezvous he mentioned."

He disappeared, as did Crestwick, who came in for supper later on, and as the packers had pitched their tent lower down, there was now only Carew left with the women in camp. They were all a little uneasy as dusk grew near; the haste with which the men had set out one after another struck them as ominous. Bella's mind was unusually active, for she had promptly decided that there was something behind all this, and when at last Millicent strolled away from the others she followed her to the edge of the water. A ridge of rock cut them off from view of the camp and though she fancied that Millicent was not pleased to see her, Bella sat down upon a stone.

"In a way, the anxiety that Lisle and the rest have shown to find Clarence is flattering," she began, expressing part of her thoughts. "I wonder if they'd all have gone off in such a hurry if Jim had got lost."

"Your brother knows the bush," returned Millicent, hiding her fears.

Bella did not respond to this. She had decided that Millicent must not be allowed to marry Gladwyne, but she could not bring herself to denounce the man. If that must be done, somebody else would have to undertake the task. At the same time, she felt it incumbent on her to give the girl some warning, or at least to find out how far her confidence in her lover went, in order to determine how advice could best be offered.

"I wonder if you feel quite sure you will be happy with Clarence?" she ventured.

"You have provoked the retort—were you convinced that you would be happy with Arthur Carew, when you made up your mind to marry him so suddenly?"

Bella's smile expressed forbearance. It was getting dark, but she could see the hot flush in her companion's cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. Neither was encouraging, but Bella was not easily, daunted, and she felt that her persistence was really meritorious, considering that until lately Millicent had never been cordial to her.

"Perhaps I'd better answer," she said sweetly. "I was sure of Arthur, and that means a good deal more than that I knew he was in love with me—I don't suppose you heard that he'd proposed to me once before?"

"Why didn't you take him then?" Millicent asked coldly. "Remember you have justified my being personal."

Bella grew rather hot—when Carew had made his first offer she had been in eager pursuit of Gladwyne—but she sternly suppressed a desire to retaliate.

"I don't think we need go into that," she replied. "As I said, I was sure of Arthur—I knew his character, knew he was better than I am, that he could be depended on. He's the kind of man one is safe with; I felt that the more I saw of him, the more I could trust him. Perhaps the feeling's a safer guide than passion—it stands longer wear—and now I'm getting to like him better every day."

Her voice dropped to a tender note and Millicent felt a little astonished, and ashamed of her harshness. This was a new Bella, one in whose existence she could hardly have believed.

"I haven't quite finished, though I don't often talk like this," Bella went on. "I feel that without the confidence I've tried to describe marriage must be a terrible risk—one might find such ugly qualities in the man; even defects you could forgive beforehand would become so much worse when you had to suffer because of them. Of course, one can't expect perfection, but there ought to be something—honor, a good heart, a generous mind—that one can rely on as a sure foundation. When you have that, you can build, and even then the building may be difficult." She paused before she concluded: "My dear, I'm happier than I deserve to be; I have chosen wisely."

Nothing more was said for a few minutes, but Bella, studying her companion's face, was more or less content. Millicent's faith in Clarence was weak, she was forcing herself to believe in him; it might be possible to make her see her lover in his true character, though Bella had not yet determined on the exact course she would adopt. Then Carew called from the camp and she went back, while Millicent sat still with grave doubts in her heart. Bella's faith in her husband was warranted, and Millicent was enough of an optimist to believe that such men were not uncommon—there was Lisle, for example, and Nasmyth. With them one would undoubtedly have something to build a happy and profitable life upon—but what could be done with one in whom there was no foundation, only the shifting sands of impulses, or, perhaps, unsounded depths of weakness into which the painfully-raised edifice might crumble? She stove to convince herself that she was becoming wickedly hypercritical, thinking treasonably of her lover, particularly in contrasting him with her guide. There must be no more of that, and she rose and walked back to her tent with a resolution that cost her an effort.

In the meanwhile Lisle and Nasmyth were pushing on as fast as possible along the stony summit of the ridge. There was moonlight, which made it a little easier, but they stumbled every now and then. Here and there they were forced to scramble down the sides of a gully and on reaching the bottom to plunge into water, and once they had to scramble some distance shut in by the rocks before they could find a means of ascending. Still, they were hard and inured to fatigue, and they never slackened the pace. When striding along a stretch of smoother ground Nasmyth gathered breath to speak.

"We were easily taken in," he declared; "though the thing was cunningly planned. Gladwyne took the packer with him and headed back at first, to divert suspicion. It would be easy enough to lose the man and turn down-stream again; and that he intended something of the kind is proved by his taking so much food with him. No doubt, he'd rather have avoided that, in case it looked suspicious, but he's had one hungry march over the same ground, and I dare say it was quite enough. Besides, he could defy us once he'd emptied and obliterated the caches."

"You understand the way your people's minds work better than I do," Lisle returned dryly.

"That's natural, isn't it? The idea that I'm most impressed with just now is that Millicent might believe it her duty to stick to Clarence more closely because of a tale that was merely damaging. She would never allow herself or anybody else to credit it, unless she had absolutely convincing proof."

"Yes," agreed Lisle; "I guess you're right. That's precisely why we have got to get there first."

A thicket of thorny vines and canes barred his way, but he went straight at the midst of it and struggled through, savagely smashing and rending down the brush. The clothes he had borrowed from Carew looked considerably the worse for wear when he came out; and then he recklessly leaped across a dark cleft the bottom of which he could not see. Presently they left the ridge and headed away from the river, which flowed round a wide curve, and toward dawn they were brought up by a ravine. The roar of water rose hoarsely from its depths. The moon was getting low and the silvery light did not reach far down the opposite side, but they could see a sheer, smooth wall of rock, and the width of the chasm rendered any attempt to jump it out of the question.

"No way of getting across here," decided Lisle. "At the same time, it looks as if Gladwyne must be held up on the same side that we are. We'll follow the canon; down-stream, I think."

The moonlight was getting dimmer, but, at some risk of falling into the rift, they pushed on along the brink, looking down as they went. They could see no means of descending, but at length, when rocks and trees were getting blacker and a little more distinct in the chilly dawn, they made out a fallen trunk with broken white branches lying upon a tall mass of rock below.

"I've an idea that the top of that tree reached across to this side when it first came down," Lisle said. "Have you got a match?"

Nasmyth had brought a few carefully-treasured wax matches with him, and he lighted one. It was very still, except for the roar of the hidden torrent, and the pale flame burned steadily in the motionless cold air. It showed a couple of hollows, where something had rested, close to the edge of the rift, and one or two fresh scratches on a strip of rock. Lisle stooped down beside them.

"Hold the thing lower!" he exclaimed sharply. "It's as I suspected—this is where Gladwyne got across; though he has better nerves than I thought he had. The broken end of a branch or two rested right here, and he was smart enough to heave the butt off the other bank, after he'd crawled over. Looks to me as if it had broken off yonder stump. Guess there'll be light enough to look for a way across in half an hour."

Sitting down he filled his pipe, and shortly afterward he raised one hand as if listening. For a while, Nasmyth could hear nothing except the roar of water; there was not a sound that he could catch in the thin straggling bush behind them where few trails of mist were stretched athwart the trees. Then he started as a faint crackling and snapping began in the distance.

"Can it be a bear?" he asked.

"No; it's a man!"

Nasmyth was somewhat astonished. They had not seen a human being except those of their party for a long while, and it seemed strange that they should come across one now in the early dawn in those remote wilds.

"He's wearing boots," he said diffidently, as the crackling drew nearer.

"Yes," Lisle responded; "he's making a good deal more noise than a bushman would."

The sound steadily approached them. Nasmyth found something mysterious and rather eerie in it, and he was on the whole relieved when a dark figure materialized among the trees near by. He could barely see it, but Lisle called out sharply:

"What has brought you on our trail, Batley?"

The man came toward them with a breathless laugh and sat down.

"It isn't your trail but Gladwyne's I'm interested in, and I can't say that I've succeeded in following that. I merely pushed on, until I struck this canon and as I couldn't get across, I followed it up."

"You're not easily scared," Lisle commented. "You might have got lost. Guess you had some motive that made you take the risk."

"I felt pretty safe. You see, I knew I could strike the river, if necessary. At the same time you were right about the motive—in fact, there's no use in trying to hide it. I may as well confess that I'd sooner keep Gladwyne in sight."

"Out of regard for his welfare?" Nasmyth asked.

Batley laughed.

"Not altogether. The fact is, he's carrying a good deal of my money."

"One should have imagined that you'd have had him well insured."

"That's quite correct. If he came to grief in England, I shouldn't anticipate any trouble, but it would be different out here and, everything considered, I'd rather avoid complications with the insurance companies. Now that I've been candid, do you feel inclined to reciprocate?"

"Not in the least," Lisle replied shortly. "I'm not sure I even sympathize. But since you've turned up you'll have to stick to us; I don't want to waste time in leading another search party. As soon as there's a little more light, we'll try to get across the canon."

"Thanks for the permission," smiled Batley, lighting a cigar.



CHAPTER XXX

THE END OF THE PURSUIT

By degrees the light got clearer, the scattered black cedars grew into definite form, and a strip of foaming water showed in the depths of the chasm. Lisle walked some distance along the edge, searching for an easier place to cross, but the rocks were smooth and almost perpendicular except where they overhung the torrent. He went back to where the others were sitting and found that they had been joined by Crestwick, who briefly explained that having set out on their trail he had been stopped by the canon and had followed it up until it led him to them.

"It looks worse farther along; we'll have to try it here," Lisle announced. "Can you get down, Nasmyth?"

Nasmyth glanced into the rift. It was, he judged, nearly sixty feet in depth, but part of the bank on which he stood had slipped down into the stream, leaving an uneven surface by means of which an agile man might descend. A tall slab of rock, evidently part of the fallen mass, rose in a pinnacle from the water, and on top of it rested the branches of the tree that Gladwyne had used as a bridge and had afterward dislodged. The rock behind it on the opposite bank was absolutely smooth, but the thicker end of the log, which had fallen against the face, reached to within about nine feet of the summit.

"Yes," he said, answering Lisle's question; "but I'm very doubtful whether I can get up the other side. The last bit looks particularly awkward; there's an outward bulge just beneath the top."

"We might manage it by giving the leader a lift, if we got so far," Batley suggested, pointing to the sharp slab. "That pike should help us; I think it would go."

"You think it would go?" queried Nasmyth meaningly. "Aren't you mixing idioms? Pike's what we'd say round Wasdale, and your other expression's not uncommon in Switzerland."

Batley laughed.

"I'll own that I've done some rock work in both districts, though I was thinner then. But I've an idea that time's precious to our leader."

He lowered himself over the edge and finding foothold, went down cautiously by crack and fissure, while the others followed with some trouble. Alighting waist-deep in a frothing rush of water, he was driven for a few yards down-stream, and it was only by seeking the support of the rock that he slowly made head against the torrent. Lisle joined him when he reached the foot of the pinnacle, where they stopped to gather breath with a thin shower of spray whirling about them. The light was still dim down in the bottom of the chasm, and the mass of rock ran up above them, shadowy, black and almost smooth.

Wasting no time in examination, Lisle flung himself upon it, seeking for a grip with elbows and knees. He had ascended a yard or two when he lost hold and coming down with a run fell with a splash into the stream.

"I didn't think you'd manage it that way," Batley remarked. "The edge appears a little more promising."

He went up, with Lisle following, finding hold for knees and fingers, while Nasmyth and Crestwick, panting heavily, encouraged each other below. On reaching the top of the pinnacle, Batley lay upon it and gave Lisle his hand; and when he had drawn him up he pointed to the tree.

"I'll go first, for reasons that will become apparent later," he explained. "Hold on to the log; it doesn't seem firmly fixed."

The tree was small and when Lisle shook it the butt moved against the face of the rock, which was separated by a broad gap from the top of the fallen mass. Batley was heavy, but he ascended cautiously, while Lisle leaned upon the log to steady it. Then, calling Nasmyth to take his place, Lisle went up. When he was near the top, it looked as if their progress must abruptly cease. The butt was narrow and the summit of the rock above it projected somewhat. There was not the smallest knob or crevice one could grasp, and below them in the shadowy rift the torrent boiled furiously among massy stones. It was not a place to slip in.

Batley, however, rose very carefully, with his feet upon the shattered butt and his hands pressed against the rock, until he stood almost upright.

"You'll have to climb up over me until you can get your fingers on the top," he said. "Take time when you get up and feel for a good hold."

Reaching his shoulders, Lisle stood on them while Nasmyth and Crestwick on the pinnacle beneath looked up at a somewhat impressive spectacle. Lisle's head and shoulders were now above the edge, but he was forced to bend backward and outward by the projecting bulge which pressed against his breast, and his cautious movements suggested that he could find no hold. It appeared impossible for him to descend, unless he did so accidentally, and in that event nothing could save him from a fall to the bottom of the ravine. For a while, they watched his tense figure moving futilely; and then Batley, standing most precariously poised, bent his arm and seized one of Lisle's feet. He spoke in a breathless gasp as he thrust it upward; Lisle's legs swung free and he disappeared beyond the edge. The two below were conscious of a vast relief. It was tempered, however, by the knowledge that they must shortly emulate their companion's exploit.

"Take off your pack!" Batley called to Lisle. "Split the bag, if it's necessary, and lower the end! But be quick! This isn't a comfortable position."

The pack in which the small bush rancher conveys his provisions from the nearest store as a rule consists of a cotton flour bag with a pair of suspenders fastened to its corners, and Nasmyth had provided the party with a few receptacles of similar pattern but more strongly made before entering the wilds. The straps, when Lisle let them down, reached several feet from the top, and Batley bade Nasmyth and Crestwick ascend. They managed it with assistance from Lisle, who seized them from above. Then Batley called up to them.

"I'm going to test the tackle. Give me a hand up as soon as I'm over the bulge!"

It was difficult to hear him, as he was still beneath the projecting edge, and they watched the straining straps with keen anxiety until a hand that felt for a hold upon the rock appeared. Lisle seized it, with Nasmyth ready to assist, and Batley came up, gasping, with the perspiration streaming from his face.

"I'd have managed it easily at one time," he said. "This is what comes of civilization and soft living."

"You brought us across; we owe you a good deal for it," declared Lisle.

Batley smiled at him as they set off again.

"In this case, I won't be an exacting creditor. In fact, it's rather curious how we've hit it off, considering that you wouldn't hear of a compromise and our interests are opposed."

"I don't know what your interests are," Lisle returned dryly.

"Then, in one way, I'm ahead of you. I know your wishes, and Nasmyth's—you don't want Clarence to marry Miss Gladwyne. It's your motive I'm not sure about. Do you want the girl yourself?"

They were some distance in front of the others, who were too far behind to hear them. Lisle looked at his companion steadily. The man was engaged in a business that was regarded with general disfavor, but there was something he liked about him and he did not resent his bluntness.

"Well," he answered, "it isn't for the reason you've given that I mean to stop the match."

"Can you do so?"

"I'm going to try."

Batley smiled reflectively.

"And the present journey is somehow connected with the attempt? Now I believe I might have left you held up on the wrong side of the canon; the idea was in my mind and you can give me credit for not yielding to it. I suppose there would be no use in my asking you for a hint as to the relation between my rather tricky companion's expedition and his cousin's death?"

"None in the least," said Lisle decidedly.

Batley made a gesture of acquiescence.

"Oh, well! We must try to be friends as long as possible."

Nothing more was said about the matter, and they spent the day forcing a passage through scrub timber, up precipitous hillsides, and across long stony ridges.

There was no sign of Gladwyne's trail, but that did not trouble Lisle, for he knew where the man was heading for. On the second day Batley showed signs of distress, and Nasmyth and Crestwick were walking very wearily, but Lisle held on at a merciless pace. It was essential that he should reach the cache before Gladwyne could interfere with it. Toward evening, Nasmyth made an effort and caught up with Lisle.

"How would Clarence get across to the second cache on the other side of the water?" he asked. "It's a point I've been considering; I suppose it's occurred to you."

"I don't know," Lisle confessed. "The Indians near the divide said there was another party with canoes somewhere lower down; but, as the packer who was with me didn't talk to them, so far as I noticed, I don't see how Gladwyne could have heard of it; but that's as far as I can go. If he destroyed the first cache, it would help to clear him, unless you can vouch for the correctness of the list I made; but he may have some further plan in his mind." He paused and raised his hand. "Listen! Isn't that the river? We can't be far from the cache."

The day, like the two or three preceding it, had been hot and bright, and now that evening was drawing on, the still air was heavy with the smell of the cedars in a neighboring hollow. A high ridge stood out black against a vivid green glow, and from beyond it there rose a faint, hoarse murmur. Nasmyth welcomed it gladly as announcing the end of the march.

"The rest of the party can hardly be down until to-morrow; there's a couple of portages," he said. "It looks as if we'll have to go without our supper."

"I don't want to see them before morning," Lisle returned grimly.

They pushed on, the light growing dimmer as they went, until at length the moon rose from behind the ridge; and when they had skirted the ridge they saw the river glimmer beneath them in a flood of silvery radiance. It filled the gorge with its deep murmur, for the hot sunshine for three days had melted the snow, which had poured down to swell the flood by every gully. Not far below the neck the broken surface was flecked with white where the river swept angrily over a sharper slope of its bed, and a black boulder or two stood out in the midst of the rushing foam. Up-stream of this there was a strip of shingle which Nasmyth recognized as the one where the cache had been made; he supposed that Lisle had struck the spot by heading for the narrow rift of the neck, which was conspicuous for some distance from both sides.

From end to end the sweep of pebbles was clearly distinct; but there was no dark figure moving about it, and Nasmyth wondered if they had come too late. They had marched fast, as his aching muscles testified, but they had been delayed at the canon and Gladwyne had had a long start. If he had arrived and had visited the cache, their efforts might prove to have been thrown away. There must be no shadow of doubt when Lisle told his startling story.

They descended with caution, moving through shadow, for the ridge above them cut off the moonlight, though it was far from dark, and they were near the bottom when Crestwick dislodged a bank of stones which went rattling and crashing down to the beach. A moment later a black form sprang out from among the rocks below and ran hurriedly along the shingle. This surprised Nasmyth because he could not doubt that the man was Gladwyne and he failed to understand his object in making what would probably be a futile attempt to avoid them. Lisle was some distance in front, and his voice rang out sharply:

"Head him off from the canoe!"

Nasmyth broke into a stumbling run—it was now obvious that Gladwyne meant to cross the river, and perhaps destroy the second cache.

Gladwyne had reached the canoe when Lisle gained the beach, and Nasmyth, descending in reckless haste, saw him hurriedly turn it over and raise the forward end of it. Lisle was running his hardest, almost as if he were fresh, up the long strip of shingle; but it was evident that he would be too late, and they would have no means of following Gladwyne after the canoe was launched. There was a sharp rattle of stones as he hauled it down; Lisle was still some way behind; Gladwyne sprang on board and thrust the light craft off, and a few strokes of the paddle drove her well out into the stream.

Lisle stopped, standing in the moonlight, and his comrade could see his hands tightly clenched at his side; then he suddenly tore off his jacket and flung it behind him. Noticing this, Nasmyth attempted to increase his pace. The river was running fast, swollen with melted snow, and Lisle must be badly worn out. If he had to be restrained by force, he should not attempt to swim across.

Then, to Nasmyth's astonishment, Gladwyne leaned over the stern of the craft and began to paddle desperately with one hand. This proceeding caused Lisle to stop again, close at the water's edge.

"Come back!" he shouted.

Nasmyth ran up and Lisle turned.

"He's dropped or broken his paddle—cracked it when he shoved her out. There are two or three ugly rocks in the rapid."

They ran along the bank together, keeping pace with the craft which was sliding away fast with the stream. Nasmyth could feel his heart thumping as he wondered what Clarence would do. Though he could not cross the river, it was possible that he might propel the light canoe back to the shingle with his hand before he reached the rapid. As he could not guide her in the strong rush of water, there would be danger in attempting to descend it. He made no response, however, to their warning shouts.

Batley and Crestwick overtook the others shortly before the canoe swept into the faster stream at the head of the rapid and they watched her eagerly. There was a narrow pass between several boulders close ahead, which was the chief danger, and the current seemed to be carrying the craft down on one of them. In a few moments she struck and jambed, broadside on, across the mass of stone. White foam boiled about her; they saw Gladwyne rise and clutch the rock, but whether to thrust her off or to climb out did not appear. He suddenly sank down and, so far as they could make out, the canoe rolled over.

The next moment Lisle plunged into the river. Nasmyth ran to the water's edge, but seeing that he was too late, he sat down limply. Lisle was a good swimmer, but it did not seem possible that any man could reach Clarence before he was washed out at the tail of the rapid. It became evident, however, that somebody else meant to try, for Batley, running hard down the beach, plunged in.

"It's awful!" gasped Jim Crestwick behind Nasmyth. "It's not the risk of drowning; they'll be smashed to bits! Anyway, we'd better make for the slack at the tail."

Nasmyth got up. He could see nothing of Gladwyne or either of the others; there were only black rocks, rushing water and outbreaks of foam, and he had a sickening idea that long before they reached the quieter pool the need for any services he could render would be past. Fortunately, the beach was fairly smooth, and after a desperate run they reached a tongue of rock beneath which the eddy swung. Farther on, in the shadow, Batley stood in the water, calling to them and apparently clinging hard to a half-seen object in the stream.

Nasmyth leaped in knee-deep, with Crestwick behind him, and gripping the loosely-hanging arm of the body Batley was supporting, he asked hoarsely:

"Who is it?"

"Lisle!" was the breathless answer. "Help me to get him out!"

They dragged him up the beach and let him sink down. He lay upon the shingle, silent and inert.

"Make a fire, Jim!" commanded Batley. "Lift his shoulder a bit, Nasmyth! Turn him partly over!"

He hurriedly examined Lisle and then looked up.

"It's not a case of drowning; and his limbs look sound. Must have got the breath knocked out of him against a boulder." He pointed to a broad red gash on Lisle's forehead as Nasmyth eased him down again. "That explains his unconsciousness."

"Where's Gladwyne?" Nasmyth asked.

Batley made an expressive gesture.

"Beyond our help, anyway; somewhere down-river." He appeared to brace himself with an effort. "I'm pretty nearly finished, but there's a good deal to be done. We'll strip Lisle, and you and Crestwick can share your dry things with him. Then one of you had better gather cedar twigs for him to lie on."



CHAPTER XXXI

LISLE GOES TO ENGLAND

Lisle had with some difficulty been dressed in dry clothes, and he lay with his eyes shut on a couch of cedar sprays beside a fire, when Batley rose and turned to Nasmyth.

"I don't think we need be anxious," he said. "The warmth is coming back to him and he's breathing regularly. The knock on the head must have been a bad one, and it's very likely that he got another thump or two washing down the rapid, and the water was icy cold; but he'll feel better after a few hours' sleep."

Nasmyth was inclined to agree with this prediction and he stood up wearily.

"Then you won't want me for a little while," he replied, walking away from the fire.

Having given most of his clothes to Lisle, he was very lightly clad and the night was cold. He shivered as he plodded over the shingle, aching in every limb, but he looked about eagerly and after a while he found the cache. It was uncovered, but there were signs that Gladwyne had only begun his task when he had been surprised by the arrival of the party which had followed him.

Nasmyth did not pause to think what Lisle's wishes might be, or whether he would resent his action. So far, he had kept his promise; but, with physical weariness reacting on his mental faculties, he was only conscious of a hazy idea that Gladwyne's death had released him from his pledge. The traitor had expiated his offense; the tragic story must never be raked up again.

Stooping over the receptacle, he dragged out the different articles in it, and avoiding a direct glance at them or any attempt to enumerate them, he gathered them up and striding over the shingle hurled them as far as possible into the river. It cost him several journeys, but his heart grew lighter with every splash. When at last the work was finished and he had refilled the hole and scattered the stones that had covered it, he sat down with a great sense of relief. A burden which had long weighed upon his mind was gone; Mrs. Gladwyne and Millicent were safe at last from the grief and shame that a revelation would have brought them. Exhausted and confused as he was, he could not tell whether he felt any sorrow for Gladwyne's tragic end; the man had passed beyond the reach of human censure, one could only let his memory sink into oblivion.

Growing very cold, he went back to the fire, but he offered no explanation of his absence. Lisle was still asleep or unconscious, but the natural color in his face was reassuring.

"I've heard nothing about your part in the water," Nasmyth said to Batley.

"There's not much to tell. It isn't astonishing that my memory's by no means clear. Anyhow, I wasn't far from Gladwyne, who was swimming well, when he was swept away from me and in among the lower boulders by the swirl of an eddy. I suppose it didn't quite reach me, but the next moment I was sucked into a rush of broken water and went down-stream, below the surface part of the time, because I was surprised when I found I could breathe and look about again. By good luck, I'd got into the smoothest, deepest flow, which swept me straight through. After a little, I saw somebody washing down in a slack and got hold of him. I didn't know whether it was Gladwyne or Lisle; but I held on and a side-swing of the current brought us both ashore. Gladwyne, of course, must have gone under after being badly damaged among the rocks."

"There's only one place where he could have landed and I searched it while you were away," Crestwick said gravely.

"Why did you go in after him?" Nasmyth asked Batley. "You must have seen that you couldn't save him."

"That," Batley answered with a curious smile, "is more than I can clearly tell you; and I might suggest that Lisle's venture is even harder to understand. I don't honestly think I owe Gladwyne anything; but, after all, we passed for friends, and I used to be fond of swimming. Of course, there's a more obvious explanation—I'd lent him a good deal of money and from what I've learned since, I may have some difficulty in enforcing my claim on the estate. It was natural that I should make an effort to recover the debt."

Nasmyth did not think that the man had been most strongly influenced by that desire, but he addressed Crestwick:

"Hadn't you better gather some more branches or driftwood for the fire, Jim?"

Crestwick disappeared, and Nasmyth filled his pipe before he turned to Batley.

"Now," he said, "I don't want to be offensive; but there are two people connected with this affair who must be spared any unnecessary suffering. That's a fact you had better recognize."

"I hardly think you do me justice," returned Batley, looking amused. "It's perfectly plain that there's a mystery behind these recent events; one that has some relation to George Gladwyne's death. Your idea is that an unscrupulous person of my description might find some profit in probing it?"

"You'll never learn the truth. I've seen to that."

"The fact is, I don't mean to try."

Nasmyth was a little astonished at finding himself ready to believe this.

"Then," he asked, "what do you mean to do about your claim on Gladwyne?"

"In the first place, there's the insurance; but I discovered by accident that the company Gladwyne had his policy on was the one that had insured his cousin. Whether they'll be struck by the coincidence and the unusual nature of both accidents and make trouble or not, I can't tell; but if they pay up there'll be an end of the thing. Failing that, I'll have to consider. My demands might be contested by the Gladwyne trustees—the deal was a little irregular in some respects—but I parted with the money and I'm going to make an effort to get it back."

"How much did Clarence owe you?"

Batley told him and Nasmyth looked thoughtful.

"Well," he requested, "if you meet with strong opposition, come to me before you decide on any course, and I'll see what can be arranged. I dare say there'll be some trouble, but I know the trustees—and, as I said, there are people who must be saved all needless pain, at any cost."

"It's promised," agreed Batley. "I'll make things as easy as possible, but that's as far as I can go. I'm not rich enough to be recklessly generous."

Lisle woke soon after this and asked one or two half-intelligible questions, but they gave him no information and he went to sleep again; then Crestwick arrived with more fuel and Nasmyth took the first watch while his companions rested. He was very cold, and now and then he saw Batley, who had discarded most of his wet clothes, wake up for a few moments and shiver. Once or twice he glanced longingly at the garments spread out round the fire, but when he felt them they were still too wet to put on. After a while Crestwick relieved him, and when he awakened dawn was breaking across the black ridges and the rushing river. Batley had left his place, and Crestwick began to stride up and down the beach, presumably to warm himself. To Nasmyth's satisfaction and surprise, Lisle spoke to him.

"You slept pretty sound," he said. "Didn't hear me getting some information about what happened out of Batley."

"Then you know?"

"Yes," was the grim answer. "The thing's finished; there's nothing to be done."

Nasmyth made a sign of agreement.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Horribly sore all over, left side particularly. Struck a big boulder, and then drove in among a nest of stones before my senses left me. Tried to get up a while ago, but couldn't manage it. What's as much to the purpose, I'm feeling hungry."

"Unfortunately, there's nothing left for breakfast. One of us had better go up-stream and look out for the canoes."

Lisle nodded.

"That's your duty—I don't envy you. Make them camp a little higher up. It would be better, in several ways, and I'd rather be on my feet again before they come here."

Nasmyth set off, jaded and hungry, and he was feeling very limp when, as he plodded along a high ridge, he saw the canoes sliding down the river. He had hard work to reach the bank and he shrank from the task before him when the first canoe grounded upon the stones. Millicent and Bella were in it, and Millicent gazed at the lonely man with fixed, anxious eyes. He was ragged and looked very weary; his face was worn and haggard.

"Where are the rest?" she asked in a strained voice. "Something has happened—what is it?"

"Three of them are some miles down the river."

"Three!" cried Millicent, in dismay. "Haven't you found Clarence yet?"

Nasmyth hesitated, regarding her compassionately, but she made a sign of protest.

"Go on! Don't keep me in suspense!"

"Clarence," said Nasmyth quietly, "is dead. Lisle is rather badly damaged."

Millicent left the canoe and sat down, very white in face, upon a neighboring stone. In the meanwhile the other canoes had grounded and her companions gathered about her. She did not speak to them and some time passed before she turned to Nasmyth.

"Tell me all," she begged.

He briefly related what had happened, and there was an impressive silence when he finished. Then Millicent slowly rose.

"And Lisle's badly hurt," she said. "We must go on!"

They relaunched the canoes and Nasmyth had no further speech with her, for as they floated down-river she sat, still and silent, in another canoe. She was conscious chiefly of an unnerving horror and a sense of contrition. Clarence was dead, and she had been coldly hypercritical; hardly treating him as a lover, thinking of his failings. She blamed herself bitterly in a half-dazed fashion, but it was only afterward she realized that she had not been troubled by any very poignant sense of loss.

After a while Nasmyth said they would land, but Millicent roused herself to countermand his instructions and eventually they reached Batley's camp. Lisle had got up during the day and he now walked painfully down to the water's edge to meet her. When she landed he gravely pressed her hand.

"I'm sorry," he said simply. "We did what we could to save him."

"Oh, I know," she responded. "Nobody could doubt that."

Then Nasmyth landed with provisions and while the men ate two Indians strode into the camp and addressed Lisle angrily. They were curing salmon, they said, and had left a canoe on the shingle, in order to avoid a portage when returning, and they had gone in another craft to set some fish-traps in a lower rapid. To their surprise they had afterward seen their canoe drifting down-stream full of water and badly damaged, and they had set off at once to discover who was responsible.

Lisle offered them some silver currency, and after a little chaffering they departed satisfied.

"Now we know how the canoe came to be lying where Gladwyne found her," he said to Nasmyth.

Then he sought Millicent.

"I think," he told her gently, "we had better go on—to stay here would be painful." He hesitated. "I'll leave Crestwick and an experienced river-Jack packer to investigate. If you would rather, I'll stay with them, though I'm afraid I can't get about much."

"Thank you," she replied in a voice which had a break in it. "You must come with us; you don't look fit to stand."

Running the rapid, they slid away down-river, and once more Millicent sat very still, thinking confused thoughts, until at last they made camp for the night and she crept away to the shelter of her tent. A day or two later Crestwick and the packer overtook them, having discovered nothing; and then the party was animated by a strong desire to escape from the river and reach the trail to the settlements as soon as possible. Further search for Gladwyne was useless; the flood had swept him away and no one would ever know where his bones lay. He had set out on his longest and most mysterious journey, leaving only two women to mourn him, and of these one, who had tried to love him out of duty, would by and by forget.

On the evening before they left the river, Lisle stood with Millicent looking back up the long reach they had descended. They had reached the taller timber, and on one bank black firs, climbing the hillside, stood out against the fading light with a gauzy mist-curtain drawn across their higher ranks. The flood slid by, glimmering dimly, smooth and green, and from out of the distance came the throbbing clamor of a rapid.

"It's your last look," said Lisle. "We'll be in the bush to-morrow and I expect to hire a wagon, or at least a horse or two, in a few days. Now I'm sorry I ever brought you here. You'll be glad to get away."

"You mustn't blame yourself," she told him. "We have only gratitude for you. You have no part in the painful memories."

She glanced once more up the valley; and then moved back into the shadow of the firs.

"It's all wildly beautiful, but it's so pitiless—I shall never think of it without a shiver."

"You have made plenty of notes and sketches for the book," suggested Lisle, seeing her distress.

"The book? I don't know that I shall ever finish it. I feel cut adrift, as if there were no use in working and I hadn't a purpose left. First George went, and then Clarence—so far, there was always some one to think of—and now I'm all alone."

She broke out into open sobbing and Lisle, feeling very sympathetic and half dismayed, awkwardly tried to soothe her.

"I'm better," she said at last. "It was very foolish, but I couldn't help it. I think we'll go back to the others."

He gave her his arm, for the way was rough, but as they approached the camp she stopped a moment amid the shadow and stillness of the great fir trunks.

"I have done with the river—I think I am afraid of it," she confessed. "Can't we get away early to-morrow?"

Lisle said it should be arranged and she turned to him gratefully.

"One can always rely on you! You're just like George was in many ways. It's curious that whenever I'm in trouble I think of him—"

She seemed on the verge of another breakdown, and she laid her hand in his for a moment before she went from him hurriedly with a low, "Good night!"

Lisle strolled back to the river and lighted his pipe. He had noticed and thought it significant that she spoke more of the brother whom she had lost several years ago than of the lover who had perished recently; but, from whatever cause it sprung, her distress troubled him.

His thoughts were presently interrupted by Nasmyth.

"There's a thing I'd better tell you, Vernon," he said, sitting down near by. "The night you were half drowned I emptied the cache and, without making any note of what was in it, pitched everything into the river."

"So I discovered. At least, when I managed with some trouble to reach the place, I knew it was either you or Gladwyne, and I blamed you."

"Well?"

"I've decided," Lisle said gravely, "that you did quite right. It's the end of that story."

"Then you have abandoned the purpose you had in view?"

"I've been thinking hard, and it seems to me that if Vernon were with me now, the last thing that would please him would be to see the two women suffer; he was a big man in every way. There's another thing—he left no relations to consider."

Nasmyth laid a hand on his shoulder in a very expressive way.

"I felt all along that you'd come to look at it like that!"

"But there's Batley; he has some suspicions."

"I can silence him," promised Nasmyth. "The man has his good points, after all."

"That's so," Lisle agreed. "Still, I'll come straight across to England and tackle him if you fail. If it's a question of money, you can count me in—I've been prospering lately." He rose and knocked out his pipe. "That's the last word on the matter."

They went back to camp, and starting soon after sunrise the next morning they reached a settlement on the railroad after a comparatively easy journey; and that evening Lisle stood with a heavy heart beside the track while the big cars moved away, his eyes fixed on a woman's figure that leaned out from a vestibule platform, waving a hand to him.

After that he went back to his work, with Crestwick; and nearly twelve months had passed when he sent a cable to England and started for that country a day after receiving the answer. Crestwick insisted on going with him.

"You'll no doubt want my support again," he grinned. "There's an office I mean to rob Nasmyth of, if I can."

It was evening when they drove into sight of Millicent's house. Lisle's heart throbbed painfully fast as he got down, but he was not kept waiting. Millicent was standing in her drawing-room, and as he came in she held out her hand to him.

"You answered my message," he said, seizing it. "You must have guessed what I meant when I asked if I might come across."

"Yes," she confessed softly; "I knew and I told you to come."

He still held her a little away from him as he gave a quick glance at the refined and artistic appointments of the room.

"There's a good deal you will have to give up," he told her. "You're not afraid of our new and rugged country? But it has something to offer—and we need such people as you."

"It's going to be a great country before very long," she answered gravely; "and I have no dread of it now. But—I gave my dearest—I think it owes me something in return."

He drew her masterfully into his arms.

"It discharges all its debts. You must teach me how to pay you back in full measure; that's my one big task. You're giving so much freely; but, of course, I'm glad—I don't want duty."

"This isn't duty," she smiled; "it's love!"

THE END