[Illustration: "ELIZABETH ... COULD YET FIND TIME TO WALK AND CLIMB, PLUNGING SPIRIT AND SENSE IN THE BEAUTY OF THE ROCKIES"] LADY MERTONCOLONIST BY MRS. HUMPHRY WARD FRONTISPIECEBY ALBERT STERNER 1910 A FOREWORD Towards the end of this story the readers of it will find an account ofan "unknown lake" in the northern Rockies, together with a picture ofits broad expanse, its glorious mountains, and of a white explorers'tent pitched beside it. Strictly speaking, "Lake Elizabeth" is a lake ofdream. But it has an original on this real earth, which bears anotherand a real name, and was discovered two years ago by my friend Mrs. Schäffer, of Philadelphia, to whose enchanting narratives of travel andexploration in these untrodden regions I listened with delight at Field, British Columbia, in June, 1908. She has given me leave to use her ownphotograph of the "unknown lake, " and some details from her record ofit, for my own purposes; and I can only hope that in the summers to comeshe may unlock yet other secrets, unravel yet other mysteries, in thatnoble unvisited country which lies north and northeast of the Bow Valleyand the Kicking Horse Pass. MARY A. WARD. LADY MERTON, COLONIST CHAPTER I "I call this part of the line beastly depressing. " The speaker tossed his cigarette-end away as he spoke. It fell on therailway line, and the tiny smoke from it curled up for a moment againstthe heavy background of spruce as the train receded. "All the same, this is going to be one of the most exciting parts ofCanada before long, " said Lady Merton, looking up from her guide-book. "I can tell you all about it. " "For heaven's sake, don't!" said her companion hastily. "My dearElizabeth, I really must warn you. You're losing your head. " "I lost it long ago. To-day I am a bore--to-morrow I shall be anuisance. Make up your mind to it. " "I thought you were a reasonable person!--you used to be. Now look atthat view, Elizabeth. We've seen the same thing for twelve hours, and ifit wasn't soon going to be dark we should see the same thing for twelvehours more. What is there to go mad over in that?" Her brother wavedhis hand indignantly from right to left across the disappearing scene. "As for me, I am only sustained by the prospect of the good dinner thatI know Yerkes means to give us in a quarter of an hour. I won't be aminute late for it! Go and get ready, Elizabeth--" "Another lake!" cried Lady Merton, with a jump. "Oh, what a darling!That's the twentieth since tea. Look at the reflections--and thatdelicious island! And oh! what _are_ those birds?" She leant over the side of the observation platform, attached to theprivate car in which she and her brother were travelling, at the rear ofthe heavy Canadian Pacific train. To the left of the train a small bluelake had come into view, a lake much indented with small bays running upamong the woods, and a couple of islands covered with scrub of beech andspruce, set sharply on the clear water. On one side of the lake, theforest was a hideous waste of burnt trunks, where the gauntstems--charred or singed, snapped or twisted, or flayed--of the treeswhich remained standing rose dreadfully into the May sunshine, above achaos of black ruin below. But except for this blemish--the only sign ofman--the little lake was a gem of beauty. The spring green clothed itsrocky sides; the white spring clouds floated above it, and within it;and small beaches of white pebbles seemed to invite the human feet whichhad scarcely yet come near them. "What does it matter?" yawned her brother. "I don't want to shoot them. And why you make such a fuss about the lakes, when, as you say yourself, there are about two a mile, and none of them has got a name to its back, and they're all exactly alike, and all full of beastly mosquitoes in thesummer--it beats me! I wish Yerkes would hurry up. " He leant backsleepily against the door of the car and closed his eyes. "It's _because_ they haven't got a name--and they're so endless!--andthe place is so big!--and the people so few!--and the chances are somany--and so queer!" said Elizabeth Merton laughing. "What sort of chances?" "Chances of the future. " "Hasn't got any chances!" said Philip Gaddesden, keeping his hands inhis pockets. "Hasn't it? Owl!" Lady Merton neatly pinched the arm nearest to her. "AsI've explained to you many times before, this is the Hinterland ofOntario--and it's only been surveyed, except just along the railway, afew years ago--and it's as rich as rich--" "I say, I wish you wouldn't reel out the guide-book like that!" grumbledthe somnolent person beside her. "As if I didn't know all about theCobalt mines, and that kind of stuff. " "Did you make any money out of them, Phil?" "No--but the other fellows did. That's my luck. " "Never mind, there'll be heaps more directly--hundreds. " She stretchedout her hand vaguely towards an enchanting distance--hill beyond hill, wood beyond wood; everywhere the glimmer of water in the hollows;everywhere the sparkle of fresh leaf, the shining of the birch trunksamong the firs, the greys and purples of limestone rock; everywhere, too, the disfiguring stain of fire, fire new or old, written, now on themouldering stumps of trees felled thirty years ago when the railway wasmaking, now on the young stems of yesterday. "I want to see it all in a moment of time, " Elizabeth continued, stillabove herself. "An air-ship, you know, Philip--and we should see it allin a day, from here to James Bay. A thousand miles of it--stretchedbelow us--just waiting for man! And we'd drop down into an undiscoveredlake, and give it a name--one of our names--and leave a letter under astone. And then in a hundred years, when the settlers come, they'd findit, and your name--or mine--would live forever. " "I forbid you to take any liberties with my name, Elizabeth! I'vesomething better to do with it than waste it on a lake in--what do youcall it?--the 'Hinterland of Ontario. '" The young man mocked hissister's tone. Elizabeth laughed and was silent. The train sped on, at its steady pace of some thirty miles an hour. Thespring day was alternately sunny and cloudy; the temperature was warm, and the leaves were rushing out. Elizabeth Merton felt the spring in herveins, an indefinable joyousness and expectancy; but she was consciousalso of another intoxication--a heat of romantic perception kindled inher by this vast new country through which she was passing. She was aperson of much travel, and many experiences; and had it been prophesiedto her a year before this date that she could feel as she was nowfeeling, she would not have believed it. She was then in Rome, steepedin, ravished by the past--assisted by what is, in its way, the mostagreeable society in Europe. Here she was absorbed in a rushing present;held by the vision of a colossal future; and society had dropped out ofher ken. Quebec, Montreal and Ottawa had indeed made themselves pleasantto her; she had enjoyed them all. But it was in the wilderness that thespell had come upon her; in these vast spaces, some day to be the homeof a new race; in these lakes, the playground of the Canada of thefuture; in these fur stations and scattered log cabins; above all in thegreat railway linking east and west, that she and her brother had comeout to see. For they had a peculiar relation to it. Their father had been one of itsearliest and largest shareholders, might indeed be reckoned among itsfounders. He had been one, also, of a small group of very rich men whohad stood by the line in one of the many crises of its early history, when there was often not enough money in the coffers of the company topay the weekly wages of the navvies working on the great iron road. Hewas dead now, and his property in the line had been divided among hischildren. But his name and services were not forgotten at Montreal, andwhen his son and widowed daughter let it be known that they desired tocross from Quebec to Vancouver, and inquired what the cost of a privatecar might be for the journey, the authorities at Montreal insisted onplacing one of the official cars at their disposal. So that they werenow travelling as the guests of the C. P. R. ; and the good will of one ofthe most powerful of modern corporations went with them. They had left Toronto, on a May evening, when the orchards ran, oneflush of white and pink, from the great lake to the gorge of Niagara, and all along the line northwards the white trilliums shone on thegrassy banks in the shadow of the woods; while the pleasant Ontariofarms flitted by, so mellowed and homelike already, midway between theold life of Quebec, and this new, raw West to which they were going. They had passed, also--but at night and under the moon--through the lakecountry which is the playground of Toronto, as well known, and asplentifully be-named as Westmoreland; and then at North Bay with thesunrise they had plunged into the wilderness, --into the thousand milesof forest and lake that lie between Old Ontario and Winnipeg. And here it was that Elizabeth's enthusiasm had become in her brother'seyes a folly; that something wild had stirred in her blood, and sittingthere in her shady hat at the rear of the train, her eyes pursuing thegreat track which her father had helped to bring into being, she shookEurope from her, and felt through her pulses the tremor of one whowatches at a birth, and looks forward to a life to be-- "Dinner is ready, my lady. " "Thank Heaven!" cried Philip Gaddesden, springing up. "Get somechampagne, please, Yerkes. " "Philip!" said his sister reprovingly, "it is not good for you to havechampagne every night. " Philip threw back his curly head, and grinned. "I'll see if I can do without it to-morrow. Come along, Elizabeth. " They passed through the outer saloon, with its chintz-covered sofas andchairs, past the two little bedrooms of the car, and the tiny kitchen tothe dining-room at the further end. Here stood a man in steward's liveryready to serve, while from the door of the kitchen another older man, thin and tanned, in a cook's white cap and apron, lookedbenevolently out. "Smells good, Yerkes!" said Gaddesden as he passed. The cook nodded. "If only her ladyship'll find something she likes, " he said, not withouta slight tone of reproach. "You hear that, Elizabeth?" said her brother as they sat down to thewell-spread board. Elizabeth looked plaintive. It was one of her chief weaknesses to wishto be liked--adored, perhaps, is the better word--by her servants andshe generally accomplished it. But the price of Yerkes's affectionswas too high. "It seems to me that we have only just finished luncheon, not to speakof tea, " she said, looking in dismay at the menu before her. "Phil, doyou wish to see me return home like Mrs. Melhuish?" Phil surveyed his sister. Mrs. Melhuish was the wife of their localclergyman in Hampshire; a poor lady plagued by abnormal weight, and aheart disease. "You might borrow pounds from Mrs. Melhuish, and nobody would ever know. You really are too thin, Lisa--a perfect scarecrow. Of course Yerkessees that he could do a lot for you. All the same, that's a pretty gownyou've got on--an awfully pretty gown, " he repeated with emphasis, adding immediately afterwards in another tone--"Lisa!--I say!--you'renot going to wear black any more?" "No"--said Lady Merton, "no--I am not going to wear black any more. " Thewords came lingeringly out, and as the servant removed her plate, Elizabeth turned to look out of the window at the endless woods, ashadow on her beautiful eyes. She was slenderly made, with a small face and head round which theabundant hair was very smoothly and closely wound. The hair was of adelicate brown, the complexion clear, but rather colourless. Among otheryoung and handsome women, Elizabeth Merton made little effect; like afine pencil drawing, she required an attentive eye. The modelling of thefeatures, of the brow, the cheeks, the throat, was singularly refined, though without a touch of severity; her hands, with their very long andslender fingers, conveyed the same impression. Her dress, though dainty, was simple and inconspicuous, and her movements, light, graceful, self-controlled, seemed to show a person of equable temperament, withoutany strong emotions. In her light cheerfulness, her perpetual interestin the things about her, she might have reminded a spectator of some ofthe smaller sea-birds that flit endlessly from wave to wave, for whomthe business of life appears to be summed up in flitting and poising. The comparison would have been an inadequate one. But Elizabeth Merton'ssecrets were not easily known. She could rave of Canada; she rarelytalked of herself. She had married, at the age of nineteen, a youngCavalry officer, Sir Francis Merton, who had died of fever within a yearof their wedding, on a small West African expedition for which he hadeagerly offered himself. Out of the ten months of their marriage, theyhad spent four together. Elizabeth was now twenty-seven, and hermarried life had become to her an insubstantial memory. She had beenhappy, but in the depths of the mind she knew that she might not havebeen happy very long. Her husband's piteous death had stamped upon her, indeed, a few sharp memories; she saw him always, --as the report of abrother officer, present at his funeral, had described him--wrapped inthe Flag, and so lowered to his grave, in a desert land. This imageeffaced everything else; the weaknesses she knew, and those she hadbegun to guess at. But at the same time she had not been crushed by thetragedy; she had often scourged herself in secret for the rapidity withwhich, after it, life had once more become agreeable to her. She knewthat many people thought her incapable of deep feeling. She supposed itmust be true. And yet there were moments when a self within herselfsurprised and startled her; not so much, as yet, in connection withpersons, as with ideas, causes--oppressions, injustices, helplesssuffering; or, as now, with a new nation, visibly striking its "beinginto bounds. " During her widowhood she had lived much with her mother, and had devotedherself particularly to this only brother, a delicate lad--lovable, self-indulgent and provoking--for whom the unquestioning devotion oftwo women had not been the best of schools. An attack of rheumatic feverwhich had seized him on leaving Christchurch had scared both mother andsister. He had recovered, but his health was not yet what it had been;and as at home it was impossible to keep him from playing golf all day, and bridge all night, the family doctor, in despair, recommended travel, and Elizabeth had offered to take charge of him. It was not an easytask, for although Philip was extremely fond of his sister, as the malehead of the family since his father's death he held strong convictionswith regard to the natural supremacy of man, and would probably never"double Cape Turk. " In another year's time, at the age of four andtwenty, he would inherit the family estate, and his mother'sguardianship would come to an end. He then intended to be done withpetticoat government, and to show these two dear women a thing or two. * * * * * The dinner was good, as usual; in Elizabeth's eyes, monstrously good. There was to her something repellent in such luxurious fare enjoyed bystrangers, on this tourist-flight through a country so eloquent of man'shard wrestle with rock and soil, with winter and the wilderness. Theblinds of the car towards the next carriage were rigorously closed, that no one might interfere with the privacy of the rich; but Elizabethhad drawn up the blind beside her, and looked occasionally into theevening, and that endless medley of rock and forest and lake which laythere outside, under the sunset. Once she gazed out upon a great gorge, through which ran a noble river, bathed in crimson light; on its way, nodoubt, to Lake Superior, the vast, crescent-shaped lake she had dreamedof in her school-room days, over her geography lessons, and was soon tosee with her own eyes. She thought of the uncompanioned beauty of thestreams, as it would be when the thunder of the train had gone by, ofits distant sources in the wild, and the loneliness of its long, longjourney. A little shiver stole upon her, the old tremor of man inpresence of a nature not yet tamed to his needs, not yet identified withhis feelings, still full therefore of stealthy and hostile powers, creeping unawares upon his life. "This champagne is not nearly as good as last night, " said Philipdiscontentedly. "Yerkes must really try for something better atWinnipeg. When do we arrive?" "Oh, some time to-morrow evening. " "What a blessing we're going to bed!" said the boy, lighting hiscigarette. "You won't be able to bother me about lakes, Lisa. " But he smiled at her as he spoke, and Elizabeth was so enchanted tonotice the gradual passing away of the look of illness, the brighteningof the eye, and slight filling out of the face, that he might tease heras he pleased. Within an hour Philip Gaddesden was stretched on a comfortable bed soundasleep. The two servants had made up berths in the dining-room;Elizabeth's maid slept in the saloon. Elizabeth herself, wrapped in alarge cloak, sat awhile outside, waiting for the first sight ofLake Superior. It came at last. A gleam of silver on the left--a line of purpleislands--frowning headlands in front--and out of the interminable shadowof the forests, they swept into a broad moonlight. Over high bridges andthe roar of rivers, threading innumerable bays, burrowing throughheadlands and peninsulas, now hanging over the cold shining of thewater, now lost again in the woods, the train sped on its wonderful way. Elizabeth on her platform at its rear was conscious of no other livingcreature. She seemed to be alone with the night and the vastness of thelake, the awfulness of its black and purple coast. As far as she couldsee, the trees on its shores were still bare; they had temporarily leftthe spring behind; the North seemed to have rushed upon her in itsterror and desolation. She found herself imagining the storms thatsweep the lake in winter, measuring her frail life against theloneliness and boundlessness around her. No sign of man, save in the fewlights of these scattered stations; and yet, for long, her mainimpression was one of exultation in man's power and skill, which boreher on and on, safe, through the conquered wilderness. Gradually, however, this note of feeling slid down into something muchsofter and sadder. She became conscious of herself, and her personallife; and little by little her exultation passed into yearning; her eyesgrew wet. For she had no one beside her with whom to share these secretthoughts and passions--these fresh contacts with life and nature. Was italways to be so? There was in her a longing, a "sehnsucht, " for sheknew not what. She could marry, of course, if she wished. There was a possibility infront of her, of which she sometimes thought. She thought of it now, wistfully and kindly; but it scarcely availed against the suddenmelancholy, the passion of indefinite yearning which had assailed her. The night began to cloud rapidly. The moonlight died from the lake andthe coast. Soon a wind sprang up, lashing the young spruce and birchgrowing among the charred wreck of the older forest, through which therailway had been driven. Elizabeth went within, and she was no sooner inbed than the rain came pelting on her window. She lay sleepless for a long time, thinking now, not of the worldoutside, or of herself, but of the long train in front of her, and itsfreight of lives; especially of the two emigrant cars, full, as she hadseen at North Bay, of Galicians and Russian Poles. She remembered thewomen's faces, and the babies at their breasts. Were they all asleep, tired out perhaps by long journeying, and soothed by the noise of thetrain? Or were there hearts among them aching for some poor hovel leftbehind, for a dead child in a Carpathian graveyard?--for a lover?--afather?--some bowed and wrinkled Galician peasant whom the next winterwould kill? And were the strong, swarthy men dreaming of wealth, of thebroad land waiting, the free country, and the equal laws? * * * * * Elizabeth awoke. It was light in her little room. The train was at astandstill. Winnipeg? A subtle sense of something wrong stole upon her. Why this murmur ofvoices round the train? She pushed aside a corner of the blind besideher. Outside a railway cutting, filled with misty rain--many personswalking up and down, and a babel of talk-- Bewildered, she rang for her maid, an elderly and precise person whohad accompanied her on many wanderings. "Simpson, what's the matter? Are we near Winnipeg?" "We've been standing here for the last two hours, my lady. I've beenexpecting to hear you ring long ago. " Simpson's tone implied that her mistress had been somewhat crasslysleeping while more sensitive persons had been awake and suffering. Elizabeth rubbed her eyes. "But what's wrong, Simpson, and where arewe?" "Goodness knows, my lady. We're hours away from Winnipeg--that's all Iknow--and we're likely to stay here, by what Yerkes says. " "Has there been an accident?" Simpson replied--sombrely--that something had happened, she didn't knowwhat--that Yerkes put it down to "the sink-hole, " which according to himwas "always doing it"--that there were two trains in front of them at astandstill, and trains coming up every minute behind them. "My dear Simpson!--that must be an exaggeration. There aren't trainsevery minute on the C. P. R. Is Mr. Philip awake?" "Not yet, my lady. " "And what on earth is a sink-hole?" asked Elizabeth. CHAPTER II Elizabeth had ample time during the ensuing sixteen hours for inquiry asto the nature of sink-holes. When she emerged, dressed, into the saloon--she found Yerkes looking outof the window in a brown study. He was armed with a dusting brush and awhite apron, but it did not seem to her that he had been making muchuse of them. "Whatever is the matter, Yerkes? What is a sink-hole?" Yerkes looked round. "A sink-hole, my lady?" he said slowly--"A sink-hole, well, it's as youmay say--a muskeg. " "A _what?_" "A place where you can't find no bottom, my lady. This one's a vixen, she is! What she's cost the C. P. R. !"--he threw up his hands. "Andthere's no contenting her--the more you give her the more she wants. They give her ten trainloads of stuff a couple of months ago. No good! Abit of moist weather and there she is at it again. Let an engine andtwo carriages through last night--ten o'clock!" "Gracious! Was anybody hurt? What--a kind of bog?--a quicksand?" "Well, " said Yerkes, resuming his dusting, and speaking with politeobstinacy, "muskegs is what they call 'em in these parts. They'll haveto divert the line. I tell 'em so, scores of times. She was at this gamelast year. Held me up twenty-one hours last fall. " When Yerkes was travelling he spoke in a representative capacity. He_was_ the line. "How many trains ahead of us are there? Yerkes?" "Two as I know on--may be more. " "And behind?" "Three or four, my lady. " "And how long are we likely to be kept?" "Can't say. They've been at her ten hours. She don't generally letanyone over her under a good twenty--or twenty-four. " "Yerkes!--what will Mr. Gaddesden say? And it's so damp and horrid. " Elizabeth looked at the outside prospect in dismay. The rain wasdrizzling down. The passengers walking up and down the line were inheavy overcoats with their collars turned up. To the left of the linethere was a misty glimpse of water over a foreground of charred stumps. On the other side rose a bank of scrubby wood, broken by a patch ofclearing, which held a rude log-cabin. What was she to do withPhilip all day? Suddenly a cow appeared on the patch of grass round the log hut. With asound of jubilation, Yerkes threw down his dusting brush and rushed outof the car. Elizabeth watched him pursue the cow, and disappear round acorner. What on earth was he about? Philip had apparently not yet been called. He was asleep, and Yerkes hadlet well alone. But he must soon awake to the situation, and the problemof his entertainment would begin. Elizabeth took up the guide-book andwith difficulty made out that they were about a hundred miles fromWinnipeg. Somewhere near Rainy Lake apparently. What a foolishlyappropriate name! "Hi!--hi!--" The shout startled her. Looking out she saw a group of passengersgrinning, and Yerkes running hard for the car, holding something in hishand, and pursued by a man in a slouch hat, who seemed to be swearing. Yerkes dashed into the car, deposited his booty in the kitchen, andstanding in the doorway faced the enemy. A terrific babel arose. Elizabeth appeared in the passage and demanded to know what hadhappened. "All right, my lady, " said Yerkes, mopping his forehead. "I've only beenand milked his cow. No saying where I'd have got any milk this side ofWinnipeg if I hadn't. " "But, Yerkes, he doesn't seem to like it. " "Oh, that's all right, my lady. " But the settler was now on the steps of the car gesticulating andscolding, in what Elizabeth guessed to be a Scandinavian tongue. He wasindeed a gigantic Swede, furiously angry, and Elizabeth had thoughts ofbearding him herself and restoring the milk, when some mysterioustransaction involving coin passed suddenly between the two men. TheSwede stopped short in the midst of a sentence, pocketed something, andmade off sulkily for the log hut. Yerkes, with a smile, and a wink tothe bystanders, retired triumphant on his prey. Elizabeth, standing at the door of the kitchen, inquired if supplieswere likely to run short. "Not in this car, " said Yerkes, with emphasis. "What _they'll_ do"--ajerk of his thumb towards the rest of the train in front--"can't say. " "Of course we shall have to give them food!" cried Lady Merton, delighted at the thought of getting rid of some of their superfluities. Yerkes showed a stolid face. "The C. P. R. 'll have to feed 'em--must. That's the regulation. Accident--free meals. That hasn't nothing to do with me. They don't comepoaching on my ground. I say, look out! Do yer call that bacon, orbuffaler steaks?" And Yerkes rushed upon his subordinate, Bettany, who was cutting thebreakfast bacon with undue thickness, and took the thing in handhimself. The crushed Bettany, who was never allowed to finish anything, disappeared hastily in order to answer the electric bell which wasringing madly from Philip Gaddesden's berth. "Conductor!" cried a voice from the inner platform outside thedining-room and next the train. "And what might you be wanting, sir?" said Bettany jauntily, opening thedoor to the visitor. Bettany was a small man, with thin harrassedfeatures and a fragment of beard, glib of speech towards everybodybut Yerkes. "Your conductor got some milk, I think, from that cabin. " "He did--but only enough for ourselves. Sorry we can't oblige you. " "All the same, I am going to beg some of it. May I speak to thegentleman?" "Mr. Gaddesden, sir, is dressing. The steward will attend to you. " And Bettany retired ceremoniously in favour of Yerkes, who hearingvoices had come out of his den. "I have come to ask for some fresh milk for a baby in the emigrant car, "said the stranger. "Looks sick, and the mother's been crying. They'veonly got tinned milk in the restaurant and the child won't touch it. " "Sorry it's that particular, sir. But I've got only what I want. " "Yerkes!" cried Elizabeth Merton, in the background. "Of course the babymust have it. Give it to the gentleman, please, at once. " The stranger removed his hat and stepped into the tiny dining-room whereElizabeth was standing. He was tall and fair-skinned, with a blondemoustache, and very blue eyes. He spoke--for an English ear--with theslight accent which on the Canadian side of the border still proclaimsthe neighbourhood of the States. "I am sorry to trouble you, madam, " he said, with deference. "But thechild seems very weakly, and the mother herself has nothing to give it. It was the conductor of the restaurant car who sent me here. " "We shall be delighted, " said Lady Merton, eagerly. "May I come withyou, if you are going to take it? Perhaps I could do something forthe mother. " The stranger hesitated a moment. "An emigrant car full of Galicians is rather a rough sort ofplace--especially at this early hour in the morning. But if youdon't mind--" "I don't mind anything. Yerkes, is that _all_ the milk?". "All to speak of, my lady, " said Yerkes, nimbly retreating to his den. Elizabeth shook her head as she looked at the milk. But her visitorlaughed. "The baby won't get through that to-day. It's a regular littlescarecrow. I shouldn't think the mother'll rear it. " They stepped out on to the line. The drizzle descended on Lady Merton'sbare head and grey travelling dress. "You ought to have an umbrella, " said the Canadian, looking at her insome embarrassment. And he ran back to the car for one. Then, while shecarried the milk carefully in both hands, he held the umbrella over her, and they passed through the groups of passengers who were strollingdisconsolately up and down the line in spite of the wet, or exchanginglamentations with others from two more stranded trains, one drawn upalongside, the other behind. Many glances were levelled at the slight Englishwoman, with thedelicately pale face, and at the man escorting her. Elizabeth meanwhilewas putting questions. How long would they be detained? Her brother withwhom she was travelling was not at all strong. Unconsciously, perhaps, her voice took a note of complaint. "Well, we can't any of us cross--can we?--till they come to some bottomin the sink-hole, " said the Canadian, interrupting her a trifle bluntly. Elizabeth laughed. "We may be here then till night. " "Possibly. But you'll be the first over. " "How? There are some trains in front. " "That doesn't matter. They'll move you up. They're very vexed it shouldhave happened to you. " Elizabeth felt a trifle uncomfortable. Was the dear young man tilting atthe idle rich--and the corrupt Old World? She stole a glance at him, butperceived only that in his own tanned and sunburnt way he was aremarkably handsome well-made fellow, built on a rather larger scalethan the Canadians she had so far seen. A farmer? His manners were notcountrified. But a farmer in Canada or the States may be of allsocial grades. By this time they had reached the emigrant car, the conductor of whichwas standing on the steps. He was loth to allow Lady Merton to enter, but Elizabeth persisted. Her companion led the way, pushing through asmoking group of dark-faced men hanging round the entrance. Inside, the car was thick, indeed, with smoke and the heavy exhalationsof the night. Men and women were sitting on the wooden benches; somewomen were cooking in the tiny stove-room attached to the car; children, half naked and unwashed, were playing on the floor; here and there a manwas still asleep; while one old man was painfully conning a paper of"Homestead Regulations" which had been given him at Montreal, a lad ofeighteen helping him; and close by another lad was writing a letter, hiseyes passing dreamily from the paper to the Canadian landscape outside, of which he was clearly not conscious. In a corner, surrounded by threeor four other women, was the mother they had come to seek. She held awailing baby of about a year old in her arms. At the sight of Elizabeth, the child stopped its wailing, and lay breathing fast and feebly, itslarge bright eyes fixed on the new-comer. The mother turned awayabruptly. It was not unusual for persons from the parlour-cars to askleave to walk through the emigrants'. But Elizabeth's companion said a few words to her, apparently inRussian, and Elizabeth, stooping over her, held out the milk. Then adark face reluctantly showed itself, and great black eyes, in deep, lined sockets; eyes rather of a race than a person, hardly conscious, hardly individualised, yet most poignant, expressing some feeling, remote and inarticulate, that roused Elizabeth's. She called to theconductor for a cup and a spoon; she made her way into the malodorouskitchen, and got some warm water and sugar; then kneeling by the child, she put a spoonful of the diluted and sweetened milk into themother's hand. * * * * * "Was it foolish of me to offer her that money?" said Elizabeth withflushed cheeks as they walked back through the rain. "They looked soterribly poor. " The Canadian smiled. "I daresay it didn't do any harm, " he said indulgently. "But they areprobably not poor at all. The Galicians generally bring in quite a fairsum. And after a year or two they begin to be rich. They never spend afarthing they can help. It costs money--or time--to be clean, so theyremain dirty. Perhaps we shall teach them--after a bit. " His companion looked at him with a shy but friendly curiosity. "How did you come to know Russian?" "When I was a child there were some Russian Poles on the next farm tous. I used to play with the boys, and learnt a little. The conductorcalled me in this morning to interpret. These people come from theRussian side of the Carpathians. " "Then you are a Canadian yourself?--from the West?" "I was born in Manitoba. " "I am quite in love with your country!" Elizabeth paused beside the steps leading to their car. As she spoke, her brown eyes lit up, and all her small features ran over, suddenly, with life and charm. "Yes, it's a good country, " said the Canadian, rather drily. "It's goingto be a great country. Is this your first visit?" But the conversation was interrupted by a reproachful appeal fromYerkes. "Breakfast, my lady, has been hotted twice. " The Canadian looked at Elizabeth curiously, lifted his hat, and wentaway. "Well, if this doesn't take the cake!" said Philip Gaddesden, throwinghimself disconsolately into an armchair. "I bet you, Elizabeth, weshall be here forty-eight hours. And this damp goes through one. " The young man shivered, as he looked petulantly out through the opendoorway of the car to the wet woods beyond. Elizabeth surveyed him withsome anxiety. Like herself he was small, and lightly built. But hisfeatures were much less regular than hers; the chin and nose werechildishly tilted, the eyes too prominent. His bright colour, however--(mother and sister could well have dispensed with that touch ofvivid red on the cheeks!)--his curly hair, and his boyish ways made himpersonally attractive; while in his moments of physical weakness, hisevident resentment of Nature's treatment of him, and angry determinationto get the best of her, had a touch of something that waspathetic--that appealed. Elizabeth brought a rug and wrapped it round him. But she did not try toconsole him; she looked round for something or someone to amuse him. On the line, just beyond the railed platform of the car, a group of menwere lounging and smoking. One of them was her acquaintance of themorning. Elizabeth, standing on the platform waited till he turned inher direction--caught his eye, and beckoned. He came with alacrity. Shestooped over the rail to speak to him. "I'm afraid you'll think it very absurd"--her shy smile brokeagain--"but do you think there's anyone in this train who plays bridge?" He laughed. "Certainly. There is a game going on at this moment in the car behindyou. " "Is it--is it anybody--we could ask to luncheon?--who'd come, I mean, "she added, hurriedly. "I should think they'd come--I should think they'd be glad. Your cook, Yerkes, is famous on the line. I know two of the people playing. Theyare Members of Parliament. " "Oh! then perhaps I know them too, " cried Elizabeth, brightening. He laughed again. "The Dominion Parliament, I mean. " He named two towns in Manitoba, whileLady Merton's pink flush showed her conscious of having betrayed herEnglish insularity. "Shall I introduce you?" "Please!--if you find an opportunity. It's for my brother. He'srecovering from an illness. " "And you want to cheer him up. Of course. Well, he'll want it to-day. "The young man looked round him, at the line strewn with unsightlydébris, the ugly cutting which blocked the view, and the mistsup-curling from the woods; then at the slight figure beside him. Thecorners of his mouth tried not to laugh. "I am afraid you are not goingto like Canada, if it treats you like this. " "I've liked every minute of it up till now, " said Elizabeth warmly. "Canyou tell me--I should like to know--who all these people are?" She wavedher hand towards the groups walking up and down. "Well, you see, " said the Canadian after a moment's hesitation, "Canada's a big place!" He looked round on her with a smile so broad and sudden that Elizabethfelt a heat rising in her cheeks. Her question had no doubt been alittle naïve. But the young man hurried on, composing his face quickly. "Some of them, of course, are tourists like yourselves. But I do know afew of them. That man in the clerical coat, and the round collar, isFather Henty--a Jesuit well known in Winnipeg--a great man among theCatholics here. " "But a disappointed one, " said Lady Merton. The Canadian looked surprised. Elizabeth, proud of her knowledge, wenton: "Isn't it true the Catholics hoped to conquer the Northwest--andso--with Quebec--to govern you all? And now the English and Americanimmigration has spoilt all their chances--poor things!" "That's about it. Did they tell you that in Toronto?" Elizabeth stiffened. The slight persistent tone of mockery in the youngman's voice was beginning to offend her. "And the others?" she said, without noticing his question. It was the Canadian's turn to redden. He changed his tone. "--The man next him is a professor at the Manitoba University. Thegentleman in the brown suit is going to Vancouver to look after some biglumber leases he took out last year. And that little man in the Panamahat has been keeping us all alive. He's been prospecting for silver inNew Ontario--thinks he's going to make his fortune in a week. " "Oh, but that will do exactly for my brother!" cried Elizabeth, delighted. "Please introduce us. " And hurrying back into the car she burst upon the discontented gentlemanwithin. Philip, who was just about to sally forth into the damp, againstthe entreaties of his servant, and take his turn at shying stones at abottle on the line, was appeased by her report, and was soon seated, talking toy speculation, with a bronzed and brawny person, who watchedthe young Englishman, as they chatted, out of a pair of humorous eyes. Philip believed himself a great financier, but was not in truth eithervery shrewd or very daring, and his various coups or losses generallyleft his exchequer at the end of the year pretty much what it had beenthe year before. But the stranger, who seemed to have staked out claimsat one time or another, across the whole face of the continent, fromKlondyke to Nova Scotia, kept up a mining talk that held him enthralled;and Elizabeth breathed freely. She returned to the platform. The scene was _triste_, but the rain hadfor the moment stopped. She hailed an official passing by, and asked ifthere was any chance of their soon going on. The man smiled andshook his head. Her Canadian acquaintance, who was standing near, came up to the car ashe heard her question. "I have just seen a divisional superintendent. We may get on about nineo'clock to-night. " "And it is now eleven o'clock in the morning, " sighed Lady Merton. "Well!--I think a little exercise would be a good thing. " And she descended the steps of the car. The Canadian hesitated. "Would you allow me to walk with you?" he said, with formality. "Imight perhaps be able to tell you a few things. I belong tothe railway. " "I shall be greatly obliged, " said Elizabeth, cordially. "Do you meanthat you are an official?" "I am an engineer--in charge of some construction work in the Rockies. " Lady Merton's face brightened. "Indeed! I think that must be one of the most interesting things in theworld to be. " The Canadian's eyebrows lifted a little. "I don't know that I ever thought of it like that, " he said, halfsmiling. "It's good work--but I've done things a good deal livelierin my time. " "You've not always been an engineer?" "Very few people are always 'anything' in Canada, " he said, laughing. "It's like the States. One tries a lot of things. Oh, I was trained asan engineer--at Montreal. But directly I had finished with that I wentoff to Klondyke. I made a bit of money--came back--and lost it all, in amilling business--over there"--he pointed eastwards--"on the Lake of theWoods. My partner cheated me. Then I went exploring to the north, andtook a Government job at the same time--paying treaty money to theIndians. Then, five years ago, I got work for the C. P. R. But I shallcut it before long. I've saved some money again. I shall take up land, and go into politics. " "Politics?" repeated Elizabeth, wishing she might some day know whatpolitics meant in Canada. "You're not married?" she added pleasantly. "I am not married. " "And may I ask your name?" His name, it seemed, was George Anderson, and presently as they walkedup and down he became somewhat communicative about himself, thoughalways within the limits, as it seemed to her, of a natural dignity, which developed indeed as their acquaintance progressed. He told hertales, especially, of his Indian journeys through the wilds about theAthabasca and Mackenzie rivers, in search of remote Indiansettlements--that the word of England to the red man might be kept; andhis graphic talk called up before her the vision of a northernwilderness, even wilder and remoter than that she had just passedthrough, where yet the earth teemed with lakes and timber andtrout-bearing streams, and where--"we shall grow corn some day, " as hepresently informed her. "In twenty years they will have developed seedthat will ripen three weeks earlier than wheat does now in Manitoba. Then we shall settle that country--right away!--to the far north. " Histone stirred and deepened. A little while before, it had seemed to herthat her tourist enthusiasm amused him. Yet by flashes, she began tofeel in him something, beside which her own raptures fell silent. Hadshe, after all, hit upon a man--a practical man--who was yet consciousof the romance of Canada? Presently she asked him if there was no one dependent on him--nomother?--or sisters? "I have two brothers--in the Government service at Ottawa. I had foursisters. " "Are they married?" "They are dead, " he said, slowly. "They and my mother were burnt todeath. " She exclaimed. Her brown eyes turned upon him--all sudden horror andcompassion. "It was a farmhouse where we were living--and it took fire. Mother andsisters had no time to escape. It was early morning. I was a boy ofeighteen, and was out on the farm doing my chores. When I saw smoke andcame back, the house was a burning mass, and--it was all over. " "Where was your father?" "My father is dead. " "But he was there--at the time of the fire?" "Yes. He was there. " He had suddenly ceased to be communicative, and she instinctively askedno more questions, except as to the cause of the conflagration. "Probably an explosion of coal-oil. It was sometimes used to light thefire with in the morning. " "How very, very terrible!" she said gently, after a moment, as thoughshe felt it. "Did you stay on at the farm?" "I brought up my two brothers. They were on a visit to some neighboursat the time of the fire. We stayed on three years. " "With your father?" "No; we three alone. " She felt vaguely puzzled; but before she could turn to another subject, he had added-- "There was nothing else for us to do. We had no money and norelations--nothing but the land. So we had to work it--and we managed. But after three years we'd saved a little money, and we wanted to get abit more education. So we sold the land and moved up to Montreal. " "How old were the brothers when you took on the farm?" "Thirteen--and fifteen. " "Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "You must be proud. " He laughed out. "Why, that kind of thing's done every day in this country! You can'tidle in Canada. " They had turned back towards the train. In the doorway of the car satPhilip Gaddesden lounging and smoking, enveloped in a fur coat, hisknees covered with a magnificent fur rug. A whisky and soda had justbeen placed at his right hand. Elizabeth thought--"He said that becausehe had seen Philip. " But when she looked at him, she withdrew hersupposition. His eyes were not on the car, and he was evidently thinkingof something else. "I hope your brother will take no harm, " he said to her, as theyapproached the car. "Can I be of any service to you in Winnipeg?" "Oh, thank you. We have some introductions--" "Of course. But if I can--let me know. " An official came along the line, with a packet in his hand. At sight ofElizabeth he stopped and raised his hat. "Am I speaking to Lady Merton? I have some letters here, that have beenwaiting for you at Winnipeg, and they've sent them out to you. " He placed the packet in her hand. The Canadian moved away, but notbefore Elizabeth had seen again the veiled amusement in his eyes. Itseemed to him comic, no doubt, that the idlers of the world should be soroyally treated. But after all--she drew herself up--her father hadbeen no idler. She hastened to her brother; and they fell upon their letters. "Oh, Philip!"--she said presently, looking up--"Philip! Arthur Delainemeets us at Winnipeg. " "Does he? _Does he_?" repeated the young man, laughing. "I say, Lisa!--" Elizabeth took no notice of her brother's teasing tone. Nor did hervoice, as she proceeded to read him the letter she held in her hand, throw any light upon her own feelings with regard to it. The weary day passed. The emigrants were consoled by free meals; and thedelicate baby throve on the Swede's ravished milk. For the rest, thepeople in the various trains made rapid acquaintance with each other;bridge went merrily in more than one car, and the general inconveniencewas borne with much philosophy, even by Gaddesden. At last, whendarkness had long fallen, the train to which the private car wasattached moved slowly forward amid cheers of the bystanders. Elizabeth and her brother were on the observation platform, with theCanadian, whom with some difficulty they had persuaded to sharetheir dinner. "I told you"--said Anderson--"that you would be passed over first. " Hepointed to two other trains in front that had been shunted to makeroom for them. Elizabeth turned to him a little proudly. "But I should like to say--it's not for our own sakes--not in theleast!--it is for my father, that they are so polite to us. " "I know--of course I know!" was the quick response. "I have been talkingto some of our staff, " he went on, smiling. "They would do anything foryou. Perhaps you don't understand. You are the guests of the railway. And I too belong to the railway. I am a very humble person, but--" "You also would do anything for us?" asked Elizabeth, with her softlaugh. "How kind you all are!" She looked charming as she said it--her face and head lit up by the lineof flaring lights through which they were slowly passing. The line wascrowded with dark-faced navvies, watching the passage of the train as itcrept forward. One of the officials in command leapt up on the platform of the car, andintroduced himself. He was worn out with the day's labour, buttriumphant. "It's all right now--but, my word! the stuff we'vethrown in!--" He and Anderson began some rapid technical talk. Slowly, they passedover the quicksand which in the morning had engulfed half a train; amidthe flare of torches, and the murmur of strange speech, from theGalician and Italian labourers, who rested on their picks and stared andlaughed, as they went safely by. "How I love adventures!" cried Elizabeth, clasping her hands. "Even little ones?" said the Canadian, smiling. But this time she wasnot conscious of any note of irony in his manner, rather of a kindprotectingness--more pronounced, perhaps, than it would have been in anEnglishman, at the same stage of acquaintance. But Elizabeth liked it;she liked, too, the fine bare head that the torchlight revealed; and thegeneral impression of varied life that the man's personality producedupon her. Her sympathies, her imagination were all trembling towards theCanadians, no less than towards their country. CHAPTER III "Mr. Delaine, sir?" The gentleman so addressed turned to see the substantial form of Simpsonat his elbow. They were both standing in the spacious hall of the C. P. R. Hotel adjoining the station at Winnipeg. "Her ladyship, sir, asked me to tell you she would be down directly. Andwould you please wait for her, and take her to see the place where theemigrants come. She doesn't think Mr. Gaddesden will be down tillluncheon-time. " Arthur Delaine thanked the speaker for her information, and then satdown in a comfortable corner, _Times_ in hand, to wait for Lady Merton. She and her brother had arrived, he understood, in the early hours atWinnipeg, after the agitations and perils of the sink-hole. Philip hadgone at once to bed and to slumber. Lady Merton would soon, it seemed, be ready for anything that Winnipeg might have to show her. The new-comer had time, however, to realise and enjoy a pleasantexpectancy before she appeared. He was apparently occupied with the_Times_, but in reality he was very conscious all the time of his ownaffairs and of a certain crisis to which, in his own belief, he had nowbrought them. In the first place, he could not get over his astonishmentat finding himself where he was. The very aspect of the Winnipeg hotel, as he looked curiously round it, seemed to prove to him both theseriousness of certain plans and intentions of his own, and the unusualdecision with which he had been pursuing them. For undoubtedly, of his own accord, and for mere travellers' reasons, hewould not at this moment be travelling in Canada. The old world wasenough for him; and neither in the States nor in Canada had he so farseen anything which would of itself have drawn him away from hisCumberland house, his classical library, his pets, his friends andcorrespondents, his old servants and all the other items in a comely anddignified way of life. He was just forty and unmarried, a man of old family, easy disposition, and classical tastes. He had been for a time Member of Parliament forone of the old Universities, and he was now engaged on a versetranslation of certain books of the Odyssey. That this particular labourhad been undertaken before did not trouble him. It was in fact hisdelight to feel himself a link in the chain of tradition--at once thesuccessor and progenitor of scholars. Not that his scholarship wasanything illustrious or profound. Neither as poet nor Hellenist would heever leave any great mark behind him; but where other men talk of "thehousehold of faith, " he might have talked rather of "the household ofletters, " and would have seen himself as a warm and familiar sitter byits hearth. A new edition of some favourite classic; his weekly_Athenæum_; occasional correspondence with a French or Italianscholar--(he did not read German, and disliked the race)--these were hispleasures. For the rest he was the landlord of a considerable estate, asmuch of a sportsman as his position required, and his Conservativepolitics did not include any sympathy for the more revolutionarydoctrines--economic or social--which seemed to him to be corrupting hisparty. In his youth, before the death of an elder brother, he had beentrained as a doctor, and had spent some time in a London hospital. In nocase would he ever have practised. Before his training was over he hadrevolted against the profession, and against the "ugliness, " as itseemed to him, of the matters and topics with which a doctor mustperforce be connected. His elder brother's death, which, however, hesincerely regretted, had in truth solved many difficulties. In person he was moderately tall, with dark grizzled hair, agreeablefeatures and a moustache. Among his aristocratic relations whom he metin London, the men thought him a little dishevelled and old-fashioned;the women pronounced him interesting and "a dear. " His manners weregenerally admired, except by captious persons who held that such a factwas of itself enough to condemn them; and he was welcome in many Englishand some foreign circles. For he travelled every spring, and was wellacquainted with the famous places of Europe. It need only be added thathe had a somewhat severe taste in music, and could render both Bach andHandel on the piano with success. His property was only some six miles distant from Martindale Park, theGaddesdens' home. During the preceding winter he had become a frequentvisitor at Martindale, while Elizabeth Merton was staying with hermother and brother, and a little ripple of talk had begun to flowthrough the district. Delaine, very fastidious where personal dignitywas concerned, could not make up his mind either to be watched orlaughed at. He would have liked to woo--always supposing that wooingthere was to be--with a maximum of dignity and privacy, surrounded by afriendly but not a forcing atmosphere. But Elizabeth Merton was a greatfavourite in her own neighbourhood, and people became impatient. Was itto be a marriage or was it not? As soon as he felt this enquiry in the air, Mr. Delaine wentabroad--abruptly--about a month before Elizabeth and her brother startedfor Canada. It was said that he had gone to Italy; but some few personsknew that it was his intention to start from Genoa for the UnitedStates, in order that he might attend a celebration at HarvardUniversity in honour of a famous French Hellenist, who had coveredhimself with glory in Delaine's eyes by identifying a number of realsites with places mentioned in the Odyssey. Nobody, however, knew buthimself, that, when that was done, he meant to join the brother andsister on part of their Canadian journey, and that he hoped thereby tobecome better acquainted with Elizabeth Merton than was possible--for aman at least of his sensitiveness--under the eyes of an inquisitiveneighbourhood. For this step Lady Merton's consent was of course necessary. He hadaccordingly written from Boston to ask if it would be agreeable to themthat he should go with them through the Rockies. The proposal was mostnatural. The Delaines and Gaddesdens had been friends for many years, and Arthur Delaine enjoyed a special fame as a travellingcompanion--easy, accomplished and well-informed. Nevertheless, he waited at Boston in some anxiety for Elizabeth'sanswer. When it came, it was all cordiality. By all means let him gowith them to the Rockies. They could not unfortunately offer himsleeping room in the car. But by day Lady Merton hoped he would be theirguest, and share all their facilities and splendours. "I shall be soglad of a companion for Philip, who is rapidly getting strong enough togive me a great deal of trouble. " That was how she put it--how she must put it, of course. He perfectlyunderstood her. And now here he was, sitting in the C. P. R. Hotel at Winnipeg, at a timeof year when he was generally in Paris or Rome, investigating the latestGreek acquisitions of the Louvre, or the last excavation in the Forum;picnicking in the Campagna; making expeditions to Assisi or Subiaco; andin the evenings frequenting the drawing-rooms of ministers andambassadors. He looked up presently from the _Times_, and at the street outside; thenew and raw street, with its large commercial buildings of the Americantype, its tramcars and crowded sidewalks. The muddy roadway, the gapsand irregularities in the street façade, the windows of a great storeopposite, displeased his eye. The whole scene seemed to him to have noatmosphere. As far as he was concerned, it said nothing, ittouched nothing. What was it he was to be taken to see? Emigration offices? He resignedhimself, with a smile. The prospect made him all the more pleasantlyconscious that one feeling, and one feeling only, could possibly havebrought him here. "Ah! there you are. " A light figure hurried toward him, and he rose in haste. But Lady Merton was intercepted midway by a tall man, quite unknown toDelaine. "I have arranged everything for three o'clock, " said the interloper. "You are sure that will suit you?" "Perfectly! And the guests?" "Half a dozen, about, are coming. " George Anderson ran through the list, and Elizabeth laughed merrily, while extending her hand to Delaine. "How amusing! A party--and I don't know a soul in Winnipeg. Arrived thismorning--and going this evening! So glad to see you, Mr. Arthur. You arecoming, of course?" "Where?" said Delaine, bewildered. "To my tea, this afternoon. Mr. Anderson--Mr. Delaine. Mr. Anderson hasmost kindly arranged a perfectly delightful party!--in our car thisafternoon. We are to go and see a great farm belonging to some friend ofhis, about twenty miles out--prize cattle and horses--that kind ofthing. Isn't it good of him?" "Charming!" murmured Delaine. "Charming!" His gaze ran over the figureof the Canadian. "Yerkes of course will give us tea, " said Elizabeth. "His cakes are astrong point"; she turned to Anderson. "And we may really havean engine?" "Certainly. We shall run you out in forty minutes. You still wish to goon to-night?" "Philip does. Can we?" "You can do anything you wish, " said Anderson, smiling. Elizabeth thanked him, and they chatted a little more about thearrangements and guests for the afternoon, while Delaine listened. Whoon earth was this new acquaintance of Lady Merton's? Some person she hadmet in the train apparently, and connected with the C. P. R. Agood-looking fellow, a little too sure of himself; but that of coursewas the Colonial fault. "One of the persons coming this afternoon is an old Montrealfellow-student of mine, " the Canadian was saying. "He is going to be agreat man some day. But if you get him to talk, you won't like hisopinions--I thought I'd better warn you. " "How very interesting!" put in Delaine, with perhaps excessivepoliteness. "What sort of opinions? Do you grow any Socialists here?" Anderson examined the speaker, as it were for the first time. "The man I was speaking of is a French-Canadian, " he said, rathershortly, "and a Catholic. " "The very man I want to see, " cried Elizabeth. "I suppose he hates us?" "Who?--England? Not at all. He loves England--or says he does--and hatesthe Empire. " "'Love me, love my Empire!'" said Elizabeth. "But, I see--I am not totalk to him about the Boer War, or contributing to the Navy?" "Better not, " laughed Anderson. "I am sure he will want to behavehimself; but he sometimes loses his head. " Elizabeth sincerely hoped he might lose it at her party. "We want as much Canada as possible, don't we?" She appealed toDelaine. "To see, in fact, the 'young barbarians--all at play!'" said Anderson. The note of sarcasm had returned to his clear voice. He stood, one handon his hip, looking down on Lady Merton. "Oh!" exclaimed Elizabeth, protesting; while Delaine was conscious ofsurprise that anyone in the New World should quote anything. Anderson hastily resumed: "No, no. I know you are most kind, in wishingto see everything you can. " "Why else should one come to the Colonies?" put in Delaine. Again hissmile, as he spoke, was a little overdone. "Oh, we mustn't talk of Colonies, " cried Elizabeth, looking at Anderson;"Canada, Mr. Arthur, doesn't like to be called a colony. " "What is she, then?" asked Delaine, with an amused shrug of theshoulders. "She is a nation!" said the Canadian, abruptly. Then, turning to LadyMerton, he rapidly went through some other business arrangementswith her. "Three o'clock then for the car. For this morning you are provided?" Heglanced at Delaine. Lady Merton replied that Mr. Delaine would take her round; and Andersonbowed and departed. "Who is he, and how did you come across him?" asked Delaine, as theystepped into the street. Elizabeth explained, dwelling with enthusiasm on the kindness andability with which the young man, since their acquaintance began, hadmade himself their courier. "Philip, you know, is no use at all. But Mr. Anderson seems to know everybody--gets everything done. Instead ofsending my letters round this morning he telephoned to everybody for me. And everybody is coming. Isn't it too kind? You know it is for Papa'ssake"--she explained eagerly--"because Canada thinks she owes himsomething. " Delaine suggested that perhaps life in Winnipeg was monotonous, and itsinhabitants might be glad of distractions. He also begged--with a slighttouch of acerbity--that now that he had joined them he too might bemade use of. "Ah! but you don't know the country, " said Lady Merton gently. "Don'tyou feel that we must get the natives to guide us--to put us in the way?It is only they who can really feel the poetry of it all. " Her face kindled. Arthur Delaine, who thought that her remark was one ofthe foolish exaggerations of nice women, was none the less conscious asshe made it, that her appearance was charming--all indeed that a mancould desire in a wife. Her simple dress of white linen, her black hat, her lovely eyes, and little pointed chin, the bunch of white trilliumsat her belt, which a child in the emigrant car had gathered and givenher the day before--all her personal possessions and accessories seemedto him perfection. Yes!--but he meant to go slowly, for both theirsakes. It seemed fitting and right, however, at this point that heshould express his great pleasure and gratitude in being allowed to jointhem. Elizabeth replied simply, without any embarrassment that could beseen. Yet secretly both were conscious that something was on its trial, and that more was in front of them than a mere journey through theRockies. He was an old friend both of herself and her family. Shebelieved him to be honourable, upright, affectionate. He was of the sameworld and tradition as herself, well endowed, a scholar and a gentleman. He would make a good brother for Philip. And heretofore she had seen himon ground which had shown him to advantage; either at home or abroad, during a winter at Rome--a spring at Florence. Indeed, as they strolled about Winnipeg, he talked to her incessantlyabout persons and incidents connected with the spring of the yearbefore, when they had both been in Rome. "You remember that delicious day at Castel Gandolfo?--on the terrace ofthe Villa Barberini? And the expedition to Horace's farm? You recollectthe little girl there--the daughter of the Dutch Minister? She's marriedan American--a very good fellow. They've bought an old villa onMonte Mario. " And so on, and so on. The dear Italian names rolled out, and the speakergrew more and more animated and agreeable. Only, unfortunately, Elizabeth's attention failed him. A motor car hadbeen lent them in the hospitable Canadian way; and as they sped throughand about the city, up the business streets, round the park, and theresidential suburb rising along the Assiniboine, as they plunged throughseas of black mud to look at the little old-fashioned Cathedral of St. John, with its graveyard recalling the earliest days of the settlement, Lady Merton gradually ceased even to pretend to listen to her companion. "They have found some extremely jolly things lately at Porto D'Anzio--afine torso--quite Greek. " "Have they?" said Elizabeth, absently--"Have they?--And to think that in1870, just a year or two before my father and mother married, there wasnothing here but an outpost in the wilderness!--a few scores of people!One just _hears_ this country grow. " She turned pensively away from thetombstone of an old Scottish settler in the shady graveyard of St. John. "Ah! but what will it grow to?" said Delaine, drily. "Is Winnipeg goingto be interesting?--is it going to _matter_?" "Come and look at the Emigration Offices, " laughed Elizabeth for answer. And he found himself dragged through room after room of the greatbuilding, and standing by while Elizabeth, guided by an official whoseemed to hide a more than Franciscan brotherliness under the aspects ofa canny Scot, and helped by an interpreter, made her way into the groupsof home-seekers crowding round the clerks and counters of the lowerroom--English, Americans, Swedes, Dutchmen, Galicians, French Canadians. Some men, indeed, who were actually hanging over maps, listening to thedirections and information of the officials, were far too busy to talkto tourists, but there were others who had finished their business, orwere still waiting their turn, and among them, as also among the women, the little English lady found many willing to talk to her. And what courage, what vivacity she threw into the business! Delaine, who had seen her till now as a person whose natural reserve was ratherdisplayed than concealed by her light agreeable manner, who had oftenindeed had cause to wonder where and what might be the real woman, followed her from group to group in a silent astonishment. Between thesepeople--belonging to the primitive earth-life--and herself, there seemedto be some sudden intuitive sympathy which bewildered him; whether shetalked to some Yankee farmer from the Dakotas, long-limbed, lantern-jawed, all the moisture dried out of him by hot summers, hardwinters, and long toil, who had come over the border with a pocket fullof money, the proceeds of prairie-farming in a republic, to sink it alljoyfully in a new venture under another flag; or to somebroad-shouldered English youth from her own north country; or to somehunted Russian from the Steppes, in whose eyes had begun to dawn thefirst lights of liberty; or to the dark-faced Italians and Frenchmen, towhom she chattered in their own tongues. An Indian reserve of good land had just been thrown open to settlers. The room was thronged. But Elizabeth was afraid of no one; and no onerepulsed her. The high official who took them through, lingered over theprocess, busy as the morning was, all for the _beaux yeux_ of Elizabeth;and they left him pondering by what legerdemain he could possibly somanipulate his engagements that afternoon as to join Lady Merton'stea-party. "Well, that was quite interesting!" said Delaine as they emerged. Elizabeth, however, would certainly have detected the perfunctoriness ofthe tone, and the hypocrisy of the speech, had she had any thoughtsto spare. But her face showed her absorbed. "Isn't it _amazing_!" Her tone was quiet, her eyes on the ground. "Yet, after all, the world has seen a good many emigrations in its day!"remarked Delaine, not without irritation. She lifted her eyes. "Ah--but nothing like this! One hears of how the young nations came downand peopled the Roman Empire. But that lasted so long. One person--withone life--could only see a bit of it. And here one sees it _all_--all, at once!--as a great march--the march of a new people to its home. Fiftyyears ago, wolves and bears, and buffaloes--twelve years ago even, thegreat movement had not begun--and now, every week, a new town!--the newnation spreading, spreading over the open land, irresistibly, silently;no one setting bounds to it, no one knowing what will come of it!" She checked herself. Her voice had been subdued, but there was a tremorin it. Delaine caught her up, rather helplessly. "Ah! isn't that the point? What will come of it? Numbers and size aren'teverything. Where is it all tending?" She looked up at him, still exalted, still flushed, and said softly, asthough she could not help it, "'On to the bound of the waste--on to theCity of God!'" He gazed at her in discomfort. Here was an Elizabeth Merton he had yetto know. No trace of her in the ordinary life of an Englishcountry house! "You _are_ Canadian!" he said with a smile. "No, no!" said Elizabeth eagerly, recovering herself, "I am only aspectator. _We_ see the drama--we feel it--much more than they can whoare in it. At least"--she wavered--"Well!--I have met one man who seemsto feel it!" "Your Canadian friend?" Elizabeth nodded. "He sees the vision--he dreams the dream!" she said brightly. "So fewdo. But I think he does. Oh, dear--_dear_!--how time flies! I must goand see what Philip is after. " Delaine was left discontented. He had come to press his suit, and hefound a lady preoccupied. Canada, it seemed, was to be his rival! Wouldhe ever be allowed to get in a word edgewise? Was there ever anything so absurd, so disconcerting? He looked forwardgloomily to a dull afternoon, in quest of fat cattle, with a car-full ofunknown Canadians. CHAPTER IV At three o'clock, in the wide Winnipeg station, there gathered on theplatform beside Lady Merton's car a merry and motley group of people. AChief Justice from Alberta, one of the Senators for Manitoba, a richlumberman from British Columbia, a Toronto manufacturer--owner of themodel farm which the party was to inspect, two or three ladies, amongthem a little English girl with fine eyes, whom Philip Gaddesden at oncemarked for approval; and a tall, dark-complexioned man with hollowcheeks, large ears, and a long chin, who was introduced, with particularemphasis, to Elizabeth by Anderson, as "Mr. Félix Mariette"--Member ofParliament, apparently, for some constituency in the Province of Quebec. The small crowd of persons collected, all eminent in the Canadian world, and some beyond it, examined their hostess of the afternoon with akindly amusement. Elizabeth had sent round letters; Anderson, who waswell known, it appeared, in Winnipeg, had done a good deal oftelephoning. And by the letters and the telephoning this group of busypeople had allowed itself to be gathered; simply because Elizabeth washer father's daughter, and it was worth while to put such people in theright way, and to send them home with some rational notions of thecountry they had come to see. And she, who at home never went out of her way to make a newacquaintance, was here the centre of the situation, grasping theidentities of all these strangers with wonderful quickness, flittingabout from one to another, making friends with them all, andconstraining Philip to do the same. Anderson followed her closely, evidently feeling a responsibility for the party only second to her own. He found time, however, to whisper to Mariette, as they were all aboutto mount the car: "Eh bien?" "Mais oui--très gracieuse!" said the other, but without a smile, andwith a shrug of the shoulders. _He_ was only there to please Anderson. What did the aristocratic Englishwoman on tour--with all her littleJingoisms and Imperialisms about her--matter to him, or he to her? While the stream of guests was slowly making its way into the car, whileYerkes at the further end, resplendent in a buttonhole and a white capand apron, was watching the scene, and the special engine, like animpatient horse, was puffing and hissing to be off, a man, who hadentered the cloak-room of the station to deposit a bundle just as thecar-party arrived, approached the cloak-room door from the inside, andlooked through the glazed upper half. His stealthy movements and hisstrange appearance passed unnoticed. There was a noisy emigrant party inthe cloak-room, taking out luggage deposited the night before; they wereabsorbed in their own affairs, and in some wrangle with the officialswhich involved a good deal of lost temper on both sides. The man was old and grey. His face, large-featured and originally comelyin outline, wore the unmistakable look of the outcast. His eyes werebloodshot, his mouth trembled, so did his limbs as he stood peering bythe door. His clothes were squalid, and both they and his persondiffused the odours of the drinking bar from which he had just come. Theporter in charge of the cloak-room had run a hostile eye over him as hedeposited his bundle. But now no one observed him; while he, gathered upand concentrated, like some old wolf upon a trail, followed everymovement of the party entering the Gaddesden car. George Anderson and his French Canadian friend left the platform last. As Anderson reached the door of the car he turned back to speak toMariette, and his face and figure were clearly visible to the watcherbehind the barred cloak-room door. A gleam of savage excitement passedover the old man's face; his limbs trembled more violently. Through the side windows of the car the party could be seen distributingthemselves over the comfortable seats, laughing and talking in groups. In the dining-room, the white tablecloth spread for tea, with the chinaand silver upon it, made a pleasant show. And now two high officials ofthe railway came hurrying up, one to shake hands with Lady Merton andsee that all was right, the other to accompany the party. Elizabeth Merton came out in her white dress, and leant over therailing, talking, with smiles, to the official left behind. He raisedhis hat, the car moved slowly off, and in the group immediately behindLady Merton the handsome face and thick fair hair of George Andersonshowed conspicuous as long as the special train remained in sight. The old man raised himself and noiselessly went out upon the platform. Outside the station he fell in with a younger man, who had beenapparently waiting for him; a strong, picturesque fellow, with the skinand countenance of a half-breed. "Well?" said the younger, impatiently. "Thought you was goin' to take abunk there. " "Couldn't get out before. It's all right. " "Don't care if it is, " said the other sulkily. "Don't care a damn buttonnot for you nor anythin' you're after! But you give me my two dollarssharp, and don't keep me another half-hour waitin'. That's what Ireckoned for, an' I'm goin' to have it. " He held out his hand. The old man fumbled slowly in an inner pocket of his filthy overcoat. "You say the car's going on to-night?" "It is, old bloke, and Mr. George Anderson same train--numberninety-seven--as ever is. Car shunted at Calgary to-morrow night. Sonone of your nonsense--fork out! I had a lot o' trouble gettin' youthe tip. " The old man put some silver into his palm with shaking fingers. Theyouth, who was a bartender from a small saloon in the neighbourhood ofthe station, looked at him with contempt. "Wonder when you was sober last? Think you'd better clean yourself abit, or they'll not let you on the train. " "Who told you I wanted to go on the train?" said the old man sharply. "I'm staying at Winnipeg. " "Oh! you are, are you?" said the other mockingly. "We shouldn't cry oureyes out if you _was_ sayin' good-bye. Ta-ta!" And with the dollars inhis hand, head downwards, he went off like the wind. The old man waited till the lad was out of sight, then went back intothe station and bought an emigrant ticket to Calgary for the nighttrain. He emerged again, and walked up the main street of Winnipeg, which on this bright afternoon was crowded with people and traffic. Hepassed the door of a solicitor's office, where a small sum of money, theproceeds of a legacy, had been paid him the day before, and he finallymade his way into the free library of Winnipeg, and took down a file ofthe _Winnipeg Chronicle_. He turned some pages laboriously, yet not vaguely. His eyes were dim andhis hands palsied, but he knew what he was looking for. He found it atlast, and sat pondering it--the paragraph which, when he had hit upon itby chance in the same place twenty-four hours earlier, had changed thewhole current of his thoughts. "Donaldminster, Sask. , May 6th. --We are delighted to hear from thisprosperous and go-ahead town that, with regard to the vacant seat theLiberals of the city have secured as a candidate Mr. George Anderson, who achieved such an important success last year for the C. P. R. By hissettlement on their behalf of the dangerous strike which had arisen inthe Rocky Mountains section of the line, and which threatened not onlyto affect all the construction camps in the district but to spread tothe railway workers proper and to the whole Winnipeg section. Mr. Anderson seems to have a remarkable hold on the railway men, and he isbesides a speaker of great force. He is said to have addressedtwenty-three meetings, and to have scarcely eaten or slept for afortnight. He was shrewd and fair in negotiation, as well as eloquent inspeech. The result was an amicable settlement, satisfactory to allparties. And the farmers of the West owe Mr. Anderson a good deal. Sodoes the C. P. R. For if the strike had broken out last October, just asthe movement of the fall crops eastward was at its height, the farmersand the railway, and Canada in general would have been at its mercy. Wewish Mr. Anderson a prosperous election (it is said, indeed, that he isnot to be opposed) and every success in his political career. He is, webelieve, Canadian born--sprung from a farm in Manitoba--so that he hasgrown up with the Northwest, and shares all its hopes and ambitions. " The old man, with both elbows on the table, crouched over thenewspaper, incoherent pictures of the past coursing through his mind, which was still dazed and stupid from the drink of the night before. Meanwhile, the special train sped along the noble Red River and out intothe country. All over the prairie the wheat was up in a smooth greencarpet, broken here and there by the fields of timothy and clover, orthe patches of summer fallow, or the white homestead buildings. The Junesun shone down upon the teeming earth, and a mirage, born of sun andmoisture, spread along the edge of the horizon, so that Elizabeth, thelake-lover, could only imagine in her bewilderment that Lake Winnipeg orLake Manitoba had come dancing south and east to meet her, so clearlydid the houses and trees, far away behind them, and on either side, seemto be standing at the edge of blue water, in which the white cloudsoverhead were mirrored, and reed-beds stretched along the shore. But asthe train receded, the mirage followed them; the dream-water lapped upthe trees and the fields, and even the line they had just passed overseemed to be standing in water. How foreign to an English eye was the flat, hedgeless landscape! withits vast satin-smooth fields of bluish-green wheat; its farmhouses withtheir ploughed fireguards and shelter-belts of young trees; its rarevillages, each stretching in one long straggling line of wooden housesalong the level earth; its scattered, treeless lakes, from which theduck rose as the train passed! Was it this mere foreignness, thislikeness in difference, that made it strike so sharply, with such apleasant pungency on Elizabeth's senses? Or was it something else--someperception of an opening future, not only for Canada but for herself, mingling with the broad light, the keen air, the lovely strangeness ofthe scene? Yet she scarcely spoke to Arthur Delaine, with whom one might havesupposed this hidden feeling connected. She was indeed aware of him allthe time. She watched him secretly; watching herself, too, in thecharacteristic modern way. But outwardly she was absorbed in talkingwith the guests. The Chief Justice, roundly modelled, with a pink ball of a face set inwhite hair, had been half a century in Canada, and had watched theNorthwest grow from babyhood. He had passed his seventieth year, butElizabeth noticed in the old men of Canada a strained expectancy, abuoyant hope, scarcely inferior to that of the younger generation. Therewas in Sir Michael's talk no hint of a Nunc Dimittis; rather apassionate regret that life was ebbing, and the veil falling over anational spectacle so enthralling, so dramatic. "Before this century is out we shall be a people of eighty millions, andwithin measurable time this plain of a thousand miles from here to theRockies will be as thickly peopled as the plain of Lombardy. " "Well, and what then?" said a harsh voice in a French accent, interrupting the Chief Justice. Arthur Delaine's face, turning towards the speaker, suddenly lightened, as though its owner said, "Ah! precisely. " "The plain of Lombardy is not a Paradise, " continued Mariette, with alaugh that had in it a touch of impatience. "Not far off it, " murmured Delaine, as he looked out on the vast fieldof wheat they were passing--a field two miles long, flat and green andbare as a billiard-table--and remembered the chestnuts and the loopingvines, the patches of silky corn and spiky maize, and all theinterlacing richness and broidering of the Italian plain. His soulrebelled against this naked new earth, and its bare new fortunes. Allvery well for those who must live in it and make it. "Yet is therebetter than it!"--lands steeped in a magic that has been woven for themby the mere life of immemorial generations. He murmured this to Elizabeth, who smiled. "Their shroud?" she said, to tease him. "But Canada has on her weddinggarment!" Again he asked himself what had come to her. She looked years youngerthan when he had parted from her in England. The delicious thought shotthrough him that his advent might have something to do with it. He stooped towards her. "Willy-nilly, your friends must like Canada!" he said, in her ear; "ifit makes you so happy. " He had no art of compliment, but the words were simple and sincere, andElizabeth grew suddenly rosy, to her own great annoyance. Before shecould reply, however, the Chief Justice had insisted on bringing herback into the general conversation. "Come and keep the peace, Lady Merton! Here is my friend Marietteplaying the devil's advocate as usual. Anderson tells me you areinclined to think well of us; so perhaps you ought to hear it. " Mariette smiled and bowed a trifle sombrely. He was plain and gaunt, buthe had the air of a _grand seigneur_, and was in fact a member of one ofthe old seigneurial families of Quebec. "I have been enquiring of Sir Michael, madam, whether he is quite happyin his mind as to these Yankees that are now pouring into the newprovinces. He, like everyone else, prophesies great things for Canada;but suppose it is an American Canada?" "Let them come, " said Anderson, with a touch of scorn. "Excellent stuff!We can absorb them. We are doing it fast. " "Can you? They are pouring all over the new districts as fast as thesurvey is completed and the railways planned. They bring capital, whichyour Englishman doesn't. They bring knowledge of the prairie and theclimate, which your Englishmen haven't got. As for capital, America isdoing everything; financing the railways, the mines, buying up thelands, and leasing the forests. British Columbia is only nominallyyours; American capital and business have got their grip firm on thevery vitals of the province. " "Perfectly true!"--put in the lumberman from Vancouver--"They havethree-fourths of the forests in their hands. " "No matter!" said Anderson, kindling. "There was a moment ofdanger--twenty years ago. It is gone. Canada will no more be Americanthan she will be Catholic--with apologies to Mariette. These Yankeescome in--they turn Englishmen in six months--they celebrate Dominion Dayon the first of July, and Independence Day, for old sake's sake, on thefourth; and their children will be as loyal as Toronto. " "Aye, and as dull!" said Mariette fiercely. The conversation dissolved in protesting laughter. The Chief Justice, Anderson, and the lumberman fell upon another subject. Philip and thepretty English girl were flirting on the platform outside, Mariettedropped into a seat beside Elizabeth. "You know my friend, Mr. Anderson, madam?" "I made acquaintance with him on the journey yesterday. He has been mostkind to us. " "He is a very remarkable man. When he gets into the House, he will beheard of. He will perhaps make his mark on Canada. " "You and he are old friends?" "Since our student days. I was of course at the French College--and heat McGill. But we saw a great deal of each other. He used to come homewith me in his holidays. " "He told me something of his early life. " "Did he? It is a sad history, and I fear we--my family, that is, who areso attached to him--have only made it sadder. Three years ago he wasengaged to my sister. Then the Archbishop forbade mixed marriages. Mysister broke it off, and now she is a nun in the Ursuline Conventat Quebec. " "Oh, poor things!" cried Elizabeth, her eye on Anderson's distant face. "My sister is quite happy, " said Mariette sharply. "She did her duty. But my poor friend suffered. However, now he has got over it. And I hopehe will marry. He is very dear to me, though we have not a singleopinion in the world in common. " Elizabeth kept him talking. The picture of Anderson drawn for her by theadmiring but always critical affection of his friend, touched andstirred her. His influence at college, the efforts by which he hadplaced his brothers in the world, the sensitive and generous temperamentwhich had won him friends among the French Canadian students, heremaining all the time English of the English; the tendency tomelancholy--a personal and private melancholy--which mingled in him witha passionate enthusiasm for Canada, and Canada's future; Mariette drewthese things for her, in a stately yet pungent French that affected herstrangely, as though the French of Saint Simon--or something likeit--breathed again from a Canadian mouth. Anderson meanwhile wasstanding outside with the Chief Justice. She threw a glance at him nowand then, wondering about his love affair. Had he really got overit?--or was that M. Mariette's delusion? She liked, on the contrary, tothink of him as constant and broken-hearted! * * * * * The car stopped, as it seemed, on the green prairie, thirty miles fromWinnipeg. Elizabeth was given up to the owner of the great farm--one ofthe rich men of Canada for whom experiment in the public interestbecomes a passion; and Anderson walked on her other hand. Delaine endured a wearisome half-hour. He got no speech with Elizabeth, and prize cattle were his abomination. When the half-hour was done, heslipped away, unnoticed, from the party. He had marked a small lake or"slough" at the rear of the house, with wide reed-beds and a clump ofcottonwood. He betook himself to the cottonwood, took out his pocketHomer and a notebook, and fell to his task. He was in thethirteenth book: [Greek: ôs d hot anêr dorpoio lilaietai, ô te pauêmar neion an helkêtonboe oinope pêkton arotron] "As when a man longeth for supper, for whom, the livelong day, twowine-coloured oxen have dragged the fitted plough through the fallow, and joyful to such an one is the going down of the sun that sends him tohis meal, for his knees tremble as he goes--so welcome to Odysseus wasthe setting of the sun": ... He lost himself in familiar joy--the joy of the Greek itself, of theimages of the Greek life. He walked with the Greek ploughman, he smeltthe Greek earth, his thoughts caressed the dark oxen under the yoke. These for him had savour and delight; the wide Canadian fields had none. Philip Gaddesden meanwhile could not be induced to leave the car. Whilethe others were going through the splendid stables and cowsheds, keptlike a queen's parlour, he and the pretty girl were playing atbob-cherry in the saloon, to the scandal of Yerkes, who, with the honourof the car and the C. P. R. And Canada itself on his shoulders, could notbear that any of his charges should shuffle out of the main item in theofficial programme. But Elizabeth, as before, saw everything transfigured; the splendidShire horses; the famous bull, progenitor of a coming race; the shedsfull of glistening cows and mottled calves. These smooth, sleekcreatures, housed there for the profit of Canada and her farm life, seemed to Elizabeth no less poetic than the cattle of Helios to Delaine. She loved the horses, and the patient, sweet-breathed kine; she foundeven a sympathetic mind for the pigs. Presently when her host, the owner, left her to explain some of hisexperiments to the rest of the party, she fell to Anderson alone. And asshe strolled at his side, Anderson found the June afternoon pass withextraordinary rapidity. Yet he was not really as forthcoming or as frankas he had been the day before. The more he liked his companion, the morehe was conscious of differences between them which his prideexaggerated. He himself had never crossed the Atlantic; but heunderstood that she and her people were "swells"--well-born in theEnglish sense, and rich. Secretly he credited them with those defects ofEnglish society of which the New World talks--its vulgar standards andprejudices. There was not a sign of them certainly in Lady Merton'sconversation. But it is easy to be gracious in a new country; and thebrother was sometimes inclined to give himself airs. Anderson drew inhis tentacles a little; ready indeed to be wroth with himself that hehad talked so much of his own affairs to this little lady the daybefore. What possible interest could she have taken in them! All the same, he could not tear himself from her side. Whenever Delaineleft his seat by the lake, and strolled round the corner of the wood toreconnoitre, the result was always the same. If Anderson and LadyMerton were in sight at all, near or far, they were together. Hereturned, disconsolate, to Homer and the reeds. As they went back to Winnipeg, some chance word revealed to Elizabeththat Anderson also was taking the night train for Calgary. "Oh! then to-morrow you will come and talk to us!" cried Elizabeth, delighted. Her cordial look, the pretty gesture of her head, evoked in Anderson astart of pleasure. He was not, however, the only spectator of them. Arthur Delaine, standing by, thought for the first time in his life thatElizabeth's manner was really a little excessive. The car left Winnipeg that night for the Rockies. An old man, in acrowded emigrant car, with a bundle under his arm, watched the arrivalof the Gaddesden party. He saw Anderson accost them on the platform, andthen make his way to his own coach just ahead of them. The train sped westwards through the Manitoba farms and villages. Anderson slept intermittently, haunted by various important affairs thatwere on his mind, and by recollections of the afternoon. Meanwhile, inthe front of the train, the paragraph from the _Winnipeg Chronicle_ laycarefully folded in an old tramp's waistcoat pocket. CHAPTER V "I say, Elizabeth, you're not going to sit out there all day, and getyour death of cold? Why don't you come in and read a novel like asensible woman?" "Because I can read a novel at home--and I can't see Canada. " "See Canada! What is there to see?" The youth with the scornful voicecame to lean against the doorway beside her. "A patch of corn--miles andmiles of some withered stuff that calls itself grass, all of it as flatas your hand--oh! and, by Jove! a little brown fellow--gopher, is thattheir silly name?--scootling along the line. Go it, young 'un!" Philipshied the round end of a biscuit tin after the disappearing brown thing. "A boggy lake with a kind of salt fringe--unhealthy and horrid andbeastly--a wretched farm building--et cetera, et cetera!" "Oh! look there, Philip--here is a school!" Elizabeth bent forward eagerly. On the bare prairie stood a small whitehouse, like the house that children draw on their slates: a chimney inthe middle, a door, a window on either side. Outside, about twentychildren playing and dancing. Inside, through the wide-open doorway avision of desks and a few bending heads. Philip's patience was put to it. Had she supposed that children wentwithout schools in Canada? But she took no heed of him. "Look how lovely the children are, and how happy! What'll Canada be whenthey are old? And not another sign of habitation anywhere--nothing--butthe little house--on the bare wide earth! And there they dance, asthough the world belonged to them. So it does!" "And my sister to a lunatic asylum!" said Philip, exasperated. "I say, why doesn't that man Anderson come and see us?" "He promised to come in and lunch. " "He's an awfully decent kind of fellow, " said the boy warmly. Elizabeth opened her eyes. "I didn't know you had taken any notice of him, Philip. " "No more I did, " was the candid reply. "But did you see what he broughtme this morning?" He pointed to the seat behind him, littered withnovels, which Elizabeth recognized as new additions to their travellingstore. "He begged or borrowed them somewhere from his friends or peoplein the hotel; told me frankly he knew I should be bored to-day, andmight want them. Rather 'cute of him, wasn't it?" Elizabeth was touched. Philip had certainly shown rather scant civilityto Mr. Anderson, and this trait of thoughtfulness for a sickly andcapricious traveller appealed to her. "I suppose Delaine will be here directly?" Philip went on. "I suppose so. " Philip let himself down into the seat beside her. "Look here, Elizabeth, " lowering his voice; "I don't think Delaine isany more excited about Canada than I am. He told me last night hethought the country about Winnipeg perfectly hideous. " "_Oh_!" cried Elizabeth, as though someone had flipped her. "You'll have to pay him for this journey, Elizabeth. Why did you ask himto come?" "I _didn't_ ask him, Philip. He asked himself. " "Ah! but you let him come, " said the youth shrewdly. "I think, Elizabeth, you're not behaving quite nicely. " "How am I not behaving nicely?" "Well, you don't pay any attention to him. Do you know what he was doingwhile you were looking at the cows yesterday?" Elizabeth reluctantly confessed that she had no idea. "Well, he was sitting by a lake--a kind of swamp--at the back of thehouse, reading a book. " Philip went off into a fit of laughter. "Poor Mr. Delaine!" cried Elizabeth, though she too laughed. "It wasprobably Greek, " she added pensively. "Well, that's funnier still. You know, Elizabeth, he could read Greek athome. It's because you were neglecting him. " "Don't rub it in, Philip, " said Elizabeth, flushing. Then she moved upto him and laid a coaxing hand on his arm. "Do you know that I have beenawake half the night?" "All along of Delaine? Shall I tell him?" "Philip, I just want you to be a dear, and hold your tongue, " said LadyMerton entreatingly. "When there's anything to tell, I'll tell you. Andif I have--" "Have what?" "Behaved like a fool, you'll have to stand by me. " An expression of painpassed over her face. "Oh, I'll stand by you. I don't know that I want Mr. Arthur for an extrabear-leader, if that's what you mean. You and mother are quite enough. Hullo! Here he is. " A little later Delaine and Elizabeth were sitting side by side on thegarden chairs, four of which could just be fitted into the little railedplatform at the rear of the car. Elizabeth was making herself agreeable, and doing it, for a time, with energy. Nothing also could have been moreenergetic than Delaine's attempts to meet her. He had been studyingBaedeker, and he made intelligent travellers' remarks on the subject ofSouthern Saskatchewan. He discussed the American "trek" into theprovince from the adjoining States. He understood the new publicbuildings of Regina were to be really fine, only to be surpassed bythose at Edmonton. He admired the effects of light and shadow on thewide expanse; and noticed the peculiarities of the alkaline lakes. Meanwhile, as he became more expansive, Elizabeth contracted. One wouldhave thought soon that Canada had ceased to interest her at all. She ledhim slyly on to other topics, and presently the real Arthur Delaineemerged. Had she heard of the most recent Etruscan excavations atGrosseto? Wonderful! A whole host of new clues! Boni--Lanciani--thewhole learned world in commotion. A fragment of what might very possiblyturn out to be a bi-lingual inscription was the last find. Were we atlast on the brink of solving the old, the eternal enigma? He threw himself back in his chair, transformed once more into thetalkative, agreeable person that Europe knew. His black and grizzledhair, falling perpetually forward in strong waves, made a fine frame forhis grey eyes and large, well-cut features. He had a slight stammer, which increased when he was animated, and a trick of forever pushingback the troublesome front locks of hair. Elizabeth listened for a long, long time, and at last--could have criedlike a baby because she was missing so much! There was a chance, sheknew, all along this portion of the line, of seeing antelope andcoyotes, if only one kept one's eyes open; not to speak of thegophers--enchanting little fellows, quite new to such travellers asshe--who seemed to choose the very railway line itself, by preference, for their burrowings and their social gatherings. Then, as she saw, thewheat country was nearly done; a great change was in progress; hercuriosity sprang to meet it. Droves of horses and cattle began to appearat rare intervals on the vast expanse. No white, tree-sheltered farmshere, like the farms in Manitoba; but scattered at long distances, nearthe railway or on the horizon, the first primitive dwellings of the newsettlers--the rude "shack" of the first year--beginnings ofvillages--sketches of towns. "I have always thought the Etruscan problem the most fascinating in thewhole world, " cried Delaine, with pleasant enthusiasm. "When youconsider all its bearings, linguistic and historical--" "Oh! _do_ you see, " exclaimed Elizabeth, pointing--"_do_ you see allthose lines and posts, far out to the horizon? Do you know that allthese lonely farms are connected with each other and the railway by_telephones_? Mr. Anderson told me so; that some farmers actually maketheir fences into telephone lines, and that from that little hut overthere you can speak to Montreal when you please? And just before I leftLondon I was staying in a big country house, thirty miles from Hyde ParkCorner, and you couldn't telephone to London except by driving fivemiles to the nearest town!" "I wonder why that should strike you so much--the telephones, I mean?" Delaine's tone was stiff. He had thrown himself back in his chair withfolded arms, and a slight look of patience. "After all, you know, it mayonly be one dull person telephoning to another dull person--on subjectsthat don't matter!" Elizabeth laughed and coloured. "Oh! it isn't telephones in themselves. It's--" She hesitated, andbegan again, trying to express herself. "When one thinks of all thehaphazard of history--how nations have tumbled up, or been dragged up, through centuries of blind horror and mistake, how wonderful to see anation made consciously!--before your eyes--by science andintelligence--everything thought of, everything foreseen! First of all, this wonderful railway, driven across these deserts, against opposition, against unbelief, by a handful of men, who risked everything, andhave--perhaps--changed the face of the world!" She stopped smiling. In truth, her new capacity for dithyramb was noless surprising to herself than to Delaine. "I return to my point"--he made it not without tartness--"will the newmen be adequate to the new state?" "Won't they?" He fancied a certain pride in her bearing. "They explainedto me the other day at Winnipeg what the Government do for theemigrants--how they guide and help them--take care of them in sicknessand in trouble, through the first years--protect them, really, even fromthemselves. And one thinks how Governments have taxed, and tortured, androbbed, and fleeced--Oh, surely, surely, the world improves!" Sheclasped her hands tightly on her knee, as though trying by the physicalaction to restrain the feeling within. "And to see here the actualfoundations of a great state laid under your eyes, deep and strong, bymen who know what it is they are doing--to see history begun on a blankpage, by men who know what they are writing--isn't it wonderful, _wonderful_!" "Dear lady!" said Delaine, smiling, "America has been dealing withemigrants for generations; and there are people who say that corruptionis rife in Canada. " But Elizabeth would not be quenched. "We come after America--we climb on her great shoulders to see the way. But is there anything in America to equal the suddenness of this? Twelveyears ago even--in all this Northwest--practically nothing. And then Godsaid: 'Let there be a nation!'--and there was a nation--in a night and amorning. " She waved her hand towards the great expanse of prairie. "Andas for corruption--" "Well?" He waited maliciously. "There is no great brew without a scum, " she said laughing. "But find mea brew anywhere in the world, of such power, with so little. " "Mr. Anderson would, I think, be pleased with you, " said Delaine, drily. Elizabeth frowned a little. "Do you think I learnt it from him? I assure you he never rhapsodises. " "No; but he gives you the material for rhapsodies. " "And why not?" said Elizabeth indignantly. "If he didn't love thecountry and believe in it he wouldn't be going into its public life. Youcan feel that he is Canadian through and through. " "A farmer's son, I think, from Manitoba?" "Yes. " Elizabeth's tone was a little defensive. "Will you not sometimes--if you watch his career--regret that, with hisability, he has not the environment--and the audience--of theOld World?" "No, never! He will be one of the shapers of the new. " Delaine looked at her with a certain passion. "All very well, but _you_ don't belong to it. We can't spare you fromthe old. " "Oh, as for me, I'm full of vicious and corrupt habits!" put inElizabeth hurriedly. "I am not nearly good enough for the new!" "Thank goodness for that!" said Delaine fervently, and, bending forward, he tried to see her face. But Elizabeth did not allow it. She could nothelp flushing; but as she bent over the side of the platform lookingahead, she announced in her gayest voice that there was a town to beseen, and it was probably Regina. The station at Regina, when they steamed into it, was crowded with folk, and gay with flags. Anderson, after a conversation with thestation-master, came to the car to say that the Governor-General, LordWrekin, who had been addressing a meeting at Regina, was expectedimmediately, to take the East-bound train; which was indeed alreadylying, with its steam up, on the further side of the station, theViceregal car in its rear. "But there are complications. Look there!" He pointed to a procession coming along the platform. Six men bore acoffin covered with white flowers. Behind it came persons in black, agroup of men, and one woman; then others, mostly young men, also inmourning, and bare-headed. As the procession passed the car, Anderson and Delaine uncovered. Elizabeth turned a questioning look on Anderson. "A young man from Ontario, " he explained, "quite a lad. He had come hereout West to a farm--to work his way--a good, harmless little fellow--theson of a widow. A week ago a vicious horse kicked him in the stable. Hedied yesterday morning. They are taking him back to Ontario to beburied. The friends of his chapel subscribed to do it, and they broughthis mother here to nurse him. She arrived just in time. That is she. " He pointed to the bowed figure, hidden in a long crape veil. Elizabeth'seyes filled. "But it comes awkwardly, " Anderson went on, looking back along theplatform--"for the Governor-General is expected this very moment. Thefuneral ought to have been here half an hour ago. They seem to have beendelayed. Ah! here he is!" "Elizabeth!--his Excellency!" cried Philip, emerging from the car. "Hush!" Elizabeth put her finger to her lip. The young man looked at thefuneral procession in astonishment, which was just reaching the side ofthe empty van on the East-bound train which was waiting, with wide-opendoors, to receive the body. The bearers let down the coffin gently tothe ground, and stood waiting in hesitation. But there were no railwayemployés to help them. A flurried station-master and his staff werereceiving the official party. Suddenly someone started the revival hymn, "Shall We Gather at the River?" It was taken up vigorously by the thirtyor forty young men who had followed the coffin, and their voices, rising and falling in a familiar lilting melody, filled the station: Yes, we'll gather at the river, The beautiful, beautiful river-- Gather with the saints at the river, That flows by the throne of God! Elizabeth looked towards the entrance of the station. A tall and slenderman had just stepped on to the platform. It was the Governor-General, with a small staff behind him. The staff and the station officials stoodhat in hand. A few English tourists from the West-bound train hurriedup; the men uncovered, the ladies curtsied. A group of settlers' wivesnewly arrived from Minnesota, who were standing near the entrance, watched the arrival with curiosity. Lord Wrekin, seeing women in hispath, saluted them; and they replied with a friendly and democratic nod. Then suddenly the Governor-General heard the singing, and perceived theblack distant crowd. He inquired of the persons near him, and thenpassed on through the groups which had begun to gather round himself, raising his hand for silence. The passengers of the West-bound train hadby now mostly descended, and pressed after him. Bare-headed, he stoodbehind the mourners while the hymn proceeded, and the coffin was liftedand placed in the car with the wreaths round it. The mother clung amoment to the side of the door, unconsciously resisting those who triedto lead her away. The kind grey eyes of the Governor-General rested uponher, but he made no effort to approach or speak to her. Only hisstillness kept the crowd still. Elizabeth at her window watched the scene--the tall figure of hisExcellency--the bowed woman--the throng of officials and of mourners. Over the head of the Governor-General a couple of flags swelled in alight breeze--the Union Jack and the Maple Leaf; beyond the heads of thecrowd there was a distant glimpse of the barracks of the Mounted Police;and then boundless prairie and floating cloud. At last the mother yielded, and was led to the carriage behind thecoffin. Gently, with bent head, Lord Wrekin made his way to her. But noone heard what passed between them. Then, silently, the funeral crowddispersed, and another crowd--of officials and business men--claimed theGovernor-General. Standing in its midst, he turned for a moment to scanthe West-bound train. "Ah, Lady Merton!" He had perceived the car and Elizabeth's face at thewindow, and he hastened across to speak to her. They were old friends inEngland, and they had already met in Ottawa. "So I find you on your travels! Well?" His look, gay and vivacious as a boy's, interrogated hers. Elizabethstammered a few words in praise of Canada. But her eyes were still wet, and the Governor-General perceived it. "That was touching?" he said. "To die in your teens in thiscountry!--just as the curtain is up and the play begins--hard! Hullo, Anderson!" The great man extended a cordial hand, chaffed Philip a little, gaveLady Merton some hurried but very precise directions as to what she wasto see--and whom--at Vancouver and Pretoria. "You must see So-and-so andSo-and-so--great friends of mine. D----'ll tell you all about thelumbering. Get somebody to show you the Chinese quarter. And there's asplendid old fellow--a C. P. R. Man--did some of the prospecting for therailway up North, toward the Yellowhead. Never heard such tales; I couldhave sat up all night. " He hastily scribbled a name on a card and gaveit to Elizabeth. "Good-bye--good-bye!" He hastened off, but they saw him standing a few moments longer on theplatform, the centre of a group of provincial politicians, farmers, railway superintendents, and others--his hat on the back of his head, his pleasant laugh ringing every now and then above the clatter oftalk. Then came departure, and at the last moment he jumped into hiscarriage, talking and talked to, almost till it had left the platform. Anderson hailed a farming acquaintance. "Well? What has the Governor-General been doing?" "Speaking at a Farmers' Conference. Awful shindy yesterday!--between thefarmers and the millers. Row about the elevators. The farmers want theDominion to own 'em--vow they're cheated and bullied, and all the restof it. Row about the railway, too. Shortage of cars; you know the oldstory. A regular wasp's nest, the whole thing! Well, theGovernor-General came this morning, and everything's blown over! Can'tremember what he said, but we're all sure somebody's going to dosomething. Hope you know how he does it!--I don't. " Anderson laughed as he sat down beside Elizabeth, and the train began tomove. "We seem to send you the right men!" she said, smiling--with a littleEnglish conceit that became her. The train left the station. As it did so, an old man in the firstemigrant car, who, during the wait at Regina, had appeared to be asleepin a corner, with a battered slouch hat drawn down over his eyes andface, stealthily moved to the window, and looked back upon the nowempty platform. Some hours later Anderson was still sitting beside Elizabeth. They werein Southern Alberta. The June day had darkened. And for the first timeElizabeth felt the chill and loneliness of the prairies, where as yetshe had only felt their exhilaration. A fierce wind was sweeping overthe boundless land, with showers in its train. The signs of habitationbecame scantier, the farms fewer. Bunches of horses and herds of cattlewidely scattered over the endless grassy plains--the brown lines of theploughed fire-guards running beside the railway--the bents of wintergrass, white in the storm-light, bleaching the rolling surface of theground, till the darkness of some cloud-shadow absorbed them; thesethings breathed--of a sudden--wildness and desolation. It seemed asthough man could no longer cope with the mere vastness of the earth--anearth without rivers or trees, too visibly naked and measureless. "At last I am afraid of it!" said Elizabeth, shivering in her fur coat, with a little motion of her hand toward the plain. "And what must it bein winter!" Anderson laughed. "The winter is much milder here than in Manitoba! Radiant sunshine dayafter day--and the warm chinook-wind. And it is precisely here that therailway lands are selling at a higher price for the moment than anywhereelse, and that settlers are rushing in. Look there!" Elizabeth peered through the gloom, and saw the gleam of water. Thetrain ran along beside it for a minute or two, then the gatheringdarkness seemed to swallow it up. "A river?" "No, a canal, fed from the Bow River--far ahead of us. We are in theirrigation belt--and in the next few years thousands of people willsettle here. Give the land water--the wheat follows! South and North, even now, the wheat is spreading and driving out the ranchers. Irrigation is the secret. We are mastering it! And you thought"--helooked at her with amusement and a kind of triumph--"that the countryhad mastered us?" There was something in his voice and eyes, as though not he spoke, but anation through him. "Splendid!" was the word that rose in Elizabeth'smind; and a thrill ran with it. The gloom of the afternoon deepened. The showers increased. ButElizabeth could not be prevailed upon to go in. In the car Delaine andPhilip were playing dominoes, in despair of anything more amusing. Yerkes was giving his great mind to the dinner which was to be theconsolation of Philip's day. Meanwhile Elizabeth kept Anderson talking. That was her great gift. Shewas the best of listeners. Thus led on he could not help himself, anymore than he had been able to help himself on the afternoon of thesink-hole. He had meant to hold himself strictly in hand with this tooattractive Englishwoman. On the contrary, he had never yet poured out sofrankly to mortal ear the inmost dreams and hopes which fill the ablestminds of Canada--dreams half imagination, half science; and hopes which, yesterday romance, become reality to-morrow. He showed her, for instance, the great Government farms as they passedthem, standing white and trim upon the prairie, and bade her think ofthe busy brains at work there--magicians conjuring new wheats that willripen before the earliest frosts, and so draw onward the warm tide ofhuman life over vast regions now desolate; or trees that will stand firmagainst the prairie winds, and in the centuries to come turn this bareand boundless earth, this sea-floor of a primeval ocean, which is nowWestern Canada, into a garden of the Lord. Or from the epic of the soil, he would slip on to the human epic bound up with it--tale after tale oflife in the ranching country, and of the emigration now pouring intoAlberta--witched out of him by this delicately eager face, these lovelylistening eyes. And here, in spite of his blunt, simple speech, came outthe deeper notes of feeling, feeling richly steeped in those "mortalthings"--earthy, tender, humorous, or terrible--which make uphuman fate. Had he talked like this to the Catholic girl in Quebec? And yet she hadrenounced him? She had never loved him, of course! To love this manwould be to cleave to him. Once, in a lifting of the shadows of the prairie, Elizabeth saw a groupof antelope standing only a few hundred yards from the train, tranquillyindifferent, their branching horns clear in a pallid ray of light; andonce a prairie-wolf, solitary and motionless; and once, as the trainmoved off after a stoppage, an old badger leisurely shambling off theline itself. And once, too, amid a driving storm-shower, and what seemedto her unbroken formless solitudes, suddenly, a tent by the railwayside, and the blaze of a fire; and as the train slowly passed, threemen--lads rather--emerging to laugh and beckon to it. The tent, thefire, the gay challenge of the young faces and the English voices, ringed by darkness and wild weather, brought the tears back toElizabeth's eyes, she scarcely knew why. "Settlers, in their first year, " said Anderson, smiling, as he wavedback again. But, to Elizabeth, it seemed a parable of the new Canada. An hour later, amid a lightening of the clouds over the West, thatspread a watery gold over the prairie, Anderson sprang to his feet. "The Rockies!" And there, a hundred miles away, peering over the edge of the land, ranfrom north to south a vast chain of snow peaks, and Elizabeth saw atlast that even the prairies have an end. The car was shunted at Calgary, in order that its occupants might enjoya peaceful night. When she found herself alone in her tiny room, Elizabeth stood for a while before her reflection in the glass. Her eyeswere frowning and distressed; her cheeks glowed. Arthur Delaine, her oldfriend, had bade her a cold good night, and she knew well enoughthat--from him--she deserved it. "Yet I gave him the whole morning, " shepleaded with herself. "I did my best. But oh, why, why did I ever lethim come!" And even in the comparative quiet of the car at rest, she could notsleep; so quickened were all her pulses, and so vivid the memoriesof the day. CHAPTER VI Arthur Delaine was strolling and smoking on the broad wooden balcony, which in the rear of the hotel at Banff overlooks a wide scene of alpand water. The splendid Bow River comes swirling past the hotel, on itsrush from the high mountains to the plains of Saskatchewan. Craggymountains drop almost to the river's edge on one side; on the other, pine woods mask the railway and the hills; while in the distance shinethe snow-peaks of the Rockies. It is the gateway of the mountains, fairand widely spaced, as becomes their dignity. Delaine, however, was not observing the scenery. He was entirelyabsorbed by reflection on his own affairs. The party had now beenstationary for three or four days at Banff, enjoying the comforts ofhotel life. The travelling companion on whom Delaine had not calculatedin joining Lady Merton and her brother--Mr. George Anderson--had takenhis leave, temporarily, at Calgary. In thirty-six hours, however, he hadreappeared. It seemed that the construction work in which he wasengaged in the C---- valley did not urgently require his presence; thathis position towards the railway, with which he was about to sever hisofficial connection, was one of great freedom and influence, owing, nodoubt, to the services he had been able to render it the year before. Hewas, in fact, master of his time, and meant to spend it apparently inmaking Lady Merton's tour agreeable. For himself, Delaine could only feel that the advent of this strangerhad spoilt the whole situation. It seemed now as though Elizabeth andher brother could not get on without him. As he leant over the railingof the balcony, Delaine could see far below, in the wood, the flutter ofa white dress. It belonged to Lady Merton, and the man beside her wasGeorge Anderson. He had been arranging their walks and expeditions forthe last four days, and was now about to accompany the Englishtravellers on a special journey with a special engine through theKicking Horse Pass and back, a pleasure suggested by the kindness of therailway authorities. It was true that he had at one time been actively engaged on theimportant engineering work now in progress in the pass; and Lady Mertoncould not, therefore, have found a better showman. But why any showmanat all? What did she know about this man who had sprung so rapidly intointimacy with herself and her brother? Yet Delaine could not honestlyaccuse him of presuming on a chance acquaintance, since it was not to bedenied that it was Philip Gaddesden himself, who had taken an invalid'scapricious liking to the tall, fair-haired fellow, and had urgentlyrequested--almost forced him to come back to them. Delaine was not a little bruised in spirit, and beginning to be angry. During the solitary day he had been alone with them Elizabeth had beenkindness and complaisance itself. But instead of that closeracquaintance, that opportunity for a gradual and delightful courtship onwhich he had reckoned, when the restraint of watching eyes andneighbourly tongues should be removed, he was conscious that he hadnever been so remote from her during the preceding winter at home, as hewas now that he had journeyed six thousand miles simply and solely onthe chance of proposing to her. He could not understand how anything sodisastrous, and apparently so final, could have happened to him in oneshort week! Lady Merton--he saw quite plainly--did not mean him topropose to her, if she could possibly avoid it. She kept Philip withher, and gave no opportunities. And always, as before, she was possessedand bewitched by Canada! Moreover, the Chief Justice and the FrenchCanadian, Mariette, had turned up at the hotel two days before, on theirway to Vancouver. Elizabeth had been sitting, figuratively, at the feetof both of them ever since; and both had accepted an invitation to joinin the Kicking Horse party, and were delaying their journey Westaccordingly. Instead of solitude, therefore, Delaine was aware of a most troublesomeamount of society. Aware also, deep down, that some test he resented butcould not escape had been applied to him on this journey, byfortune--and Elizabeth!--and that he was not standing it well. And theworst of it was that as his discouragement in the matter of Lady Mertonincreased, so also did his distaste for this raw, new country, withoutassociations, without art, without antiquities, in which he shouldnever, never have chosen to spend one of his summers of this short life, but for the charms of Elizabeth! And the more boredom he was consciousof, the less congenial and sympathetic, naturally, did he become as acompanion for Lady Merton. Of this he was dismally aware. Well! hehoped, bitterly, that she knew what she was about, and could take careof herself. This man she had made friends with was good-looking and, byhis record, possessed ability. He had fairly gentlemanly manners, also;though, in Delaine's opinion, he was too self-confident on his ownaccount, and too boastful on Canada's, But he was a man of humbleorigin, son of a farmer who seemed, by the way, to be dead; andgrandson, so Delaine had heard him say, through his mother, of one ofthe Selkirk settlers of 1812--no doubt of some Scotch gillie orshepherd. Such a person, in England, would have no claim whatever to theintimate society of Elizabeth Merton. Yet here she was alone, reallywithout protection--for what use was this young, scatter-brainedbrother?--herself only twenty-seven, and so charming? so much prettierthan she had ever seemed to be at home. It was a dangerous situation--asituation to which she ought not to have been exposed. Delaine hadalways believed her sensitive and fastidious; and in his belief allwomen should be sensitive and fastidious, especially as to who are, andwho are not, their social equals. But it was clear he had not quiteunderstood her. And this man whom they had picked up was undoubtedlyhandsome, strong and masterful, of the kind that the natural womanadmires. But then he--Delaine--had never thought of Elizabeth Merton asthe natural woman. There lay the disappointment. What was his own course to be? He believed himself defeated, but toshow any angry consciousness of it would be to make life veryuncomfortable in future, seeing that he and the Gaddesdens wereinevitably neighbours and old friends. After all, he had not committedhimself beyond repair. Why not resume the friendly relation which hadmeant so much to him before other ideas had entered in? Ah! it was nolonger easy. The distress of which he was conscious had some deep roots. He must marry--the estate demanded it. But his temperament wasinvincibly cautious; his mind moved slowly. How was he to begin upon anyfresh quest? His quiet pursuit of Elizabeth had come about naturally andby degrees. Propinquity had done it. And now that his hopes were dashed, he could not imagine how he was to find any other chance; for, as arule, he was timid and hesitating with women. As he hung, in hisdepression, over the river, this man of forty envisaged--suddenly andnot so far away--old age and loneliness. A keen and peevish resentmenttook possession of him. Lady Merton and Anderson began to ascend a long flight of steps leadingfrom the garden path below to the balcony where Delaine stood. Elizabethwaved to him with smiles, and he must perforce watch her as she mountedside by side with the fair-haired Canadian. "Oh! such delightful plans!" she said, as she sank out of breath into aseat. "We have ordered the engine for two o'clock. Please observe, Mr. Arthur. Never again in this mortal life shall I be able to 'order' anengine for two o'clock!--and one of these C. P. R. Engines, too, greatsplendid fellows! We go down the pass, and take tea at Field; and comeup the pass again this evening, to dine and sleep at Laggan. As wedescend, the engine goes in front to hold us back; and when we ascend, it goes behind to push us up; and I understand that the hill is evensteeper"--she bent forward, laughing, to Delaine, appealing to theircommon North Country recollections--"than the Shap incline!" "Too steep, I gather, " said Delaine, "to be altogether safe. " His tonewas sharp. He stood with his back to the view, looking from Elizabeth toher companion. Anderson turned. "As we manage it, it is perfectly safe! But it costs us too much to makeit safe. That's the reason for the new bit of line. " Elizabeth turned away uncomfortably, conscious again, as she had oftenbeen before, of the jarring between the two men. At two o'clock the car and the engine were ready, and Yerkes receivedthem at the station beaming with smiles. According to him, the privilegeallowed them was all his doing, and he was exceedingly jealous of anyclaim of Anderson's in the matter. "You come to _me_, my lady, if you want anything. Last year I ran aRussian princess through--official. 'You take care of the Grand Duchess, Yerkes, ' they says to me at Montreal; for they know there isn't anybodyon the line they can trust with a lady as they can me. Of course, Icouldn't help her faintin' at the high bridges, going up Rogers Pass;that wasn't none of my fault!" "Faint--at bridges!" said Elizabeth with scorn. "I never heard ofanybody doing such a thing, Yerkes. " "Ah! you wait till you see 'em, my lady, " said Yerkes, grinning. The day was radiant, and even Philip, as they started from Banffstation, was in a Canadian mood. So far he had been quite cheerful andgood-tempered, though not, to Elizabeth's anxious eye, much more robustyet than when they had left England. He smoked far too much, andElizabeth wished devoutly that Yerkes would not supply him so liberallywith whisky and champagne. But Philip was not easily controlled. Thevery decided fancy, however, which he had lately taken for GeorgeAnderson had enabled Elizabeth, in one or two instances, to manage himmore effectively. The night they arrived at Calgary, the lad had had awild desire to go off on a moonlight drive across the prairies to aranch worked by an old Cambridge friend of his. The night was cold, andhe was evidently tired by the long journey from Winnipeg. Elizabeth wasin despair, but could not move him at all. Then Anderson had intervened;had found somehow and somewhere a trapper just in from the mountainswith a wonderful "catch" of fox and marten; and in the amusement ofturning over a bundle of magnificent furs, and of buying somethingstraight from the hunter for his mother, the youth had forgotten hiswaywardness. Behind his back, Elizabeth had warmly thanked herlieutenant. "He only wanted a little distraction, " Anderson had said, with a shysmile, as though he both liked and disliked her thanks. And then, impulsively, she had told him a good deal about Philip and his illness, and their mother, and the old house in Cumberland. She, of all persons, to be so communicative about the family affairs to a stranger! Was itthat two days in a private car in Canada went as far as a month'sacquaintance elsewhere? Another passenger had been introduced to Lady Merton by Anderson, anhour before the departure of the car, and had made such a pleasantimpression on her that he also had been asked to join the party, and hadvery gladly consented. This was the American, Mr. Val Morton, now theofficial receiver, so Elizabeth understood, of a great railway system inthe middle west of the United States. The railway had been handed overto him in a bankrupt condition. His energy and probity were engaged inpulling it through. More connections between it and the Albertanrailways were required; and he was in Canada looking round andnegotiating. He was already known to the Chief Justice and Mariette, andElizabeth fell quickly in love with his white hair, his black eyes, hisrapier-like slenderness and keenness, and that pleasant mingling inhim--so common in the men of his race--of the dry shrewdness of thefinancier with a kind of headlong courtesy to women. On sped the car through the gate of the Rockies. The mountains grewdeeper, the snows deeper against the blue, the air more dazzling, theforests closer, breathing balm into the sunshine. Suddenly the car slackened and stopped. No sign of a station. Only arustic archway, on which was written "The Great Divide, " and beneath thearchway two small brooklets issuing, one flowing to the right, the otherto the left. They all left the car and stood round the tiny streams. They were on thewatershed. The water in the one streamlet flowed to the Atlantic, thatin its fellow to the Pacific. Eternal parable of small beginnings and vast fates! But in this settingof untrodden mountains, and beside this railway which now for a fewshort years had been running its parlour and dining cars, its telegraphsand electric lights and hotels, a winding thread of life andcivilisation, through the lonely and savage splendours of snow-peak androck, transforming day by day the destinies of Canada--the parablebecame a truth, proved upon the pulses of men. The party sat down on the grass beside the bright, rippling water, andYerkes brought them coffee. While they were taking it, the twoengine-drivers descended from the cab of the engine and began to gathera few flowers and twigs from spring bushes that grew near. They put themtogether and offered them to Lady Merton. She, going to speak to them, found that they were English and North Country. "Philip!--Mr. Arthur!--they come from our side of Carlisle!" Philip looked up with a careless nod and smile. Delaine rose and went tojoin her. A lively conversation sprang up between her and the two men. They were, it seemed, a stalwart pair of friends, kinsmen indeed, whogenerally worked together, and were now entrusted with some of the mostimportant work on the most difficult sections of the line. But they werenot going to spend all their days on the line--not they! Like everybodyin the West, they had their eyes on the land. Upon a particular districtof it, moreover, in Northern Alberta, not yet surveyed or settled. Butthey were watching it, and as soon as the "steel gang" of a projectedrailway came within measurable distance they meant to claim theirsections and work their land together. When the conversation came to an end and Elizabeth, who with hercompanions had been strolling along the line a little in front of thetrain, turned back towards her party, Delaine looked down upon her, atonce anxious to strike the right note, and moodily despondent ofdoing it. "Evidently, two very good fellows!" he said in his rich, ponderousvoice. "You gave them a great pleasure by going to talk to them. " "I?" cried Elizabeth. "They are a perfect pair of gentlemen!--and it isvery kind of them to drive us!" Delaine laughed uneasily. "The gradations here are bewildering--or rather the absence ofgradations. " "One gets down to the real thing, " said Elizabeth, rather hotly. Delaine laughed again, with a touch of bitterness. "The real thing? What kind of reality? There are all sorts. " Elizabeth was suddenly conscious of a soreness in his tone. She tried towalk warily. "I was only thinking, " she protested, "of the chances a man gets in thiscountry of showing what is in him. " "Remember, too, " said Delaine, with spirit, "the chances that hemisses!" "The chances that belong only to the old countries? I am rather boredwith them!" said Elizabeth flippantly. Delaine forced a smile. "Poor Old World! I wonder if you will ever be fair to it again, or--orto the people bound up with it!" She looked at him, a little discomposed, and said, smiling: "Wait till you meet me next in Rome!" "Shall I ever meet you again in Rome?" he replied, under his breath, asthough involuntarily. As he spoke he made a determined pause, a stone's throw from therippling stream that marks the watershed; and Elizabeth must needs pausewith him. Beyond the stream, Philip sat lounging among rugs and cushionsbrought from the car, Anderson and the American beside him. Anderson'sfair, uncovered head and broad shoulders were strongly thrown outagainst the glistening snows of the background. Upon the three typicalfigures--the frail English boy--the Canadian--the spare NewYorker--there shone an indescribable brilliance of light. The energy ofthe mountain sunshine and the mountain air seemed to throb and quiverthrough the persons talking--through Anderson's face, and his eyes fixedupon Elizabeth--through the sunlit water--the sparkling grasses--theshimmering spectacle of mountain and summer cloud that begirt them. "Dear Mr. Arthur, of course we shall meet again in Rome!" saidElizabeth, rosy, and not knowing in truth what to say. "This place hasturned my head a little!"--she looked round her, raising her hand to thespectacle as though in pretty appeal to him to share her ownexhilaration--"but it will be all over so soon--and you _know_ I don'tforget old friends--or old pleasures. " Her voice wavered a little. He looked at her, with parted lips, and arather hostile, heated expression; then drew back, alarmed at hisown temerity. "Of course I know it! You must forgive a bookworm his grumble. Shall Ihelp you over the stream?" But she stepped across the tiny streamlet without giving him her hand. As they later rejoined the party, Morton, the Chief Justice, andMariette returned from a saunter in the course of which they too hadbeen chatting to the engine-drivers. "I know the part of the country those men want, " the American wassaying. "I was all over Alberta last fall--part of it in a motor car. Wejumped about those stubble-fields in a way to make a leopard jealous!Every bone in my body was sore for weeks afterwards. But it was worthwhile. That's a country!"--he threw up his hands. "I was at Edmonton onthe day when the last Government lands, the odd numbers, were thrownopen. I saw the siege of the land offices, the rush of the newpopulation. Ah, well, of course, we're used to such scenes in theStates. There's a great trek going on now in our own Southwest. Butwhen that's over, our free land is done. Canada will have the handlingof the last batch on this planet. " "If Canada by that time is not America, " said Mariette, drily. The American digested the remark. "Well, " he said, at last, with a smile, "if I were a Canadian, perhaps Ishould be a bit nervous. " Thereupon, Mariette with great animation developed his theme of the"American invasion. " Winnipeg was one danger spot, British Columbiaanother. The "peaceful penetration, " both of men and capital, was goingon so rapidly that a movement for annexation, were it once started incertain districts of Canada, might be irresistible. The harsh andpowerful face of the speaker became transfigured; one divined in himsome hidden motive which was driving him to contest and belittle themain currents and sympathies about him. He spoke as a prophet, but thefaith which envenomed the prophecy lay far out of sight. Anderson took it quietly. The Chief Justice smiled. "It might have been, " he said, "it might have been! This railroad hasmade the difference. " He stretched out his hand towards the line andthe pass. "Twenty years ago, I came over this ground with the firstparty that ever pushed through Rogers Pass and down the IllecillewaetValley to the Pacific. We camped just about here for the night. And inthe evening I was sitting by myself on the slopes of that mountainopposite"--he raised his hand--"looking at the railway camps below me, and the first rough line that had been cut through the forests. And Ithought of the day when the trains would be going backwards andforwards, and these nameless valleys and peaks would become theplayground of Canada and America. But what I didn't see was the shade ofEngland looking on!--England, whose greater destiny was being decided bythose gangs of workmen below me, and the thousands of workmen behind me, busy night and day in bridging the gap between east and west. Trafficfrom north and south"--he turned towards the American--"that meant, for_your_ Northwest, fusion with _our_ Northwest; traffic from east towest--that meant England, and the English Sisterhood of States! Andthat, for the moment, I didn't see. " "Shall I quote you something I found in an Edmonton paper the otherday?" said Anderson, raising his head from where he lay, looking downinto the grass. And with his smiling, intent gaze fixed on theAmerican, he recited: Land of the sweeping eagle, your goal is not our goal! For the ages have taught that the North and the South breed difference of soul. We toiled for years in the snow and the night, because we believed in the spring, And the mother who cheered us first, shall be first at the banquetting! The grey old mother, the dear old mother, who taught us the note we sing! The American laughed. "A bit raw, like some of your prairie towns; but it hits the nail. Idare say we have missed our bargain. What matter! Our own chunk is asbig as we can chew. " There was a moment's silence. Elizabeth's eyes were shining; even Philipsat open-mouthed and dumb, staring at Anderson. In the background Delaine waited, grudgingly expectant, for the turn ofElizabeth's head, and the spark of consciousness passing between the twofaces which he had learnt to watch. It came--a flash of some highsympathy--involuntary, lasting but a moment. Then Mariette threw out: "And in the end, what are you going to make of it? A replica of Europe, or America?--a money-grubbing civilisation with no faith but thedollar? If so, we shall have had the great chance of history--andlost it!" "We shan't lose it, " said Anderson, "unless the gods mock us. " "Why not?" said Mariette sombrely. "Nations have gone mad before now. " "Ah!--prophesy, prophesy!" said the Chief Justice sadly. "All very wellfor you young men, but for us, who are passing away! Here we are at thebirth. Shall we never, in any state of being, know the end? I have neverfelt so bitterly as I do now the limitations of our knowledge andour life. " No one answered him. But Elizabeth looking up saw the aspect ofMariette--the aspect of a thinker and a mystic--slowly relax. Itsharshness became serenity, its bitterness peace. And with her quickfeeling she guessed that the lament of the Chief Justice had onlyawakened in the religious mind the typical religious cry, "_Thou_, Lord, art the Eternal, and Thy years shall not fail. " At Field, where a most friendly inn shelters under the great shouldersof Mount Stephen, they left the car a while, took tea in the hotel, andwandered through the woods below it. All the afternoon, Elizabeth hadshown a most delicate and friendly consideration for Delaine. She hadturned the conversation often in his direction and on his subjects, hadplaced him by her side at tea, and in general had more than done herduty by him. To no purpose. Delaine saw himself as the condemned man towhom indulgences are granted before execution. She would probably havedone none of these things if there had been any real chance for him. But in the walk after tea, Anderson and Lady Merton drifted together. There had been so far a curious effort on both their parts to avoid eachother's company. But now the Chief Justice and Delaine had foregathered;Philip was lounging and smoking on the balcony of the hotel with avisitor there, an old Etonian fishing and climbing in the Rockies forhealth, whom they had chanced upon at tea. Mariette, after one glance atthe company, especially at Elizabeth and Anderson, had turned aside intothe woods by himself. They crossed the river and strolled up the road to Emerald Lake. Overthe superb valley to their left hung the great snowy mass, glisteningand sunlit, of Mount Stephen; far to the West the jagged peaks of theVan Home range shot up into the golden air; on the flat beside the rivervivid patches of some crimson flower, new to Elizabeth's eyes, caughtthe sloping light; and the voice of a swollen river pursued them. They began to talk, this time of England. Anderson asked many questionsas to English politics and personalities. And she, to please him, chattered of great people and events, of scenes and leaders inParliament, of diplomats and royalties; all the gossip of the moment, infact, fluttering round the principal figures of English and Europeanpolitics. It was the talk most natural to her; the talk of the world sheknew best; and as Elizabeth was full of shrewdness and natural salt, without a trace of malice, no more at least than a woman should have--toborrow the saying about Wilkes and his squint--her chatter was generallyin request, and she knew it. But Anderson, though he had led up to it, did not apparently enjoy it;on the contrary, she felt him gradually withdrawing and cooling, becoming a little dry and caustic, even satirical, as on the firstafternoon of their acquaintance. So that after a while her gossipflagged; since the game wants two to play it. Then Anderson walked onwith a furrowed brow, and raised colour; and she could not imagine whathad been done or said to annoy him. She could only try to lead him back to Canada. But she got little or noresponse. "Our politics must seem to you splashes in a water-butt, " he saidimpatiently, "after London and Europe. " "A pretty big water-butt!" "Size makes no difference. " Elizabeth's lips twitched as she rememberedArthur Delaine's similar protests; but she kept her countenance, andmerely worked the harder to pull her companion out of this odd pit ofill-humour into which he had fallen. And in the end she succeeded; herepented, and let her manage him as she would. And whether it was theinfluence of this hidden action and reaction between their minds, or ofthe perfumed June day breathing on them from the pines, or of the giantsplendour of Mount Burgess, rising sheer in front of them out of thedark avenue of the forest, cannot be told; but, at least, they becamemore intimate than they had yet been, more deeply interesting each tothe other. In his thoughts and ideals she found increasing fascination;her curiosity, her friendly and womanly curiosity, grew withsatisfaction. His view of life was often harsh or melancholy; but therewas never a false nor a mean note. Yet before the walk was done he had startled her. As they turned backtowards Field, and were in the shadows of the pines, he said, withabrupt decision: "Will you forgive me if I say something?" She looked up surprised. "Don't let your brother drink so much champagne!" The colour rushed into Elizabeth's face. She drew herself up, consciousof sharp pain, but also of anger. A stranger, who had not yet known themten days! But she met an expression on his face, timid and yetpassionately resolved, which arrested her. "I really don't know what you mean, Mr. Anderson!" she said proudly. "I thought I had seen you anxious. I should be anxious if I were you, "he went on hurriedly. "He has been ill, and is not quite master ofhimself. That is always the critical moment. He is a charmingfellow--you must be devoted to him. For God's sake, don't let him ruinhimself body and soul!" Elizabeth was dumbfounded. The tears rushed into her eyes, her voicechoked in her throat. She must, she would defend her brother. Then shethought of the dinner of the night before, and the night before that--ofthe wine bill at Winnipeg and Toronto. Her colour faded away; her heartsank; but it still seemed to her an outrage that he should have dared tospeak of it. He spoke, however, before she could. "Forgive me, " he said, recovering his self-control. "I know it mustseem mere insolence on my part. But I can't help it--I can't look on atsuch a thing, silently. May I explain? Please permit me! I toldyou"--his voice changed--"my mother and sisters had been burnt to death. I adored my mother. She was everything to me. She brought us up withinfinite courage, though she was a very frail woman. In those days afarm in Manitoba was a much harder struggle than it is now. Yet shenever complained; she was always cheerful; always at work. But--myfather drank! It came upon him as a young man--after an illness. It gotworse as he grew older. Every bit of prosperity that came to us, hedrank away; he would have ruined us again and again, but for my mother. And at last he murdered her--her and my poor sisters!" Elizabeth made a sound of horror. "Oh, there was no intention to murder, " said Anderson bitterly. "Hemerely sat up drinking one winter night with a couple of whisky bottlesbeside him. Then in the morning he was awakened by the cold; the firehad gone out. He stumbled out to get the can of coal-oil from thestable, still dazed with drink, brought it in and poured some on thewood. Some more wood was wanted. He went out to fetch it, leaving hiscandle alight, a broken end in a rickety candlestick, on the floorbeside the coal-oil. When he got to the stable it was warm andcomfortable; he forgot what he had come for, fell down on a bundle ofstraw, and went into a dead sleep. The candle must have fallen over intothe oil, the oil exploded, and in a few seconds the wooden house was inflames. By the time I came rushing back from the slough where I had beenbreaking the ice for water, the roof had already fallen in. My poormother and two of the children had evidently tried to escape by thestairway and had perished there; the two others were burnt intheir beds. " "And your father?" murmured Elizabeth, unable to take her eyes from thespeaker. "I woke him in the stable, and told him what had happened. Bit by bit Igot out of him what he'd done. And then I said to him, 'Nowchoose!--either you go, or we. After the funeral, the boys and I havedone with you. You can't force us to go on living with you. We will killourselves first. Either you stay here, and we go into Winnipeg; or youcan sell the stock, take the money, and go. We'll work the farm. ' Heswore at me, but I told him he'd find we'd made up our minds. And a weeklater, he disappeared. He had sold the stock, and left us the burntwalls and the land. " "And you've never seen him since?" "Never. " "You believe him dead?" "I know that he died--in the first Yukon rush of ten years ago. Itracked him there, shortly afterwards. He was probably killed in ascuffle with some miners as drunken as himself. " There was a silence, which he broke very humbly. "Do you forgive me? I know I am not sane on this point. I believe I havespoilt your day. " She looked up, her eyes swimming in tears, and held out her hand. "It's nothing, you know, " she said, trying to smile--"in our case. Philip is such a baby. " "I know; but look after him!" he said earnestly, as he grasped it. The trees thinned, and voices approached. They emerged from the forest, and found themselves hailed by the Chief Justice. The journey up the pass was even more wonderful than the journey down. Sunset lights lay on the forests, on the glorious lonely mountains, andon the valley of the Yoho, roadless and houseless now, but soon to be asfamous through the world as Grindelwald or Chamounix. They dismountedand explored the great camps of workmen in the pass; they watched theboiling of the stream, which had carved the path of the railway; theygathered white dogwood, and yellow snow-lilies, and red painter's-brush. Elizabeth and Anderson hardly spoke to each other. She talked a greatdeal with Delaine, and Mariette held a somewhat acid dispute with her onmodern French books--Loti, Anatole France, Zola--authors whom hissoul loathed. But the day had forged a lasting bond between Anderson and Elizabeth, and they knew it. * * * * * The night rose clear and cold, with stars shining on the snow. Delaine, who with Anderson had found quarters in one of Laggan's handful ofhouses, went out to stroll and smoke alone, before turning into bed. Hewalked along the railway line towards Banff, in bitterness of soul, debating with himself whether he could possibly leave the party at once. When he was well out of sight of the station and the houses, he becameaware of a man persistently following him, and not without a hasty gripon the stout stick he carried, he turned at last to confront him. "What do you want with me? You seem to be following me. " "Are you Mr. Arthur Delaine?" said a thick voice. "That is my name. What do you want?" "And you be lodging to-night in the same house with Mr. GeorgeAnderson?" "I am. What's that to you?" "Well, I want twenty minutes' talk with you, " said the voice, after apause. The accent was Scotch. In the darkness Delaine dimly perceived anold and bent man standing before him, who seemed to sway and totter ashe leant upon his stick. "I cannot imagine, sir, why you should want anything of the kind. " Andhe turned to pursue his walk. The old man kept up with him, andpresently said something which brought Delaine to a sudden stop ofastonishment. He stood there listening for a few minutes, transfixed, and finally, turning round, he allowed his strange companion to walkslowly beside him back to Laggan. CHAPTER VII Oh! the freshness of the morning on Lake Louise! It was barely eight o'clock, yet Elizabeth Merton had already taken hercoffee on the hotel verandah, and was out wandering by herself. Thehotel, which is nearly six thousand feet above the sea, had only justbeen opened for its summer guests, and Elizabeth and her party were itsfirst inmates. Anderson indeed had arranged their coming, and was tohave brought them hither himself. But on the night of the party's returnto Laggan he had been hastily summoned by telegraph to a consultation ofengineers on a difficult matter of railway grading in the Kootenaydistrict. Delaine, knocking at his door in the morning, had found himflown. A note for Lady Merton explained his flight, gave all directionsfor the drive to Lake Louise, and expressed his hope to be with themagain as expeditiously as possible. Three days had now elapsed since hehad left them. Delaine, rather to Elizabeth's astonishment, had once ortwice inquired when he might be expected to return. Elizabeth found a little path by the lake shore, and pursued it a shortway; but presently the splendour and the beauty overpowered her; herfeet paused of themselves. She sat down on a jutting promontory of rock, and lost herself in the forms and hues of the morning. In front of herrose a wall of glacier sheer out of the water and thousands of feetabove the lake, into the clear brilliance of the sky. On either side ofits dazzling whiteness, mountains of rose-coloured rock, fledged withpine, fell steeply to the water's edge, enclosing and holding up theglacier; and vast rock pinnacles of a paler rose, melting into gold, broke, here and there, the gleaming splendour of the ice. The sun, justtopping the great basin, kindled the ice surfaces, and all theglistening pinks and yellows, the pale purples and blood-crimsons of therocks, to flame and splendour; while the shadows of the coolest azurestill held the hollows and caves of the glacier. Deep in the motionlesslake, the shining snows repeated themselves, so also the rose-red rocks, the blue shadows, the dark buttressing crags with their pines. Heightbeyond height, glory beyond glory--from the reality above, the eyedescended to its lovelier image below, which lay there, enchanted andinsubstantial, Nature's dream of itself. The sky was pure light; the air pure fragrance. Heavy dews dripped fromthe pines and the moss, and sparkled in the sun. Beside Elizabeth, undera group of pines, lay a bed of snow-lilies, their golden headsdew-drenched, waiting for the touch of the morning, waiting, too--so shethought--for that Canadian poet who will yet place them in English versebeside the daffodils of Westmoreland. She could hardly breathe for delight. The Alps, whether in their Swissor Italian aspects, were dear and familiar to her. She climbed nimblyand well; and her senses knew the magic of high places. But never surelyhad even travelled eyes beheld a nobler fantasy of Nature than thatcomposed by these snows and forests of Lake Louise; such rocks of opaland pearl; such dark gradations of splendour in calm water; suchbalanced intricacy and harmony in the building of this ice-palace thatreared its majesty above the lake; such a beauty of subordinate andconverging outline in the supporting mountains on either hand; as thoughthe Earth Spirit had lingered on his work, finishing and caressing it inconscious joy. And in Elizabeth's heart, too, there was a freshness of spring; anoverflow of something elemental and irresistible. Yet, strangely enough, it was at that moment expressing itself inregret and compunction. Since the dawn, that morning, she had beenunable to sleep. The strong light, the pricking air, had kept herwakeful; and she had been employing her time in writing to her mother, who was also her friend. "... Dear little mother--You will say I have been unkind--I say it tomyself. But would it really have been fairer if I had forbidden him tojoin us? There was just a chance--it seems ridiculous now--but therewas--I confess it! And by my letter from Toronto--though really mylittle note might have been written to anybody--I as good as said so tohim, 'Come and throw the dice and--let us see what falls out!'Practically, that is what it amounted to--I admit it in sackcloth andashes. Well!--we have thrown the dice--and it won't do! No, it won't, itwon't do! And it is somehow all my fault--which is abominable. But I seenow, what I never saw at home or in Italy, that he is a thousand yearsolder than I--that I should weary and jar upon him at every turn, were Ito marry him. Also I have discovered--out here--I believe, darling, youhave known it all along!--that there is at the very root of me a kind ofsavage--a creature that hates fish-knives and finger-glasses anddressing for dinner--the things I have done all my life, and ArthurDelaine will go on doing all his. Also that I never want to see a museumagain--at least, not for a long time; and that I don't care twopencewhether Herculaneum is excavated or not! "Isn't it shocking? I can't explain myself; and poor Mr. Arthurevidently can't make head or tail of me, and thinks me a little mad. SoI am, in a sense. I am suffering from a new kind of _folie desgrandeurs_. The world has suddenly grown so big; everything in the humanstory--all its simple fundamental things at least--is writ so largehere. Hope and ambition--love and courage--the man wrestling with theearth--the woman who bears and brings up children--it is as though I hadnever felt, never seen them before. They rise out of the dust and mistof our modern life--great shapes warm from the breast of Nature--and Ihold my breath. Behind them, for landscape, all the dumb age-long pastof these plains and mountains; and in front, the future on the loom, andthe young radiant nation, shuttle in hand, moving to and fro at herunfolding task! "How unfair to Mr. Arthur that this queer intoxication of mine shouldhave altered him so in my foolish eyes--as though one had scrubbed allthe golden varnish from an old picture, and left it crude andcharmless. It is not his fault--is mine. In Europe we loved the samethings; his pleasure kindled mine. But here he enjoys nothing that Ienjoy; he is longing for a tiresome day to end, when my heart is justsinging for delight. For it is not only Canada in the large that holdsme, but all its dear, human, dusty, incoherent detail--all its clatterof new towns and spreading farms--of pushing railways and youngparliaments--of roadmaking and bridgemaking--of saw-mills and lumbercamps--detail so different from anything I have ever discussed withArthur Delaine before. Some of it is ugly, I know--I don't care! It islike a Rembrandt ugliness--that only helps and ministers to a strongerbeauty, the beauty of prairie and sky, and the beauty of the humanbattle, the battle of blood and brain, with the earth and her forces. "'_Enter these enchanted woods, ye who dare!_'" "There is a man here--a Mr. George Anderson, of whom I told yousomething in my last letter--who seems to embody the very life of thiscountry, to be the prairie, and the railway, and the forest--their veryspirit and avatar. Personally, he is often sad; his own life has beenhard; and yet the heart of him is all hope and courage, all delight tooin the daily planning and wrestling, the contrivance and thecleverness, the rifling and outwitting of Nature--that makes aCanadian--at any rate a Western Canadian. I suppose he doesn't knowanything about art. Mr. Arthur seems to have nothing in common with him;but there is in him that rush and energy of life, from which, surely, art and poetry spring, when the time is ripe. "Don't of course imagine anything absurd! He is just a young Scotchengineer, who seems to have made some money as people do make moneyhere--quickly and honestly--and is shortly going into Parliament. Theysay that he is sure to be a great man. To us--to Philip and me, he hasbeen extremely kind. I only meant that he seems to be in place here--oranywhere, indeed, where the world is moving; while Mr. Arthur, inCanada, is a walking anachronism. He is out of perspective; hedoesn't fit. "You will say, that if I married him, it would not be to live in Canada, and once at home again, the old estimates and 'values' would reassertthemselves. But in a sense--don't be alarmed--I shall always live inCanada. Or, rather, I shall never be quite the same again; and Mr. Arthur would find me a restless, impracticable, discontented woman. "Would it not really be kinder if I suggested to him to go home byCalifornia, while we come back again through the Rockies? Don't youthink it would? I feel that I have begun to get on his nerves--as he onmine. If you were only here! But, I assure you, he doesn't _look_miserable; and I think he will bear up very well. And if it will be anycomfort to you to be told that I know what is meant by the gnawing ofthe little worm, Compunction, then be comforted, dearest; for it gnawshorribly, and out of all proportion--I vow--to my crimes. "Philip is better on the whole, and has taken an enormous fancy to Mr. Anderson. But, as I have told you all along, he is not so much better asyou and I hoped he would be. I take every care of him that I can, butyou know that he is not wax, when it comes to managing. However, Mr. Anderson has been a great help. " Recollections of this letter, and other thoughts besides, coming frommuch deeper strata of the mind than she had been willing to reveal toher mother, kept slipping at intervals through Elizabeth'sconsciousness, as she sat beside the lake. A step beside her startled her, and she looked up to see Delaineapproaching. "Out already, Mr. Arthur! But _I_ have had breakfast!" "So have I. What a place!" Elizabeth did not answer, but her smiling eyes swept the glorious circleof the lake. "How soon will it all be spoilt and vulgarised?" said Delaine, with ashrug. "Next year, I suppose, a funicular, to the top of the glacier. " Elizabeth cried out. "Why not?" he asked her, as he rather coolly and deliberately took hisseat beside her. "You applaud telephones on the prairies; why notfuniculars here?" "The one serves, the other spoils, " said Elizabeth eagerly. "Serves whom? Spoils what?" The voice was cold. "All travellers are notlike yourself. " "I am not afraid. The Canadians will guard their heritage. " "How dull England will seem to you when you go back to it!" he said toher, after a moment. His tone had an under-note of bitterness whichElizabeth uncomfortably recognised. "Oh! I have a way of liking what I must like, " she said, hurriedly. "Just now, certainly, I am in love with deserts--flat ormountainous--tempered by a private car. " He laughed perfunctorily. And suddenly it seemed to her that he had comeout to seek her with a purpose, and that a critical moment might beapproaching. Her cheeks flushed, and to hide them she leant over thewater's edge and began to trail her finger in its clear wave. He, however, sat in hesitation, looking at her, the prey of thoughts towhich she had no clue. He could not make up his mind, though he had justspent an almost sleepless night on the attempt to do it. The silence became embarrassing. Then, if he still groped, she seemed tosee her way, and took it. "It was very good of you to come out and join our wanderings, " she saidsuddenly. Her voice was clear and kind. He started. "You know I could ask for nothing better, " was his slow reply, notwithout dignity. "It has been an immense privilege to see you like this, day by day. " Elizabeth's pulse quickened. "How can I manage it?" she desperately thought. "But I must--" "That's very sweet of you, " she said aloud, "when I have bored you sowith my raptures. And now it's coming to an end, like all nice things. Philip and I think of staying a little in Vancouver. And the Governorhas asked us to go over to Victoria for a few days. You, I suppose, willbe doing the proper round, and going back by Seattle and San Francisco?" Delaine received the blow--and understood it. There had been nodefinite plans ahead. Tacitly, it had been assumed, he thought, that hewas to return with them to Montreal and England. This gentle question, then, was Elizabeth's way of telling him that his hopes were vain andhis journey fruitless. He had not often been crossed in his life, and a flood of resentmentsurged up in a very perplexed mind. "Thank you. Yes--I shall go home by San Francisco. " The touch of haughtiness in his manner, the manner of one accustomed allhis life to be a prominent and considered person in the world, did notdisguise from Elizabeth the soreness underneath. It was hard to hurt herold friend. But she could only sit as though she felt nothing--meantnothing--of any importance. And she achieved it to perfection. Delaine, through all his tumult offeeling, was sharply conscious of her grace, her reticence, her softdignity. They were exactly what he coveted in a wife--what he hoped hehad captured in Elizabeth. How was it they had been snatched from him?He turned blindly on the obstacle that had risen in his path, and thesecret he had not yet decided how to handle began to run away with him. He bent forward, with a slightly heightened colour. "Lady Merton--we might not have another opportunity--will you allow me afew frank words with you--the privilege of an old friend?" Elizabeth turned her face to him, and a pair of startled eyes that triednot to waver. "Of course, Mr. Arthur, " she said smiling. "Have I been doing anythingdreadful?" "May I ask what you personally know of this Mr. Anderson?" He saw--or thought he saw--her brace herself under the sudden surpriseof the name, and her momentary discomfiture pleased him. "What I know of Mr. Anderson?" she repeated wondering. "Why, no morethan we all know. What do you mean, Mr. Arthur? Ah, yes, I remember, youfirst met him in Winnipeg; _we_ made acquaintance with him theday before. " "For the first time? But you are now seeing a great deal of him. Are youquite sure--forgive me if I seem impertinent--that he is--quite theperson to be admitted to your daily companionship?" He spoke slowly and harshly. The effort required before a naturallyamiable and nervous man could bring himself to put such anuncomfortable question made it appear particularly offensive. "Our daily companionship?" repeated Elizabeth in bewilderment. "What canyou mean, Mr. Arthur? What is wrong with Mr. Anderson? You saw thateverybody at Winnipeg seemed to know him and respect him; people likethe Chief Justice, and the Senator--what was his name?--and MonsieurMariette. I don't understand why you ask me such a thing. Why should wesuppose there are any mysteries about Mr. Anderson?" Unconsciously her slight figure had stiffened, her voice had changed. Delaine felt an admonitory qualm. He would have drawn back; but it wastoo late. He went on doggedly-- "Were not all these persons you named acquainted with Mr. Anderson inhis public capacity? His success in the strike of last year brought hima great notoriety. But his private history--his family andantecedents--have you gathered anything at all about them?" Something that he could not decipher flashed through Elizabeth'sexpression. It was a strange and thrilling sense that what she hadgathered she would not reveal for--a kingdom! "Monsieur Mariette told me all that anyone need want to know!" shecried, breathing quick. "Ask him what he thinks--what he feels! But ifyou ask _me_, I think Mr. Anderson carries his history in his face. " Delaine pondered a moment, while Elizabeth waited, challenging, expectant, her brown eyes all vivacity. "Well--some facts have come to my knowledge, " he said, at last, "whichhave made me ask you these questions. My only object--you must, you willadmit that!--is to save you possible pain--a possible shock. " "Mr. Arthur!" the voice was peremptory--"If you have learned anythingabout Mr. Anderson's private history--by chance--without hisknowledge--that perhaps he would rather we did not know--I beg you willnot tell me--indeed--please--I forbid you to tell me. We owe him muchkindness these last few weeks. I cannot gossip about him behindhis back. " All her fine slenderness of form, her small delicacy of feature, seemedto him tense and vibrating, like some precise and perfect instrumentstrained to express a human feeling or intention. But what feeling?While he divined it, was she herself unconscious of it? Hisbitterness grew. "Dear Lady Merton--can you not trust an old friend?" She did not soften. "I do trust him. But"--her smile flashed--"even new acquaintances havetheir rights. " "You will not understand, " he said, earnestly. "What is in my mind cameto me, through no wish or will of mine. You cannot suppose that I havebeen prying into Mr. Anderson's affairs! But now that the information ismine, I feel a great responsibility towards you. " "Don't feel it. I am a wilful woman. " "A rather perplexing one! May I at least be sure that"--hehesitated--"that you will be on your guard?" "On my guard?" she lifted her eyebrows proudly--"and against what?" "That is precisely what you won't let me tell you. " She laughed--a little fiercely. "There we are; no forrarder. But please remember, Mr. Arthur, how soonwe shall all be separating. Nothing very dreadful can happen in thesefew days--can it?" For the first time there was a touch of malice in her smile. Delaine rose, took one or two turns along the path in front of her, andthen suddenly stopped beside her. "I think"--he said, with emphasis, "that Mr. Anderson will probably findhimself summoned away--immediately--before you get to Vancouver. Butthat I will discuss with him. You could give me no address, so I havenot yet been able to communicate with him. " Again Elizabeth's eyebrows went up. She rose. "Of course you will do what you think best. Shall we go back to thehotel?" They walked along in silence. He saw that she was excited, and that hehad completely missed his stroke; but he did not see how to mend thesituation. "Oh! there is Philip, going to fish, " said Elizabeth at last, as thoughnothing had happened. "I wondered what could possibly have got him upso early. " Philip waved to her as she spoke, shouting something which the mountainechoes absorbed. He was accompanied by a young man, who seemed to beattached to the hotel as guide, fisherman, hunter--at the pleasure ofvisitors. But Elizabeth had already discovered that he had the speech ofa gentleman, and attended the University of Manitoba during the winter. In the absence of Anderson, Philip had no doubt annexed him forthe morning. There was a pile of logs lying on the lake side. Philip, rod in hand, began to scramble over them to a point where several large trunksoverhung deep water. His companion meanwhile was seated on the moss, busy with some preparations. "I hope Philip will be careful, " said Delaine, suddenly. "There isnothing so slippery as logs. " Elizabeth, who had been dreaming, looked up anxiously. As she did soPhilip, high perched on the furthest logs, turned again to shout to hissister, his light figure clear against the sunlit distance. Then thefigure wavered, there was a sound of crashing wood, and Philip fellhead-foremost into the lake before him. The young man on the bank looked up, threw away his rod and his coat, and was just plunging into the lake when he was anticipated by anotherman who had come running down the bank of the hotel, and was already inthe water. Elizabeth, as she rushed along the edge, recognized Anderson. Philip seemed to have disappeared; but Anderson dived, and presentlyemerged with a limp burden. The guide was now aiding him, and betweenthem they brought young Gaddesden to land. The whole thing passed sorapidly that Delaine and Elizabeth, running at full speed, had hardlyreached the spot before Anderson was on the shore, bearing the ladin his arms. Elizabeth bent over him with a moan of anguish. He seemed to her dead. "He has only fainted, " said Anderson peremptorily. "We must get himin. " And he hurried on, refusing Delaine's help, carrying the thin bodyapparently with ease along the path and up the steps to the hotel. Theguide had already been sent flying ahead to warn the household. Thus, by one of the commonplace accidents of travel, the whole scene waschanged for this group of travellers. Philip Gaddesden would have takensmall harm from his tumble into the lake, but for the fact that theeffects of rheumatic fever were still upon him. As it was, a certainamount of fever, and some heart-symptoms that it was thought had beenovercome, reappeared, and within a few hours of the accident it becameplain that, although he was in no danger, they would be detained atleast ten days, perhaps a fortnight, at Lake Louise. Elizabeth sat downin deep despondency to write to her mother, and then lingered awhilewith the letter before her, her head in her hands, pondering withemotion what she and Philip owed to George Anderson, who had, it seemed, arrived by a night train, and walked up to the hotel, in the very nickof time. As to the accident itself, no doubt the guide, a fine swimmerand _coureur de bois_, would have been sufficient, unaided, to save herbrother. But after all, it was Anderson's strong arms that had drawnhim from the icy depths of the lake, and carried him to safety! Andsince? Never had telephone and railway, and general knowledge of theresources at command, been worked more skilfully than by him, and thekind people of the hotel. "Don't be the least anxious"--she had writtento her mother--"we have a capital doctor--all the chemist's stuff wewant--and we could have a nurse at any moment. Mr. Anderson has only toorder one up from the camp hospital in the pass. But for the present, Simpson and I are enough for the nursing. " She heard voices in the next room; a faint question from Philip, Anderson replying. What an influence this man of strong character hadalready obtained over her wilful, self-indulgent brother! She saw thesigns of it in many directions; and she was passionately grateful forit. Her thoughts went wandering back over the past three weeks--over thewhole gradual unveiling of Anderson's personality. She recalled herfirst impressions of him the day of the "sink-hole. " An ordinary, strong, capable, ambitious young man, full of practical interests, withbrusque manners, and a visible lack of some of the outer wrappings towhich she was accustomed--it was so that she had first envisaged him. Then at Winnipeg--through Mariette and others--she had seen him asother men saw him, his seniors and contemporaries, the men engaged withhim in the making of this vast country. She had appreciated hischaracter in what might be hereafter, apparently, its public aspects;the character of one for whom the world surrounding him was eagerlyprophesying a future and a career. His profound loyalty to Canada, andto certain unspoken ideals behind, which were really the source of theloyalty; the atmosphere at once democratic and imperial in which histhoughts and desires moved, which had more than once communicated itspassion to her; a touch of poetry, of melancholy, of greatness even--allthis she had gradually perceived. Winnipeg and the prairie journey haddeveloped him thus before her. So much for the second stage in her knowledge of him. There was a third;she was in the midst of it. Her face flooded with colour against herwill. "Out of the strong shall come forth sweetness. " The words rushedinto her mind. She hoped, as one who wished him well, that he wouldmarry soon and happily. And the woman who married him would find it notame future. Suddenly Delaine's warnings occurred to her. She laughed, a littlehysterically. Could anyone have shown himself more helpless, useless, incompetent, than Arthur Delaine since the accident? Yet he was still on the spot. She realised, indeed, that it was hardly possible for their old friendto desert them under the circumstances. But he merely represented anadditional burden. A knock at the sitting-room door disturbed her. Anderson appeared. "I am off to Banff, Lady Merton, " he said from the threshold. "I think Ihave all your commissions. Is your letter ready?" She sealed it and gave it to him. Then she looked up at him; and for thefirst time he saw her tremulous and shaken; not for her brother, butfor himself. "I don't know how to thank you. " She offered her hand; and one of thosebeautiful looks--generous, friendly, sincere--of which she hadthe secret. He, too, flushed, his eyes held a moment by hers. Then he, somewhatbrusquely, disengaged himself. "Why, I did nothing! He was in no danger; the guide would have had himout in a twinkle. I wish"--he frowned--"you wouldn't look so doneup over it. " "Oh! I am all right. " "I brought you a book this morning. Mercifully I left it in thedrawing-room, so it hasn't been in the lake. " He drew it from his pocket. It was a French novel she had expressed awish to read. She exclaimed, "How did you get it?" "I found Mariette had it with him. He sends it me from Vancouver. Willyou promise to read it--and rest?" He drew a sofa towards the window. The June sunset was blazing on theglacier without. Would he next offer to put a shawl over her, and tuckher up? She retreated hastily to the writing-table, one hand upon it. Hesaw the lines of her gray dress, her small neck and head; the Quakerishsmoothness of her brown hair, against the light. The little figure wasgrace, refinement, embodied. But it was a grace that implied anenvironment--the cosmopolitan, luxurious environment, in which suchwomen naturally move. His look clouded. He said a hasty good-bye and departed. Elizabeth wasleft breathing quick, one hand on her breast. It was as though she hadescaped something--or missed something. As he left the hotel, Anderson found himself intercepted by Delaine inthe garden, and paused at once to give him the latest news. "The report is really good, everything considered, " he said, with acordiality born of their common anxiety; and he repeated the doctor'slast words to himself. "Excellent!" said Delaine; then, clearing his throat, "Mr. Anderson, mayI have some conversation with you?" Anderson looked surprised, threw him a keen glance, and invited him toaccompany him part of the way to Laggan. They turned into a solitaryroad, running between the woods. It was late evening, and the sun wasstriking through the Laggan valley beneath them in low shafts of goldand purple. "I am afraid what I have to say will be disagreeable to you, " beganDelaine, abruptly. "And on this particular day--when we owe you somuch--it is more than disagreeable to myself. But I have no choice. By some extraordinary chance, with which I beg you to believe myown will has had nothing to do, I have become acquainted withsomething--something that concerns you privately--something that I fearwill be a great shock to you. " Anderson stood still. "What can you possibly mean?" he said, in growing amazement. "I was accosted the night before last, as I was strolling along therailway line, by a man I had never seen before, a man who--pardon me, itis most painful to me to seem to be interfering with anyone's privateaffairs--who announced himself as"--the speaker's nervous stammerintervened before he jerked out the words--"as your father!" "As my father? Somebody must be mad!" said Anderson quietly. "My fatherhas been dead ten years. " "I am afraid there is a mistake. The man who spoke to me is aware thatyou suppose him dead--he had his own reasons, he declares, for allowingyou to remain under a misconception; he now wishes to reopencommunications with you, and to my great regret, to my indignation, Imay say he chose me--an entire stranger--as his intermediary. He seemsto have watched our party all the way from Winnipeg, where he first sawyou, casually, in the street. Naturally I tried to escape from him--torefer him to you. But I could not possibly escape from him, at night, with no road for either of us but the railway line. I was at his mercy. " "What was his reason for not coming direct to me?" They were still pausing in the road. Delaine could see in the failinglight that Anderson had grown pale. But he perceived also an expressionof scornful impatience in the blue eyes fixed upon him. "He has professed to be afraid--" "That I should murder him?" said Anderson with a laugh. "And he told yousome sort of a story?" "A long one, I regret to say. " "And not to my credit?" "The tone of it was certainly hostile. I would rather not repeat it. " "I should not dream of asking you to do so. And where is this preciousindividual to be found?" Delaine named the address which had been given him--of a lodging mainlyfor railway men near Laggan. "I will look him up, " said Anderson briefly. "The whole story of courseis a mere attempt to get money--for what reason I do not know; but Iwill look into it. " Delaine was silent. Anderson divined from his manner that he believedthe story true. In the minds of both the thought of Lady Merton emerged. Anderson scorned to ask, "Have you said anything to them?" and Delainewas conscious of a nervous fear lest he should ask it. In the light ofthe countenance beside him, no less than of the event of the day, hisbehaviour of the morning began to seem to him more than disputable. Inthe morning he had seemed to himself the defender of Elizabeth and theclass to which they both belonged against low-born adventurers withdisreputable pasts. But as he stood there, confronting the "adventurer, "his conscience as a gentleman--which was his main and typicalconscience--pricked him. The inward qualm, however, only stiffened his manner. And Anderson askednothing. He turned towards Laggan. "Good night. I will let you know the result of my investigations. " And, with the shortest of nods, he went off at a swinging pace down the road. "I have only done my duty, " argued Delaine with himself as he returnedto the hotel. "It was uncommonly difficult to do it at such a moment!But to him I have no obligations whatever; my obligations are to LadyMerton and her family. " CHAPTER VIII It was dark when Anderson reached Laggan, if that can be called darknesswhich was rather a starry twilight, interfused with the whiteness ofsnow-field and glacier. He first of all despatched a message to Banfffor Elizabeth's commissions. Then he made straight for the ugly framehouse of which Delaine had given him the address. It was kept by acouple well known to him, an Irishman and his wife who made their livingpartly by odd jobs on the railway, partly by lodging men in search ofwork in the various construction camps of the line. To all such personsAnderson was a familiar figure, especially since the great strike of theyear before. The house stood by itself in a plot of cleared ground, some two or threehundred yards from the railway station. A rough road through the pinewood led up to it. Anderson knocked, and Mrs. Ginnell came to the door, a tired, andapparently sulky woman. "I hear you have a lodger here, Mrs. Ginnell, " said Anderson, standingin the doorway, "a man called McEwen; and that he wants to see me onsome business or other. " Mrs. Ginnell's countenance darkened. "We have an old man here, Mr. Anderson, as answers to that name, butyou'll get no business out of him--and I don't believe he _have_ anybusiness with any decent crater. When he arrived two days ago he wasworse for liquor, took on at Calgary. I made my husband look after himthat night to see he didn't get at nothing, but yesterday he slipped usboth, an' I believe he's now in that there outhouse, a-sleeping it off. Old men like him should be sent somewhere safe, an' kep' there. " "I'll go and see if he's awake, Mrs. Ginnell. Don't you trouble to come. Any other lodgers?" "No, sir. There was a bunch of 'em left this morning--got work on theCrow's Nest. " Anderson made his way to the little "shack, " Ginnell's house of thefirst year, now used as a kind of general receptacle for tools, rubbishand stores. He looked in. On a heap of straw in the corner lay a huddled figure, akind of human rag. Anderson paused a moment, then entered, hung the lamphe had brought with him on a peg, and closed the door behind him. He stood looking down at the sleeper, who was in the restless stagebefore waking. McEwen threw himself from side to side, muttered, andstretched. Slowly a deep colour flooded Anderson's cheeks and brow; his handshanging beside him clenched; he checked a groan that was also a shudder. The abjectness of the figure, the terrible identification proceeding inhis mind, the memories it evoked, were rending and blinding him. Thewinter morning on the snow-strewn prairie, the smell of smoke blowntowards him on the wind, the flames of the burning house, the horror ofthe search among the ruins, his father's confession, and his own rageand despair--deep in the tissues of life these images were stamped. Theanguish of them ran once more through his being. How had he been deceived? And what was to be done? He sat down on a heapof rubbish beside the straw, looking at his father. He had last seen himas a man of fifty, vigorous, red-haired, coarsely handsome, thoughalready undermined by drink. The man lying on the straw was approachingseventy, and might have been much older. His matted hair was nearlywhite, face blotched and cavernous; and the relaxation of sleepemphasised the mean cunning of the mouth. His clothing was torn andfilthy, the hands repulsive. Anderson could only bear a few minutes of this spectacle. A naturalshame intervened. He bent over his father and called him. "Robert Anderson!" A sudden shock passed through the sleeper. He started up, and Andersonsaw his hand dart for something lying beside him, no doubt a revolver. But Anderson grasped the arm. "Don't be afraid; you're quite safe. " McEwen, still bewildered by sleep and drink, tried to shake off thegrasp, to see who it was standing over him. Anderson released him, andmoved so that the lamplight fell upon himself. Slowly McEwen's faculties came together, began to work. The lamplightshowed him his son George--the fair-haired, broad-shouldered fellow hehad been tracking all these days--and he understood. He straightened himself, with an attempt at dignity. "So it's you, George? You might have given me notice. " "Where have you been all these years?" said Anderson, indistinctly. "Andwhy did you let me believe you dead?" "Well, I had my reasons, George. But I don't mean to go into 'em. Allthat's dead and gone. There was a pack of fellows then on myshoulders--I was plumb tired of 'em. I had to get rid of--I did get ridof 'em--and you, too. I knew you were inquiring after me, and I didn'twant inquiries. They didn't suit me. You may conclude what you like. Itell you those times are dead and gone. But it seemed to me that RobertAnderson was best put away for a bit. So I took measures according. " "You knew I was deceived. " "Yes, I knew, " said the other composedly. "Couldn't be helped. " "And where have you been since?" "In Nevada, George--Comstock--silver-mining. Rough lot, but you get astroke of luck sometimes. I've got a chance on now--me and a friend ofmine--that's first-rate. " "What brought you back to Canada?" "Well, it was your aunt, Mrs. Harriet Sykes. Ever hear of her, George?" Anderson shook his head. "You must have heard of her when you were a little chap. When I leftAyrshire in 1840 she was a lass of sixteen; never saw her since. But shemarried a man well-to-do, and was left a widder with no children. Andwhen she died t'other day, she'd left me something in her will, and toldthe lawyers to advertise over here, in Canada and the States--both. AndI happened on the advertisement in a Chicago paper. Told yer to call onSmith & Dawkins, Winnipeg. So that was how I came to seeWinnipeg again. " "When were you there?" "Just when you was, " said the old man, with a triumphant look, which forthe moment effaced the squalor of his aspect. "I was coming out of Smith& Dawkins's with the money in my pocket, when I saw you opposite, justgoing into a shop. You could ha' knocked me down easy, I warrant ye. Didn't expect to come on yer tracks as fast as all that. But there youwere, and when you came out and went down t' street, I just followed youat a safe distance, and saw you go into the hotel. Afterwards, I wentinto the Free Library to think a bit, and then I saw the piece in thepaper about you and that Saskatchewan place; and I got hold of a youngman in a saloon who found out all about you and those English swellsyou've been hanging round with; and that same night, when you boardedthe train, I boarded it, too. See? Only I am not a swell like you. Andhere we are. See?" The last speech was delivered with a mixture of bravado, cunning, andsinister triumph. Anderson sat with his head in his hands, his eyes onthe mud floor, listening. When it was over he looked up. "Why didn't you come and speak to me at once?" The other hesitated. "Well, I wasn't a beauty to look at. Not much of a credit to you, am I?Didn't think you'd own me. And I don't like towns--too many peopleabout. Thought I'd catch you somewhere on the quiet. Heard you was goingto the Rockies. Thought I might as well go round by Seattle home. See?" "You have had plenty of chances since Winnipeg of making yourself knownto me, " said Anderson sombrely. "Why did you speak to a stranger insteadof coming direct to me?" McEwen hesitated a moment. "Well, I wasn't sure of you. I didn't know how you'd take it. And I'dlost my nerve, damn it! the last few years. Thought you might just kickme out, or set the police on me. " Anderson studied the speaker. His fair skin was deeply flushed; his browfrowned unconsciously, reflecting the travail of thought behind it. "What did you say to that gentleman the other night?" McEwen smiled a shifty smile, and began to pluck some pieces of strawfrom his sleeve. "Don't remember just what I did say. Nothing to do you no harm, anyway. I might have said you were never an easy chap to get on with. I mighthave said that, or I mightn't. Think I did. Don't remember. " The eyes of the two men met for a moment, Anderson's bright and fixed. He divined perfectly what had been said to the Englishman, Lady Merton'sfriend and travelling companion. A father overborne by misfortunes andpoverty, disowned by a prosperous and Pharisaical son--admitting a fewpeccadilloes, such as most men forgive, in order to weigh them againstvirtues, such as all men hate. Old age and infirmity on the one hand;mean hardness and cruelty on the other. Was Elizabeth alreadycontemplating the picture? And yet--No! unless perhaps under the shelter of darkness, it couldnever have been possible for this figure before him to play the part ofinnocent misfortune, at all events. Could debauch, could ruin of bodyand soul be put more plainly? Could they express themselves more clearlythan through this face and form? A shudder ran through Anderson, a cry against fate, a sick wondering asto his own past responsibility, a horror of the future. Then his willstrengthened, and he set himself quietly to see what could be done. "We can't talk here, " he said to his father. "Come back into the house. There are some rooms vacant. I'll take them for you. " McEwen rose with difficulty, groaning as he put his right foot to theground. Anderson then perceived that the right foot and ankle werewrapped round with a bloodstained rag, and was told that the nightbefore their owner had stumbled over a jug in Mrs. Ginnell's kitchen, breaking the jug and inflicting some deep cuts on his own foot andankle. McEwen, indeed, could only limp along, with mingled curses andlamentations, supported by Anderson. In the excitement of his son'sappearance he had forgotten his injury. The pain and annoyance of itreturned upon him now with added sharpness, and Anderson realised thathere was yet another complication as they moved across the yard. A few words to the astonished Mrs. Ginnell sufficed to secure all hervacant rooms, four in number. Anderson put his father in one on theground floor, then shut the door on him and went back to the woman ofthe house. She stood looking at him, flushed, in a bewildered silence. But she and her husband owed various kindnesses to Anderson, and hequickly made up his mind. In a very few words he quietly told her the real facts, confiding themboth to her self-interest and her humanity. McEwen was to be her onlylodger till the next step could be determined. She was to wait on him, to keep drink from him, to get him clothes. Her husband was to go outwith him, if he should insist on going out; but Anderson thought hisinjury would keep him quiet for a day or two. Meanwhile, no babbling toanybody. And, of course, generous payment for all that was askedof them. But Mrs. Ginnell understood that she was being appealed to not onlycommercially, but as a woman with a heart in her body and a good shareof Irish wit. That moved and secured her. She threw herself nobly intothe business. Anderson might command her as he pleased, and she answeredfor her man. Renewed groans from the room next door disturbed them. Mrs. Ginnell went in to answer them, and came out demanding a doctor. Thepatient was in much pain, the wounds looked bad, and shesuspected fever. "Yo can't especk places to heal with such as him, " she said, grimly. With doggedness, Anderson resigned himself. He went to the station andsent a wire to Field for a doctor. What would happen when he arrived hedid not know. He had made no compact with his father. If the old manchose to announce himself, so be it. Anderson did not mean to bargainor sue. Other men have had to bear such burdens in the face of theworld. Should it fall to him to be forced to take his up in like manner, let him set his teeth and shoulder it, sore and shaken as he was. Hefelt a fierce confidence that could still make the world respect him. An hour passed away. An answer came from Field to the effect that adoctor would be sent up on a freight train just starting, and might beexpected shortly. While Mrs. Ginnell was still attending on her lodger, Anderson went outinto the starlight to try and think out the situation. The night wasclear and balmy. The high snows glimmered through the lingeringtwilight, and in the air there was at last a promise of "midsummerpomps. " Pine woods and streams breathed freshness, and when in his walkalong the railway line--since there is no other road through the KickingHorse Pass--he reached a point whence the great Yoho valley becamevisible to the right, he checked the rapid movement which had broughthim a kind of physical comfort, and set himself--in face of thatfar-stretching and splendid solitude--to wrestle with calamity. First of all there was the Englishman--Delaine--and the letter that mustbe written him. But there, also, no evasions, no suppliancy. Delainemust be told that the story was true, and would no doubt think himselfentitled to act upon it. The protest on behalf of Lady Merton impliedalready in his manner that afternoon was humiliating enough. The smartof it was still tingling through Anderson's being. He had till now felta kind of instinctive contempt for Delaine as a fine gentleman with auseless education, inclined to patronise "colonists. " The two men hadjarred from the beginning, and at Banff, Anderson had both divined inhim the possible suitor of Lady Merton, and had also become aware thatDelaine resented his own intrusion upon the party, and the rapidintimacy which had grown up between him and the brother and sister. Well, let him use his chance! if it so pleased him. No promise whatevershould be asked of him; there should be no suggestion even of a line ofaction. The bare fact which he had become possessed of should beadmitted, and he should be left to deal with it. Upon his next stepwould depend Anderson's; that was all. But Lady Merton? Anderson stared across the near valley, up the darkness beyond, wherelay the forests of the Yoho, and to those ethereal summits whence a manmight behold on one side the smoke-wreaths of the great railway, and onthe other side the still virgin peaks of the northern Rockies, untamed, untrodden. But his eyes were holden; he saw neither snow, nor forests, and the roar of the stream dashing at his feet was unheard. Three weeks, was it, since he had first seen that delicately oval face, and those clear eyes? The strong man--accustomed to hold himself incheck, to guard his own strength as the instrument, firm andindispensable, of an iron will--recoiled from the truth he was at lastcompelled to recognise. In this daily companionship with a sensitive andcharming woman, endowed beneath her light reserve with all the sweetnessof unspoilt feeling, while yet commanding through her long training inan old society a thousand delicacies and subtleties, which played onAnderson's fresh senses like the breeze on young leaves--whither had hebeen drifting--to the brink of what precipice had he brought himself, unknowing? He stood there indefinitely, among the charred tree-trunks that borderedthe line, his arms folded, looking straight before him, motionless. Supposing to-day had been yesterday, need he--together with this stingof passion--have felt also this impotent and angry despair? Before hiseyes had seen that figure lying on the straw of Mrs. Ginnell's outhouse, could he ever have dreamed it possible that Elizabeth Merton shouldmarry him? Yes! He thought, trembling from head to foot, of that expression in hereyes he had seen that very afternoon. Again and again he had checked hisfeeling by the harsh reminder of her social advantages. But, at thismoment of crisis, the man in him stood up, confident and rebellious. Heknew himself sound, intellectually and morally. There was a careerbefore him, to which a cool and reasonable ambition looked forwardwithout any paralysing doubts. In this growing Canada, measuring himselfagainst the other men of the moment, he calmly foresaw his own growingplace. As to money, he would make it; he was in process of making it, honourably and sufficiently. He was well aware indeed that in the case of many women sprung from theEnglish governing class, the ties that bind them to their own world, itstraditions, and its outlook, are so strong that to try and break themwould be merely to invite disaster. But then from such women his ownpride--his pride in his country--would have warned his passion. It wasto Elizabeth's lovely sympathy, her generous detachment, her freekindling mind--that his life had gone out. _She_ would, surely, never bedeterred from marrying a Canadian--if he pleased her--because it wouldcut her off from London and Paris, and all the ripe antiquities andtraditions of English or European life? Even in the sparsely peopledNorthwest, with which his own future was bound up, how many Englishwomen are there--fresh, some of them, from luxurious and fastidioushomes--on ranches, on prairie farms, in the Okanagan valley! "ThisNorthwest is no longer a wilderness!" he proudly thought; "it is nolonger a leap in the dark to bring a woman of delicate nurture andcultivation to the prairies. " So, only a few hours before, he might have flattered the tyranny oflonging and desire which had taken hold upon him. But now! All his life seemed besmirched. His passion had been no soonerborn than, like a wounded bird, it fluttered to the ground. Bring uponsuch a woman as Elizabeth Merton the most distant responsibility forsuch a being as he had left behind him in the log-hut at Laggan? Linkher life in however remote a fashion with that life? Treachery andsacrilege, indeed! No need for Delaine to tell him that! His father as agrim memory of the past--that Lady Merton knew. His own origins--his ownstory--as to that she had nothing to discover. But the man who mighthave dared to love her, up to that moment in the hut, was now a slave, bound to a corpse-- _Finis_! And then as the anguish of the thought swept through him, and by anatural transmission of ideas, there rose in Anderson the sore andsudden memory of old, unhappy things, of the tender voices and faces ofhis first youth. The ugly vision of his degraded father had brought backupon him, through a thousand channels of association, the recollectionof his mother. He saw her now--the worn, roughened face, the sweetswimming eyes; he felt her arms around him, the tears of her long agonyon his face. She had endured--he too must endure. Close, close--hepressed her to his heart. As the radiant image of Elizabeth vanishedfrom him in the darkness, his mother--broken, despairing, murdered inher youth--came to him and strengthened him. Let him do his duty to thispoor outcast, as she would have done it--and put high thoughts from him. He tore himself resolutely from his trance of thought, and began to walkback along the line. All the same, he would go up to Lake Louise, as hehad promised, on the following morning. As far as his own intention wasconcerned, he would not cease to look after Lady Merton and herbrother; Philip Gaddesden would soon have to be moved, and he meant toescort them to Vancouver. Sounds approached, from the distance--the "freight, " with the doctor, climbing the steep pass. He stepped on briskly to a signal-man's cabinand made arrangements to stop the train. It was towards midnight when he and the doctor emerged from theGinnell's cabin. "Oh, I daresay we'll heal those cuts, " said the doctor. "I've told Mrs. Ginnell what to do; but the old fellow's in a pretty cranky state. Idoubt whether he'll trouble the world very long. " Anderson started. With his eyes on the ground and his hands in hispockets, he inquired the reason for this opinion. "Arteries--first and foremost. It's a wonder they've held out so long, and then--a score of other things. What can you expect?" The speaker went into some details, discussing the case with gusto. Aminer from Nevada? Queer hells often, those mining camps, whether on theCanadian or the American side of the border. "You were acquainted with his family? Canadian, to begin with, Iunderstand?" "Yes. He applied to me for help. Did he tell you much about himself?" "No. He boasted a lot about some mine in the Comstock district which isto make his fortune, if he can raise the money to buy it up. If he canraise fifteen thousand dollars, he says, he wouldn't care to callRockefeller his uncle!" "That's what he wants, is it?" said Anderson, absently, "fifteenthousand dollars?" "Apparently. Wish he may get it!" laughed the doctor. "Well, keep himfrom drink, if you can. But I doubt if you'll cheat the undertaker verylong. Good night. There'll be a train along soon that'll pick me up. " Anderson went back to the cabin, found that his father had droppedasleep, left money and directions with Mrs. Ginnell, and then returnedto his own lodgings. He sat down to write to Delaine. It was clear that, so far, thatgentleman and Mrs. Ginnell were the only other participants in thesecret of McEwen's identity. The old man had not revealed himself to thedoctor. Did that mean that--in spite of his first reckless interviewwith the Englishman--he had still some notion of a bargain with his son, on the basis of the fifteen thousand dollars? Possibly. But that son had still to determine his own line of action. When at last he began to write, he wrote steadily and without a pause. Nor was the letter long. CHAPTER IX On the morning following his conversation with Anderson on the Lagganroad, Delaine impatiently awaited the arrival of the morning mail fromLaggan. When it came, he recognised Anderson's handwriting on one of theenvelopes put into his hand. Elizabeth, having kept him company atbreakfast, had gone up to sit with Philip. Nevertheless, he took theprecaution of carrying the letter out of doors to read it. It ran as follows: "DEAR MR. DELAINE--You were rightly informed, and the man you saw is my father. I was intentionally deceived ten years ago by a false report of his death. Into that, however, I need not enter. If you talked with him, as I understand you did, for half an hour, you will, I think, have gathered that his life has been unfortunately of little advantage either to himself or others. But that also is my personal affair--and his. And although in a moment of caprice, and for reasons not yet plain to me, he revealed himself to you, he appears still to wish to preserve the assumed name and identity that he set up shortly after leaving Manitoba, seventeen years ago. As far as I am concerned, I am inclined to indulge him. But you will, of course, take your own line, and will no doubt communicate it to me. I do not imagine that my private affairs or my father's can be of any interest to you, but perhaps I may say that he is at present for a few days in the doctor's hands and that I propose as soon as his health is re-established to arrange for his return to the States, where his home has been for so long. I am, of course, ready to make any arrangements for his benefit that seem wise, and that he will accept. I hope to come up to Lake Louise to-morrow, and shall bring with me one or two things that Lady Merton asked me to get for her. Next week I hope she may be able and inclined to take one or two of the usual excursions from the hotel, if Mr. Gaddesden goes on as well as we all expect. I could easily make the necessary arrangements for ponies, guides, &c. "Yours faithfully, "GEORGE ANDERSON. " "Upon my word, a cool hand! a very cool hand!" muttered Delaine in someperplexity, as he thrust the letter into his pocket, and strolled ontoward the lake. His mind went back to the strange nocturnal encounterwhich had led to the development of this most annoying relation betweenhimself and Anderson. He recalled the repulsive old man, his uneducatedspeech, the signs about him of low cunning and drunken living, hisrambling embittered charges against his son, who, according to him, hadturned his father out of the Manitoba farm in consequence of a familyquarrel, and had never cared since to find out whether he was alive ordead. "Sorry to trouble you, sir, I'm sure--a genelman likeyou"--obsequious old ruffian!--"but my sons were always kittle-cattle, and George the worst of 'em all. If you would be so kind, sir, as to gie'im a word o' preparation--" Delaine could hear his own impatient reply: "I have nothing whatever, sir, to do with your business! Approach Mr. Anderson yourself if youhave any claim to make. " Whereupon a half-sly, half-threatening hintfrom the old fellow that he might be disagreeable unless well handled;that perhaps "the lady" would listen to him and plead for him withhis son. Lady Merton! Good heavens! Delaine had been immediately ready to promiseanything in order to protect her. Yet even now the situation was extremely annoying and improper. Herewas this man, Anderson, still coming up to the hotel, on the mostfriendly terms with Lady Merton and her brother, managing for them, laying them under obligations, and all the time, unknown to Elizabeth, with this drunken old scamp of a father in the background, who hadalready half-threatened to molest her, and would be quite capable, ifthwarted, of blackmailing his son through his English friends! "What can I do?" he said to himself, in disgust. "I have no rightwhatever to betray this man's private affairs; at the same time I shouldnever forgive myself--Mrs. Gaddesden would never forgive me--if I wereto allow Lady Merton to run any risk of some sordid scandal which mightget into the papers. Of course this young man ought to take himself off!If he had any proper feeling whatever he would see how altogetherunfitting it is that he, with his antecedents, should be associating inthis very friendly way with such persons as Elizabeth Merton andher brother!" Unfortunately the "association" had included the rescue of Philip fromthe water of Lake Louise, and the provision of help to Elizabeth, in astrange country, which she could have ill done without. Philip's unluckytumble had been, certainly, doubly unlucky, if it was to be the meansof entangling his sister further in an intimacy which ought never tohave been begun. And yet how to break through this spider's web? Delaine racked hisbrain, and could think of nothing better than delay and a pusillanimouswaiting on Providence. Who knew what mad view Elizabeth might take ofthe whole thing, in this overstrained sentimental mood which hadpossessed her throughout this Canadian journey? The young man's troublesmight positively recommend him in her eyes! No! there was nothing for it but to stay on as an old friend andwatchdog, responsible, at least--if Elizabeth would have none of hiscounsels--to her mother and kinsfolk at home, who had so clearlyapproved his advances in the winter, and would certainly blameElizabeth, on her return, for the fact that his long journey had beenfruitless. He magnanimously resolved that Lady Merton should not beblamed if he could help it, by anyone except himself. And he had nointention at all of playing the rejected lover. The proud, well-born, fastidious Englishman stiffened as he walked. It was wounding to hisself-love to stay where he was; since it was quite plain that Elizabethcould do without him, and would not regret his departure; but it was noless wounding to be dismissed, as it were, by Anderson. He would not bedismissed; he would hold his own. He too would go with them toVancouver; and not till they were safely in charge of theLieutenant-Governor at Victoria, would he desert his post. As to any further communication to Elizabeth, he realised that the hintsinto which he had been so far betrayed had profited neither himself norher. She had resented them, and it was most unlikely that she would askhim for any further explanations; and that being so he had betterhenceforward hold his peace. Unless of course any further annoyance werethreatened. * * * * * The hotel cart going down to Laggan for supplies at midday broughtAnderson his answer: "DEAR MR. ANDERSON--Your letter gave me great concern. I deeply sympathise with your situation. As far as I am concerned, I must necessarily look at the matter entirely from the point of view of my fellow-travellers. Lady Merton must not be distressed or molested. So long, however, as this is secured, I shall not feel myself at liberty to reveal a private matter which has accidentally come to my knowledge. I understand, of course, that your father will not attempt any further communication with me, and I propose to treat the interview as though it had not happened. "I will give Lady Merton your message. It seems to me doubtful whether she will be ready for excursions next week. But you are no doubt aware that the hotel makes what are apparently very excellent and complete arrangements for such things. I am sure Lady Merton would be sorry to give you avoidable trouble. However, we shall see you to-morrow, and shall of course be very glad of your counsels. "Yours faithfully, "ARTHUR MANDEVILLE DELAINE. " Anderson's fair skin flushed scarlet as he read this letter. He thrustit into his pocket and continued to pace up and down in the patch ofhalf-cleared ground at the back of the Ginnells' house. He perfectlyunderstood that Delaine's letter was meant to warn him not to be tooofficious in Lady Merton's service. "Don't suppose yourselfindispensable--and don't at any time forget your undesirableantecedents, and compromising situation. On those conditions, I holdmy tongue. " "Pompous ass!" Anderson found it a hard task to keep his own pride incheck. It was of a different variety from Delaine's, but not a whitless clamorous. Yet for Lady Merton's sake it was desirable, perhapsimperative, that he should keep on civil terms with this member of herparty. A hot impulse swept through him to tell her everything, to havedone with secrecy. But he stifled it. What right had he to intrude hispersonal history upon her?--least of all this ugly and unsavourydevelopment of it? Pride spoke again, and self-respect. If it humiliatedhim to feel himself in Delaine's power, he must bear it. The only otheralternatives were either to cut himself off at once from his Englishfriends--that, of course, was what Delaine wished--or to appeal to LadyMerton's sympathy and pity. Well, he would do neither--and Delainemight go hang! Mrs. Ginnell, with her apron over her head to shield her from a blazingsun, appeared at the corner of the house. "You're wanted, sir!" Her tone was sulky. "Anything wrong?" Anderson turned apprehensively. "Nothing more than 'is temper, sir. He won't let yer rest, do what youwill for 'im. " Anderson went into the house. His father was sitting up in bed. Mrs. Ginnell had been endeavouring during the past hour to make her patientclean and comfortable, and to tidy his room; but had been at lastobliged to desist, owing to the mixture of ill-humour and bad languagewith which he assailed her. "Can I do anything for you?" Anderson inquired, standing beside him. "Get me out of this blasted hole as soon as possible! That's about allyou can do! I've told that woman to get me my things, and help me intothe other room--but she's in your pay, I suppose. She won't do anythingI tell her, drat her!" "The doctor left orders you were to keep quiet to-day. " McEwen vowed he would do nothing of the kind. He had no time to belolling in bed like a fine lady. He had business to do, and mustget home. "If you get up, with this fever on you, and the leg in that state, youwill have blood-poisoning, " said Anderson quietly, "which will eitherkill you or detain you here for weeks. You say you want to talk businesswith me. Well, here I am. In an hour's time I must go to Calgary for anappointment. Suppose you take this opportunity. " McEwen stared at his son. His blue eyes, frowning in their wrinkledsockets, gave little or no index, however, to the mind behind them. Thestraggling white locks falling round his blotched and feverish facecaught Anderson's attention. Looking back thirty years he could rememberhis father vividly--a handsome man, solidly built, with a shock of fairhair. As a little lad he had been proud to sit high-perched beside himon the wagon which in summer drove them, every other Sunday, to ameeting-house fifteen miles away. He could see his mother at the back ofthe wagon with the little girls, her grey alpaca dress and cottongloves, her patient look. His throat swelled. Nor was the pang ofintolerable pity for his mother only. Deep in the melancholy of hisnature and strengthened by that hateful tie of blood from which he couldnot escape, was a bitter, silent compassion for this outcast also. Allthe machinery of life set in motion and maintaining itself in the clashof circumstance for seventy years to produce _this_, at the end! Dismalquestionings ran through his mind. Ought he to have acted as he had doneseventeen years before? How would his mother have judged him? Was he notin some small degree responsible? Meanwhile his father began to talk fast and querulously, with plentifuloaths from time to time, and using a local miner's slang which was notalways intelligible to Anderson. It seemed it was a question of an oldsilver mine on a mountainside in Idaho, deserted some ten years beforewhen the river gravels had been exhausted, and now to be reopened, likemany others in the same neighbourhood, with improved methods andmachinery, tunnelling instead of washing. Silver enough to paveMontreal! Ten thousand dollars for plant, five thousand for the claim, and the thing was done. He became incoherently eloquent, spoke of the ease and rapidity withwhich the thing could be resold to a syndicate at an enormous profit, should his "pardners" and he not care to develop it themselves. IfGeorge would find the money--why, George should make his fortune, likethe rest, though he had behaved so scurvily all these years. Anderson watched the speaker intently. Presently he began to putquestions--close, technical questions. His father's eyes--till theneager and greedy--began to flicker. Anderson perceived an unwelcomesurprise--annoyance-- "You knew, of course, that I was a mining engineer?" he said at last, pulling up in his examination. "Well, I heard of you that onst at Dawson City, " was the slow reply. "Isupposed you were nosin' round like the rest. " "Why, I didn't go as a mere prospector! I'd had my training atMontreal. " And Anderson resumed his questions. But McEwen presently took no pains to answer them. He grew indeed lessand less communicative. The exact locality of the mine, the names of thepartners, the precise machinery required--Anderson, in the end, couldget at neither the one nor the other. And before many more minutes hadpassed he had convinced himself that he was wasting his time. That therewas some swindling plot in his father's mind he was certain; he wasprobably the tool of some shrewder confederates, who had no doubt senthim to Montreal after his legacy, and would fleece him on his return. "By the way, Aunt Sykes's money, how much was it?" Anderson asked himsuddenly. "I suppose you could draw on that?" McEwen could not be got to give a plain answer. It wasn't near enough, anyhow; not near. The evasion seemed to Anderson purposeless; the mereshifting and doubling that comes of long years of dishonest living. Andagain the question stabbed his consciousness--were his childrenjustified in casting him so inexorably adrift? "Well, I'd better run down and have a look, " he said at last. "If it's agood thing I dare say I can find you the dollars. " "Run down--where?" asked McEwen sharply. "To the mine, of course. I might spare the time next week. " "No need to trouble yourself. My pardners wouldn't thank me forbetraying their secrets. " "Well, you couldn't expect me to provide the money without knowing a bitmore about the property, could you?--without a regular survey?" saidAnderson, with a laugh. "You trust me with three or four thousand dollars, " said McEwendoggedly--"because I'm your father and I give you my word. And if not, you can let it alone. I don't want any prying into my affairs. " Anderson was silent a moment. Then he raised his eyes. "Are you sure it's all square?" The tone had sharpened. "Square? Of course it is. What are you aiming at? You'll believe anyvillainy of your old father, I suppose, just the same as you always usedto. I've not had your opportunities, George. I'm not a finegentleman--on the trail with a parcel of English swells. I'm a poor oldbroken-down miner, who wants to hole-up somewhere, and get comfortablefor his old age; and if you had a heart in your body, you'd lend ahelping hand. When I saw you at Winnipeg"--the tone became a trifleplaintive and slippery--"I ses to myself, George used to be a nice chap, with a good heart. If there's anyone ought to help me it's my own son. And so I boarded that train. But I'm a broken man, George, and you'veused me hard. " "Better not talk like that, " interrupted Anderson in a clear, resolutevoice. "It won't do any good. Look here, father! Suppose you give upthis kind of life, and settle down. I'm ready to give you an allowance, and look after you. Your health is bad. To speak the truth, this minebusiness sounds to me pretty shady. Cut it all! I'll put you with decentpeople, who'll look after you. " The eyes of the two men met; Anderson's insistently bright, McEwen'swavering and frowning. The June sunshine came into the small roomthrough a striped and battered blind, illuminating the rough planks ofwhich it was built, the "cuts" from illustrated papers that were pinnedupon them, the scanty furniture, and the untidy bed. Anderson's head andshoulders were in a full mellowed light; he held himself with anunconscious energy, answering to a certain force of feeling within; aproud strength and sincerity expressed itself through every detail ofattitude and gesture; yet perhaps the delicacy, or rather sensibility, mingling with the pride, would have been no less evident to a seeingeye. There was Highland blood in him, and a touch therefore of theCeltic responsiveness, the Celtic magnetism. The old man opposite to himin shadow, with his back to the light, had a crouching dangerous look. It was as though he recognised something in his son for ever lost tohimself; and repulsed it, half enviously, half malignantly. But he did not apparently resent Anderson's proposal. He said sulkily:"Oh, I dessay you'd like to put me away. But I'm not doddering yet. " All the same he listened in silence to the plan that Anderson developed, puffing the while at the pipe which he had made Mrs. Ginnell give him. "I shan't stay on this side, " he said, at last, decidedly. "There's athing or two that might turn up agin me--and fellows as 'ud do me a badturn if they come across me--dudes, as I used to know in Dawson City. Ishan't stay in Canada. You can make up your mind to that. Besides, thewinter'ud kill me!" Anderson accordingly proposed San Francisco, or Los Angeles. Would hisfather go for a time to a Salvation Army colony near Los Angeles?Anderson knew the chief officials--capital men, with no cant about them. Fruit farming--a beautiful climate--care in sickness--no drink--as muchwork or as little as he liked--and all expenses paid. McEwen laughed out--a short sharp laugh--at the mention of the SalvationArmy. But he listened patiently, and at the end even professed to thinkthere might be something in it. As to his own scheme, he dropped allmention of it. Yet Anderson was under no illusion; there it laysparkling, as it were, at the back of his sly wolfish eyes. "How in blazes could you take me down?" muttered McEwen--"Thought youwas took up with these English swells. " "I'm not taken up with anything that would prevent my looking afteryou, " said Anderson rising. "You let Mrs. Ginnell attend to you--get theleg well--and we'll see. " McEwen eyed him--his good looks and his dress, his gentleman'srefinement; and the shaggy white brows of the old miner drewcloser together. "What did you cast me off like that for, George?" he asked. Anderson turned away. "Don't rake up the past. Better not. " "Where are my other sons, George?" "In Montreal, doing well. " Anderson gave the details of theirappointments and salaries. "And never a thought of their old father, I'll be bound!" said McEwen, at the end, with slow vindictiveness. "You forget that it was your own doing; we believed you dead. " "Aye!--you hadn't left a man much to come home for!--and all for anaccident!--a thing as might ha' happened to any man. " The speaker's voice had grown louder. He stared sombrely, defiantly athis companion. Anderson stood with his hands on his sides, looking through the furtherwindow. Then slowly he put his hand into his pocket and withdrew from ita large pocket-book. Out of the pocket-book he took a delicately madeleather case, holding it in his hand a moment, and glancing uncertainlyat the figure in the bed. "What ha' you got there?" growled McEwen. Anderson crossed the room. His own face had lost its colour. As hereached his father, he touched a spring, and held out his hand with thecase lying open within it. It contained a miniature--of a young woman in the midst of a group ofchildren. "Do you remember that photograph that was done of them--in a tent--whenyou took us all into Winnipeg for the first agricultural show?" he saidhoarsely. "I had a copy--that wasn't burnt. At Montreal, there was aFrench artist one year, that did these things. I got him to do this. " McEwen stared at the miniature--the sweet-faced Scotch woman, the bunchof children. Then with a brusque movement he turned his face to thewall, and closed his eyes. Anderson's lips opened once or twice as though to speak. Some imperiousemotion seemed to be trying to force its way. But he could not findwords; and at last he returned the miniature to his pocket, walkedquietly to the door, and went out of the room. The sound of the closing door brought immense relief to McEwen. Heturned again in bed, and relit his pipe, shaking off the impression leftby the miniature as quickly as possible. What business had George toupset him like that? He was down enough on his luck as it was. He smoked away, gloomily thinking over the conversation. It didn't looklike getting any money out of this close-fisted Puritanical son of his. Survey indeed! McEwen found himself shaken by a kind of internalconvulsion as he thought of the revelations that would come out. Georgewas a fool. In his feverish reverie, many lines of thought crossed and danced inhis brain; and every now and then he was tormented by the craving foralcohol. The Salvation Army proposal half amused, half infuriated him. He knew all about their colonies. Trust him! Your own master forseventeen years--mixed up in a lot of jobs it wouldn't do to go blabbingto the Mounted Police--and then to finish up with those hymn-singingfellows!--George was most certainly a fool! Yet dollars ought to bescrewed out of him--somehow. Presently, to get rid of some unpleasant reflections, the old manstretched out his hand for a copy of the _Vancouver Sentinel_ that waslying on the bed, and began to read it idly. As he did so, a paragraphdrew his attention. He gripped the paper, and, springing up in bed, readit twice, peering into it, his features quivering with eagerness. Thepassage described the "hold up" of a Northern Pacific train, at a pointbetween Seattle and the Canadian border. By the help of masks, and a fewsticks of dynamite, the thing had been very smartly done--a whole trainterrorised, the mail van broken open and a large "swag" captured. BillySymonds, the notorious train robber from Montana, was suspected, andthere was a hue and cry through the whole border after him and hisaccomplices, amongst whom, so it was said, was a band from the Canadianside--foreign miners mixed up in some of the acts of violence which hadmarked the strike of the year before. Bill Symonds!--McEwen threw himself excitedly from side to side, unableto keep still. _He_ knew Symonds--a chap and a half! Why didn't he comeand try it on this side of the line? Heaps of money going backwards andforwards over the railway! All these thousands of dollars paid out inwages week by week to these construction camps--must come from somewherein cash--Winnipeg or Montreal. He began to play with the notion, elaborating and refining it; till presently a whole epic of attack andcapture was rushing through his half-crazy brain. He had dropped the paper, and was staring abstractedly through the footof open window close beside him, which the torn blind did not cover. Outside, through the clearing with its stumps of jack-pine, ran a path, a short cut, connecting the station at Laggan with a section-housefurther up the line. As McEwen's eyes followed it, he began to be aware of a group of menemerging from the trees on the Laggan side, and walking in single filealong the path. Navvies apparently--carrying bundles and picks. The pathcame within a few yards of the window, and of the little stream thatsupplied the house with water. Suddenly, McEwen sprang up in bed. The two foremost men paused besidethe water, mopped their hot faces, and taking drinking cups out of theirpockets stooped down to the stream. The old man in the cabin bed watchedthem with fierce intentness; and as they straightened themselves andwere about to follow their companions who were already out of sight, hegave a low call. The two started and looked round them. Their hands went to theirpockets. McEwen swung himself round so as to reach the window better, and repeated his call--this time with a different inflection. The menexchanged a few hurried words. Carefully scrutinising the house, theynoticed a newspaper waving cautiously in an open window. One of themcame forward, the other remained by the stream bathing his feet andankles in the water. No one else was in sight. Mrs. Ginnell was cooking on the other side ofthe house. Anderson had gone off to catch his train. For twenty minutes, the man outside leant against the window-sash apparently lounging andsmoking. Nothing could be seen from the path, but a battered blindflapping in the June breeze, and a dark space of room beyond. CHAPTER X The days passed on. Philip in the comfortable hotel at Lake Louise wasrecovering steadily, though not rapidly, from the general shock ofimmersion. Elizabeth, while nursing him tenderly, could yet find time towalk and climb, plunging spirit and sense in the beauty of the Rockies. On these excursions Delaine generally accompanied her; and she bore itwell. Secretly she cherished some astonishment and chagrin that Andersoncould be with them so little on these bright afternoons among the foresttrails and upper lakes, although she generally found that the plans ofthe day had been suggested and organised by him, by telephone fromLaggan, to the kind and competent Scotch lady who was the manager of thehotel. It seemed to her that he had promised his company; whereas, as arule, now he withheld it; and her pride was put to it, on her own part, not to betray any sign of discontent. He spoke vaguely of "business, "and on one occasion, apparently had gone off for three days toSaskatchewan on matters connected with the coming general election. From the newspaper, or the talk of visitors in the hotel, or the railwayofficials who occasionally found their way to Lake Louise to makecourteous inquiries after the English party, Elizabeth became, indeed, more and more fully aware of the estimation in which Anderson wasbeginning to be held. He was already a personage in the Northwest; wassaid to be sure of success in his contest at Donaldminster, and of animmediate Parliamentary career at Ottawa. These prophecies seemed todepend more upon the man's character than his actual achievements;though, indeed, the story of the great strike, as she had gathered itonce or twice from the lips of eye-witnesses, was a fine one. For weekshe had carried his life in his hand among thousands of infuriatednavvies and miners--since the miners had made common cause with therailwaymen--with a cheerfulness, daring, and resource which in the endhad wrung success from an apparently hopeless situation; a successattended, when all was over, by an amazing effusion of good will amongboth masters and men, especially towards Anderson himself, and a generalimprovement in the industrial temper and atmosphere of the Northwest. The recital of these things stirred Elizabeth's pulses. But why did shenever hear them from himself? Surely he had offered her friendship, andthe rights of friendship. How else could he justify the scene at Field, when he had so brusquely probed her secret anxieties for Philip? Herpride rebelled when she thought of it, when she recalled her wet eyes, her outstretched hand. Mere humiliation!--in the case of a casual orindifferent acquaintance. No; on that day, certainly, he had claimed theutmost privileges, had even strained the rights, of a friend, a realfriend. But his behaviour since had almost revived her first naturalresentment. Thoughts like these ran in her mind, and occasionally affected hermanner when they did meet. Anderson found her more reserved, and noticedthat she did not so often ask him for small services as of old. Hesuffered under the change; but it was, he knew, his own doing, and hedid not alter his course. Whenever he did come, he sat mostly with Philip, over whom he hadgradually established a remarkable influence, not by any definite actsor speeches, but rather by the stoicism of his own mode of life, coupledwith a proud or laughing contempt for certain vices and self-indulgencesto which it was evident that he himself felt no temptation. As soon asPhilip felt himself sufficiently at home with the Canadian to begin tojibe at his teetotalism, Anderson seldom took the trouble to defendhimself; yet the passion of moral independence in his nature, ofloathing for any habit that weakens and enslaves the will, infected theEnglish lad whether he would or no. "There's lots of things he'sstick-stock mad on, " Philip would say impatiently to his sister. But themadness told. And the madman was all the while consolingly rich inother, and, to Philip, more attractive kinds of madness--the follies ofthe hunter and climber, of the man who holds his neck as dross incomparison with the satisfaction of certain wild instincts that theRockies excite in him. Anderson had enjoyed his full share of adventureswith goat and bear. Such things are the customary amusements, it seemed, of a young engineer in the Rockies. Beside them, English covert-shootingis a sport for babes; and Philip ceased to boast of his own prowess inthat direction. He would listen, indeed, open-mouthed, to Anderson'syarns, lying on his long chair on the verandah--a graceful languidfigure--with a coyote rug heaped about him. It was clear to Elizabeththat Anderson on his side had become very fond of the boy. There was notrouble he would not take for him. And gradually, silently, proudly, she allowed him to take less and less for herself. Once or twice Arthur Delaine's clumsy hints occurred to her. Was there, indeed, some private matter weighing on the young man's mind? She wouldnot allow herself to speculate upon it; though she could not helpwatching the relation between the two men with some curiosity. It waspolite enough; but there was certainly no cordiality in it; and once ortwice she suspected a hidden understanding. Delaine meanwhile felt a kind of dull satisfaction in the turn ofevents. The intimacy between Anderson and Lady Merton had clearly beenchecked, or was at least not advancing. Whether it was due to his ownhints to Elizabeth, or to Anderson's chivalrous feeling, he did notknow. But he wrote every mail to Mrs. Gaddesden, discreetly, yet notwithout giving her some significant information; he did whatever smallservices were possible in the case of a man who went about Canada as aJohnny Head-in-air, with his mind in another hemisphere; and it wasunderstood that he was to leave them at Vancouver. In the forcedassociation of their walks and rides, Elizabeth showed herself gay, kind, companionable; although often, and generally for no reason that hecould discover, something sharp and icy in her would momentarily makeitself felt, and he would find himself driven back within bounds that hehad perhaps been tempted to transgress. And the result of it all wasthat he fell day by day more tormentingly in love with her. Those placidmatrimonial ambitions with which he had left England had been all sweptaway; and as he followed her--she on pony-back, he on foot--along themountain trails, watching the lightness of her small figure against thesplendid background of peak and pine, he became a troubled, introspective person; concentrating upon himself and his disagreeableplight the attention he had hitherto given to a delightful outer world, sown with the _caches_ of antiquity, in order to amuse him. Meanwhile the situation in the cabin at Laggan appeared to be steadilyimproving. McEwen had abruptly ceased to be a rebellious and difficultpatient. The doctor's orders had been obeyed; the leg had healedrapidly; and he no longer threatened or cajoled Mrs. Ginnell on thesubject of liquor. As far as Anderson was concerned, he was generallysulky and uncommunicative. But Anderson got enough out of him by degreesto be able to form a fairly complete idea of his father's course of lifesince the false report of his death in the Yukon. He realised anexistence on the fringe of civilisation, with its strokes of luckneutralised by drink, and its desperate, and probably criminal, moments. And as soon as his father got well enough to limp along the trails ofthe Laggan valley, the son noticed incidents which appeared to show thatthe old man, while playing the part of the helpless stranger, was by nomeans without acquaintance among the motley host of workmen that wereconstantly passing through. The links of international trades unionismno doubt accounted for it. But in McEwen's case, the fraternity to whichhe belonged seemed to apply only to the looser and more disreputableelements among the emigrant throng. But at the same time he had shown surprising docility in the matter ofAnderson's counsels. All talk of the Idaho mine had dropped betweenthem, as though by common consent. Anderson had laid hands upon a youngman, a Salvation Army officer in Vancouver, with whom his fatherconsented to lodge for the next six weeks; and further arrangements wereto be postponed till the end of that period. Anderson hoped, indeed, toget his father settled there before Lady Merton moved from Lake Louise. For in a few days now, the private car was to return from the coast, inorder to take up the English party. McEwen's unexpected complaisance led to a great softening in Anderson'sfeeling towards his father. All those inner compunctions that haunt ajust and scrupulous nature came freely into play. And his evangelicalreligion--for he was a devout though liberal-minded Presbyterian--alsoentered in. Was it possible that he might be the agent of his father'sredemption? The idea, the hope, produced in him occasional hiddenexaltations--flights of prayer--mystical memories of his mother--whichlightened what was otherwise a time of bitter renunciation, anddetermined wrestling with himself. During the latter days of this fortnight, indeed, he could not do enoughfor his father. He had made all the Vancouver arrangements; he hadsupplied him amply with clothes and other personal necessaries; and hecame home early at night in order to sit and smoke with him. Mrs. Ginnell, looking in of an evening, beheld what seemed to her a touchingsight, though one far beyond the deserts of such creatures asMcEwen--the son reading the newspaper aloud, or playing dominoes withhis father, or just smoking and chatting. Her hard common sense as aworking-woman suggested to her that Anderson was nursing illusions; andshe scornfully though silently hoped that the "old rip" would soon, oneway or another, be off his shoulders. But the illusions, for the moment, were Anderson's sustenance. Hisimagination, denied a more personal and passionate food, gave itselfwith fire to the redeeming of an outlaw, and the paying of aspiritual debt. It was Wednesday. After a couple of drizzling days the weather was againfair. The trains rolling through the pass began with these early days ofJuly to bring a first crop of holiday-makers from Eastern Canada and theStates; the hotels were filling up. On the morrow McEwen was to startfor Vancouver. And a letter from Philip Gaddesden, delivered at Lagganin the morning, had bitterly reproached Anderson for neglecting them, and leaving him, in particular, to be bored to death by glaciersand tourists. Early in the afternoon Anderson took his way up the mountain road toLake Louise. He found the English travellers established among the pinesby the lake-side, Philip half asleep in a hammock strung between twopines, while Delaine was reading to Elizabeth from an article in anarchæological review on "Some Fresh Light on the Cippus of Palestrina. " Lady Merton was embroidering; it seemed to Anderson that she was tiredor depressed. Delaine's booming voice, and the frequent Latin passagesinterspersed with stammering translations of his own, in which heappeared to be interminably tangled, would be enough--the Canadianthought--to account for a subdued demeanour; and there was, moreover, asudden thunderous heat in the afternoon. Elizabeth received him a little stiffly, and Philip roused himself fromsleep only to complain: "You've been four mortal days withoutcoming near us!" "I had to go away. I have been to Regina. " "On politics?" asked Delaine. "Yes. We had a couple of meetings and a row. " "Jolly for you!" grumbled Philip. "But we've had a beastly time. AskElizabeth. " "Nothing but the weather!" said Elizabeth carelessly. "We couldn't evensee the mountains. " But why, as she spoke, should the delicate cheek change colour, suddenlyand brightly? The answering blood leapt in Anderson. She _had_ missedhim, though she would not show it. Delaine began to question him about Saskatchewan. The Englishman's formsof conversation were apt to be tediously inquisitive, and Anderson hadoften resented them. To-day, however, he let himself be catechisedpatiently enough, while all the time conscious, from head to foot, ofone person only--one near and yet distant person. Elizabeth wore a dress of white linen, and a broad hat of soft blue. Thecombination of the white and blue with her brown hair, and the palerefinement of her face, seemed to him ravishing, enchanting. So were themovements of her hands at work, and all the devices of her lightself-command; more attractive, infinitely, to his mature sense than theinvoluntary tremor of girlhood. "Hallo! What does Stewart want?" said Philip, raising himself in hishammock. The hunter who had been the companion of his first unluckyattempt at fishing was coming towards them. The boy sprang to theground, and, vowing that he would fish the following morning whateverElizabeth might say, went off to consult. She looked after him with a smile and a sigh. "Better give him his head!" laughed Anderson. Then, from where he stood, he studied her a moment, unseen, except by Delaine, who was sittingamong the moss a few yards away, and had temporarily forgotten theCippus of Palestrina. Suddenly the Canadian came forward. "Have you explored that path yet, over the shoulder?" he said to LadyMerton, pointing to the fine promontory of purple piny rock which juttedout in front of the glacier on the southern side of the lake. She shook her head; but was it not still too early and too hot to walk?Anderson persisted. The path was in shade, and would repay climbing. Shehesitated--and yielded; making a show of asking Delaine to come withthem. Delaine also hesitated, and refrained; making a show of preferringthe "Archaeological Review. " He was left to watch them mount the firststretches of the trail; while Philip strolled along the lake with hiscompanion in the slouch hat and leggings, deep in tales of bassand trout. Elizabeth and Anderson climbed a long sloping ascent through the pines. The air was warm and scented; the heat of the sun on the moistened earthwas releasing all its virtues and fragrances, overpowering in the openplaces, and stealing even through the shadows. When the trees broke orreceded, the full splendour of the glacier was upon them to their left;and then for a space they must divine it as a presence behind theactual, faintly gleaming and flashing through the serried ranks of theforest. There were heaths and mosses under the pines; but otherwise fora while the path was flowerless; and Elizabeth discontentedly remarkedit. Anderson smiled. "Wait a little--or you'll have to apologise to the Rockies. " He looked down upon her, and saw that her small face had bloomed into avivacity and charm that startled him. Was it only the physical effortand pleasure of the climb? As for himself, it took all the power of astrong will to check the happy tumult in his heart. Elizabeth asked him of his Saskatchewan journey. He described to her thegrowing town he hoped to represent--the rush of its new life. "On one Sunday morning there was nothing--the bare prairie; by thenext--so to speak--there was a town all complete, with a hotel, anelevator, a bank, and a church. That was ten years ago. Then the railwaycame; I saw the first train come in, garlanded and wreathed withflowers. Now there are eight thousand people. They have reserved landfor a park along the river, and sent for a landscape gardener fromEngland to lay it out; they have made trees grow on the prairie; theyhave built a high school and a concert hall; the municipality is full ofambitions; and all round the town, settlers are pouring in. On marketday you find yourself in a crowd of men, talking cattle and crops, thelast thing in binders and threshers, as farmers do all over the world. But yet you couldn't match that crowd in the old world. " "Which you don't know, " put in Elizabeth, with her sly smile. "Which I don't know, " repeated Anderson meekly. "But I guess. And I amthinking of sayings of yours. Where in Europe can you match the sense of_boundlessness_ we have here--boundless space, boundless opportunity? Itoften makes fools of us: it intoxicates, turns our heads. There is agerm of madness in this Northwest. I have seen men destroyed by it. Butit is Nature who is the witch. She brews the cup. " "All very well for the men, " Elizabeth said, musing--"and the strongmen. About the women in this country I can't make up my mind. " "You think of the drudgery, the domestic hardships?" "There are some ladies in the hotel, from British Columbia. They are ineasy circumstances--and the daughter is dying of overwork! The husbandhas a large fruit farm, but they can get no service; the fruit rots onthe ground; and the two women are worn to death. " "Aye, " said Anderson gravely. "This country breeds life, but it alsodevours it. " "I asked these two women--Englishwomen--if they wanted to go home, andgive it up. They fell upon me with scorn. " "And you?" Elizabeth sighed. "I admired them. But could I imitate them? I thought of the house athome; of the old servants; how it runs on wheels; how pretty and--anddignified it all is; everybody at their post; no drudgery, no disorder. " "It is a dignity that costs you dear, " said Anderson almost roughly, andwith a change of countenance. "You sacrifice to it things a thousandtimes more real, more human. " "Do we?" said Elizabeth; and then, with a drop in her voice: "Dear, dearEngland!" She paused to take breath, and as she leant resting against atree he saw her expression change, as though a struggle passedthrough her. The trees had opened behind them, and they looked back over the lake, the hotel, and the wide Laggan valley beyond. In all that valley, not asign of human life, but the line of the railway. Not a house, not avillage to be seen; and at this distance the forest appeared continuous, till it died against the rock and snow of the higher peaks. For the first time, Elizabeth was home-sick; for the first time sheshrank from a raw, untamed land where the House of Life is only nowrearing its walls and its roof-timbers, and all its warm furnishings, its ornaments and hangings are still to add. She thought of the Englishlandscapes, of the woods and uplands round her Cumberland home; of theold church, the embowered cottages, the lichened farms; the generationsof lives that have died into the soil, like the summer leaves of thetrees; of the ghosts to be felt in the air--ghosts of squire andlabourer and farmer, alive still in men and women of the present, asthey too will live in the unborn. Her heart went out to England; fledback to it over the seas, as though renewing, in penitence, anallegiance that had wavered. And Anderson divined it, in the yearning ofher just-parted lips, in the quivering, restrained sweetness ofher look. His own heart sank. They resumed their walk, and presently the path grewsteeper. Some of it was rough-hewn in the rock, and encumbered by rootsof trees. Anderson held out a helping hand; her fingers slippedwillingly into it; her light weight hung upon him, and every step was tohim a mingled delight and bitterness. "Hard work!" he said presently, with his encouraging smile; "but you'llbe paid. " The pines grew closer, and then suddenly lightened. A few more steps, and Elizabeth gave a cry of pleasure. They were on the edge of analpine meadow, encircled by dense forest, and sloping down beneath theirfeet to a lake that lay half in black shadow, half blazing in theafternoon sun. Beyond was a tossed wilderness of peaks to west andsouth. Light masses of cumulus cloud were rushing over the sky, anddriving waves of blue and purple colour across the mountain masses andthe forest slopes. Golden was the sinking light and the sunlit half ofthe lake; golden the western faces and edges of the mountain world;while beyond the valley, where ran the white smoke of a train, therehung in the northern sky a dream-world of undiscovered snows, range, itseemed, beyond range, remote, ethereal; a Valhalla of the old gods ofthis vast land, where one might guess them still throned at bay, majestic, inviolate. But it was the flowers that held Elizabeth mute. Anderson had broughther to a wild garden of incredible beauty. Scarlet and blue, purple andpearl and opal, rose-pink and lavender-grey the flower-field ran abouther, as though Persephone herself had just risen from the shadow of thisnameless northern lake, and the new earth had broken into eager flame ather feet. Painter's brush, harebell, speedwell, golden-browngaillardias, silvery hawkweed, columbines yellow and blue, heaths, andlush grasses--Elizabeth sank down among them in speechless joy. Andersongathered handfuls of columbine and vetch, of harebell and heath, andfilled her lap with them, till she gently stopped him. "No! Let me only look!" And with her hands around her knees she sat motionless and still. Anderson threw himself down beside her. Fragrance, colour, warmth; thestir of an endless self-sufficient life; the fruitfulness and bounty ofthe earth; these things wove their ancient spells about them. Everylittle rush of the breeze seemed an invitation and a caress. Presently she thanked him for having brought her there, and saidsomething of remembering it in England. "As one who will never see it again?" He turned and faced her smiling. But behind his frank, pleasant look there was something from whichshe shrank. "I shall hardly see it, again, " she said hesitating. "Perhaps that makesit the more--the more touching. One clings to it the more--theimpression--because it is so fugitive--will be so soon gone. " He was silent a moment, then said abruptly: "And the upshot of all this is, that you could not imagine living inCanada?" She started. "I never said so. Of course I could imagine living in Canada!" "But you think, for women, the life up here--in the Northwest--is toohard. " She looked at him timidly. "That's because I look at it from my English point of view. I am afraidEnglish life makes weaklings of us. " "No--not of you!" he said, almost scornfully. "Any life that seemed toyou worth while would find you strong enough for it. I am sure of that. " Elizabeth smiled and shrugged her shoulders. He went on--almost asthough pleading with her. "And as to our Western life--which you will soon have left so farbehind--it strains and tests the women--true--but it rewards them. Theyhave a great place among us. It is like the women of the early races. Welisten to them in the house, and on the land; we depend on them indoorsand out; their husbands and their sons worship them!" Elizabeth flushed involuntarily; but she met him gaily. "In England too! Come and see!" "I shall probably be in England next spring. " Elizabeth made a sudden movement. "I thought you would be in political life here!" "I have had an offer--an exciting and flattering offer. May I tell you?" He turned to her eagerly; and she smiled her sympathy, her curiosity. Whereupon he took a letter from his pocket--a letter from the DominionPrime Minister, offering him a mission of inquiry to England, on someimportant matters connected with labour and emigration. The letter wasremarkable, addressed to a man so young, and on the threshold of hispolitical career. Elizabeth congratulated him warmly. "Of course you will come to stay with us!" It was his turn to redden. "You are very kind, " he said formally. "As you know, I shall haveeverything to learn. " "I will show you _our_ farms!" cried Elizabeth, "and all our deardecrepit life--our little chessboard of an England. " "How proud you are, you Englishwomen!" he said, half frowning. "You runyourselves down--and at bottom there is a pride like Lucifer's. " "But it is not my pride, " she said, hurt, "any more than yours. We areyours--and you are ours. One state--one country. " "No, don't let us sentimentalise. We have our own future. It is notyours. " "But you are loyal!" The note was one of pain. "Are we? Foolish word! Yes, we are loyal, as you are--loyal to a commonideal, a common mission in the world. " "To blood also--and to history?" Her voice was almost entreating. Whathe had said seemed to jar with other and earlier sayings of his, whichhad stirred in her a patriotic pleasure. He smiled at her emotion--her implied reproach. "Yes, we stand together. We march together. But Canada will have her ownhistory; and you must not try to make it for her. " Their eyes met; in hers exaltion, in his a touch of sternness, amoment's revelation of the Covenanter in his soul. Then as the delightful vision of her among the flowers, in her whitedress, the mountains behind and around her, imprinted itself on hissenses, he was conscious of a moment of intolerable pain. Between herand him--as it were--the abyss opened. The trembling waves of colour inthe grass, the noble procession of the clouds, the gleaming of thesnows, the shadow of the valleys--they were all wiped out. He sawinstead a small unsavoury room--the cunning eyes and coarse mouth of hisfather. He saw his own future as it must now be; weighted with thisburden, this secret; if indeed it were still to be a secret; if it werenot rather the wiser and the manlier plan to have done with secrecy. Elizabeth rose with a little shiver. The wind had begun to blow coldfrom the northwest. "How soon can we run down? I hope Mr. Arthur will have sent Philipindoors. " Anderson left Lake Louise about eight o'clock, and hurried down theLaggan road. His mind was divided between the bitter-sweet of these lasthours with Elizabeth Merton, and anxieties, small practical anxieties, about his father. There were arrangements still to make. He was nothimself going to Vancouver. McEwen had lately shown a strong andpetulant wish to preserve his incognito, or what was left of it. Hewould not have his son's escort. George might come and see him atVancouver; and that would be time enough to settle up for the winter. So Ginnell, owner of the boarding house, a stalwart Irishman of six footthree, had been appointed to see him through his journey, settle himwith his new protectors, and pay all necessary expenses. Anderson knocked at his father's door and was allowed to enter. He foundMcEwen walking up and down his room, with the aid of a stick, irritablypushing chairs and clothes out of his way. The room was in squaliddisorder, and its inmate had a flushed, exasperated look that did notescape Anderson's notice. He thought it probable that his father wasalready repenting his consent to go to Vancouver, and he avoided generalconversation as much as possible. McEwen complained of having been left alone; abused Mrs. Ginnell; vowedshe had starved and ill-treated him; and then, to Anderson's surprise, broke out against his son for having refused to provide him with themoney he wanted for the mine, and so ruined his last chance. Andersonhardly replied; but what he did say was as soothing as possible; and atlast the old man flung himself on his bed, excitement dying away in asulky taciturnity. Before Anderson left his room, Ginnell came in, bringing his accountsfor certain small expenses. Anderson, standing with his back to hisfather, took out a pocketbook full of bills. At Calgary the day before afriend had repaid him a loan of a thousand dollars. He gave Ginnell acertain sum; talked to him in a low voice for a time, thinking hisfather had dropped asleep; and then dismissed him, putting the money inhis pocket. "Good night, father, " he said, standing beside the bed. McEwen opened his eyes. "Eh?" The eyes into which Anderson looked had no sleep in them. They were wildand bloodshot, and again Anderson felt a pang of helpless pity for adishonoured and miserable old age. "I'm sure you'll get on at Vancouver, father, " he said gently. "And Ishall be there next week. " His father growled some unintelligible answer. As Anderson went to thedoor he again called after him angrily: "You were a d---- fool, George, not to find those dibs. " "What, for the mine?" Anderson laughed. "Oh, we'll go into that again atVancouver. " McEwen made no reply, and Anderson left him. Anderson woke before seven. The long evening had passed into the dawnwith scarcely any darkness, and the sun was now high. He sprang up, anddressed hastily. Going into the passage he saw to his astonishment thatwhile the door of the Ginnells' room was still closed, his father's waswide open. He walked in. The room and the bed were empty. The contentsof a box carefully packed by Ginnell--mostly with new clothes--the nightbefore, were lying strewn about the room. But McEwen's old clothes weregone, his gun and revolver, also his pipes and tobacco. Anderson roused Ginnell, and they searched the house and itsneighbourhood in vain. On going back into his own room, Anderson noticedan open drawer. He had placed his pocketbook there the night before, butwithout locking the drawer. It was gone, and in its place was a dirtyscrap of paper. "Don't you try chivvying me, George, for you won't get any good of it. You let me alone, and I'll let you. You were a stingy fellow about thatmoney, so I've took some of it. Good-bye. " Sick at heart, Anderson resumed the search, further afield. He sentGinnell along the line to make confidential inquiries. He telegraphed topersons known to him at Golden, Revelstoke, Kamloops, Ashcroft, all tono purpose. Twenty-four--thirty-six hours passed and nothing had beenheard of the fugitive. He felt himself baffled and tricked, with certain deep instincts andyearnings wounded to the death. The brutal manner of his father'sescape--the robbery--the letter--had struck him hard. When Friday night came, and still no news, Anderson found himself at theC. P. R. Hotel at Field. He was stupid with fatigue and depression. Buthe had been in telephonic communication all the afternoon with Delaineand Lady Merton at Lake Louise, as to their departure for the Pacific. They knew nothing and should know nothing of his own catastrophe; theirplans should not suffer. He went out into the summer night to take breath, and commune withhimself. The night was balmy; the stars glorious. On a siding near thehotel stood the private car which had arrived that evening fromVancouver, and was to go to Laggan the following morning to fetch theEnglish party. They were to pick him up, on the return, at Field. He had failed to save his father, and his honest effort had been made invain. Humiliation and disappointment overshadowed him. Passionately, hiswhole soul turned to Elizabeth. He did not yet grasp all the bearings ofwhat had happened. But he began to count the hours to the time when heshould see her. CHAPTER XI A day of showers and breaking clouds--of sudden sunlight, and broadclefts of blue; a day when shreds of mist are lightly looped and meshedabout the higher peaks of the Rockies and the Selkirks, dividing theforest world from the ice world above.... The car was slowly descending the Kicking Horse Pass, at the rear of aheavy train. Elizabeth, on her platform, was feasting her eyes once moreon the great savage landscape, on these peaks and valleys that havenever till now known man, save as the hunter, treading them once ortwice perhaps in a century. Dreamily her mind contrasted them with theAlps, where from all time man has laboured and sheltered, blending hislife, his births and deaths, his loves and hates with the glaciers andthe forests, wresting his food from the valleys, creeping height overheight to the snow line, writing his will on the country, so that in ourthought of it he stands first, and Nature second. The Swiss mountainsand streams breathe a "mighty voice, " lent to them by the free passionand aspiration of man; they are interfused and interwoven forever withhuman fate. But in the Rockies and the Selkirks man counts for nothingin their past; and, except as wayfarer and playfellow, it is probablethat he will count for nothing in their future. They will never be thefamiliar companions of his work and prayer and love; a couple ofrailways, indeed, will soon be driving through them, linking the life ofthe prairies to the life of the Pacific; but, except for this conquestof them as barriers in his path, when his summer camps in them arestruck, they, sheeted in a winter inaccessible and superb, know him andhis puny deeds no more, till again the lakes melt and the trees bud. This it is that gives them their strange majesty, and clothes theirbrief summer, their laughing fields of flowers, their thickets of redraspberry and slopes of strawberry, their infinity of gleaming lakes andfoaming rivers--rivers that turn no mill and light no town--with acharm, half magical, half mocking. And yet, though the travelled intelligence made comparisons of thiskind, it was not with the mountains that Elizabeth's deepest mind wasbusy. She took really keener note of the railway itself, and itsappurtenances. For here man had expressed himself; had pitched hisbattle with a fierce nature and won it; as no doubt he will win othersimilar battles in the coming years. Through Anderson this battle hadbecome real to her. She looked eagerly at the construction camps in thepass; at the new line that is soon to supersede the old; at the bridgesand tunnels and snow-sheds, by which contriving man had made his purposeprevail over the physical forces of this wild world. The great railwayspoke to her in terms of human life; and because she had known Andersonshe understood its message. Secretly and sorely her thoughts clung to him. Just as, insensibly, hervision of Canada had changed, so had her vision of Anderson. Canada wasno longer mere fairy tale and romance; Anderson was no longer merely itspicturesque exponent or representative. She had come to realise him as aman, with a man's cares and passions; and her feelings about him hadbegun to change her life. Arthur Delaine, she supposed, had meant to warn her that Mr. Andersonwas falling in love with her and that she had no right to encourage it. Her thoughts went back intently over the last fortnight--Anderson'sabsences--his partial withdrawal from the intimacy which had grown upbetween himself and her--their last walk at Lake Louise. The delight ofthat walk was still in her veins, and at last she was frank withherself about it! In his attitude towards her, now that she forcedherself to face the truth, she must needs recognise a passionateeagerness, restrained no less passionately; a profound impulse, stronglyfelt, and strongly held back. By mere despair of attainment?--or by thescruple of an honourable self-control? Could she--_could_ she marry a Canadian? There was the central question, out at last!--irrevocable!--writ large on the mountains and the forests, as she sped through them. Could she, possessed by inheritance of allthat is most desirable and delightful in English society, linked withits great interests and its dominant class, and through them with therich cosmopolitan life of cultivated Europe--could she tear herselffrom that old soil, and that dear familiar environment? Had the plantvitality enough to bear transplanting? She did not put her question inthese terms; but that was what her sudden tumult and distress of mindreally meant. Looking up, she saw Delaine beside her. Well, there was Europe, and ather feet! For the last month she had been occupied in scorning it. English country-house life, artistic society and pursuits, London in theseason, Paris and Rome in the spring, English social and politicalinfluence--there they were beside her. She had only to stretch outher hand. A chill, uncomfortable laughter seemed to fill the inner mind throughwhich the debate passed, while all the time she was apparently lookingat the landscape, and chatting with her brother or Delaine. She fellinto an angry contempt for that mood of imaginative delight in which shehad journeyed through Canada so far. What! treat a great nation in thebirth as though it were there for her mere pleasure and entertainment?Make of it a mere spectacle and pageant, and turn with disgust from thenotion that you, too, could ever throw in your lot with it, fight as afoot-soldier in its ranks, on equal terms, for life and death! She despised herself. And yet--and yet! She thought of her mother--herfrail, refined, artistic mother; of a hundred subtleties and charms andclaims, in that world she understood, in which she had been reared; ofall that she must leave behind, were she asked, and did she consent, toshare the life of a Canadian of Anderson's type. What would it be tofail in such a venture! To dare it, and then to find life sinking insands of cowardice and weakness! Very often, and sometimes as though bydesign, Anderson had spoken to her of the part to be played by women inCanada; not in the defensive, optimistic tone of their last walktogether, but forbiddingly, with a kind of rough insistence. Substantialcomfort, a large amount of applied science--that could be got. But theelegancies and refinements of English rich life in a prairiefarm--impossible! A woman who marries a Canadian farmer, large or small, must put her own hands to the drudgery of life, to the cooking, sewing, baking, that keep man--animal man--alive. A certain amount of rudeservice money can command in the Northwest; but it is a service whichonly the housewife's personal coöperation can make tolerable. Lifereturns, in fact, to the old primitive pattern; and a woman counts onthe prairie according as "she looketh well to the ways of her householdand eateth not the bread of idleness. " Suddenly Elizabeth perceived her own hands lying on her lap. Uselessbejewelled things! When had they ever fed a man or nursed a child? Under her gauze veil she coloured fiercely. If the housewife, in herprimitive meaning and office, is vital to Canada, still more is thehouse-mother. "Bear me sons and daughters; people my wastes!" seems tobe the cry of the land itself. Deep in Elizabeth's being there stirredinstincts and yearnings which life had so far stifled in her. Sheshivered as though some voice, passionate and yet austere, spoke to herfrom this great spectacle of mountain and water through which shewas passing. * * * * * "There he is!" cried Philip, craning his head to look ahead along thetrain. Anderson stood waiting for them on the Field platform. Very soon he wasseated beside her, outside the car, while Philip lounged in the doorway, and Delaine inside, having done his duty to the Kicking Horse Pass, wasdevoting himself to a belated number of the "Athenæum" which had justreached him. Philip had stored up a string of questions as to the hunting of goat inthe Rockies, and impatiently produced them. Anderson replied, but, asElizabeth immediately perceived, with a complete lack of his usualanimation. He spoke with effort, occasionally stumbling over his words. She could not help looking at him curiously, and presently even Philipnoticed something wrong. "I say, Anderson!--what have you been doing to yourself? You look asthough you had been knocking up. " "I have been a bit driven this week, " said Anderson, with a start. "Oh, nothing! You must look at this piece of line. " And as they ran down the long ravine from Field to Golden, beside ariver which all the way seems to threaten the gliding train by thesavage force of its descent, he played the showman. The epic of theC. P. R. --no one knew it better, and no one could recite it morevividly than he. So also, as they left the Rockies behind; as they sped along theColumbia between the Rockies to their right and the Selkirks to theirleft; or as they turned away from the Columbia, and, on the flanks ofthe Selkirks, began to mount that forest valley which leads to Roger'sPass, he talked freely and well, exerting himself to the utmost. Thehopes and despairs, the endurances and ambitions of the first explorerswho ever broke into that fierce solitude, he could reproduce them; for, though himself of a younger generation, yet by sympathy he had livedthem. And if he had not been one of the builders of the line, in theincessant guardianship which preserves it from day to day, he had at onetime played a prominent part, battling with Nature for it, summerand winter. Delaine, at last, came out to listen. Philip in the grip of his firsthero-worship, lay silent and absorbed, watching the face and gestures ofthe speaker. Elizabeth sat with her eyes turned away from Andersontowards the wild valley, as they rose and rose above it. She listened;but her heart was full of new anxieties. What had happened to him? Shefelt him changed. He was talking for their pleasure, by a strong effortof will; that she realised. When could she get him alone?--herfriend!--who was clearly in distress. They approached the famous bridges on the long ascent. Yerkes camerunning through the car to point out with pride the place where theGrand Duchess had fainted beneath the terrors of the line. With only therailing of their little platform between them and the abyss, they ranover ravines hundreds of feet deep--the valley, a thousand feet sheer, below. And in that valley, not a sign of house, of path; only blackimpenetrable forest--huge cedars and Douglas pines, filling up thebottoms, choking the river with their débris, climbing up the furthersides, towards the gleaming line of peaks. "It is a nightmare!" said Delaine involuntarily, looking round him. Elizabeth laughed, a bright colour in her cheeks. Again the wildernessran through her blood, answering the challenge of Nature. Faint!--shewas more inclined to sing or shout. And with the exhilaration, physicaland mental, that stole upon her, there mingled secretly, the firstthrill of passion she had ever known. Anderson sat beside her, once moresilent after his burst of talk. She was vividly conscious of him--of hisbare curly head--of certain lines of fatigue and suffering in thebronzed face. And it was conveyed to her that, although he was clearlypreoccupied and sad, he was yet conscious of her in the same way. Once, as they were passing the highest bridge of all, where, carried on agreat steel arch, that has replaced the older trestles, the rails runnaked and gleaming, without the smallest shred of wall or parapet, across a gash in the mountain up which they were creeping, and at aterrific height above the valley, Elizabeth, who was sitting with herback to the engine, bent suddenly to one side, leaning over the littlerailing and looking ahead--that she might if possible get a clearersight of Mount Macdonald, the giant at whose feet lies Roger's Pass. Suddenly, as her weight pressed against the ironwork where only thatmorning a fastening had been mended, she felt a grip on her arm. Shedrew back, startled. "I beg your pardon!" said Anderson, smiling, but a trifle paler thanbefore. "I'm not troubled with nerves for myself, but--" He did not complete the sentence, and Elizabeth, could find nothing tosay. "Why, Elizabeth's not afraid!" cried Philip, scornfully. "This is Roger's Pass, and here we are at the top of the Selkirks, " saidAnderson, rising. "The train will wait here some twenty minutes. Perhapsyou would like to walk about. " They descended, all but Philip, who grumbled at the cold, wrappedhimself in a rug inside the car, and summoned Yerkes to bring him a cupof coffee. On this height indeed, and beneath the precipices of Mount Macdonald, which rise some five thousand feet perpendicularly above the railway, the air was chill and the clouds had gathered. On the right, ran a lineof glacier-laden peaks, calling to their fellows across the pass. Theravine itself, darkly magnificent, made a gulf of shadow out of whichrose glacier and snow slope, now veiled and now revealed by scuddingcloud. Heavy rain had not long since fallen on the pass; the smallstream, winding and looping through the narrow strip of desolate groundwhich marks the summit, roared in flood through marshy growths of dankweed and stunted shrub; and the noise reverberated from the mountainwalls, pressing straight and close on either hand. "Hark!" cried Elizabeth, standing still, her face and her light dressbeaten by the wind. A sound which was neither thunder nor the voice of the stream rose andswelled and filled the pass. Another followed it. Anderson pointed tothe snowy crags of Mount Macdonald, and there, leaping from ledge toledge, they saw the summer avalanches descend, roaring as they came, till they sank engulfed in a vaporous whirl of snow. Delaine tried to persuade Elizabeth to return to the car--in vain. Hehimself returned thither for a warmer coat, and she and Andersonwalked on alone. "The Rockies were fine!--but the Selkirks are superb!" She smiled at him as she spoke, as though she thanked him personally forthe grandeur round them. Her slender form seemed to have grown instature and in energy. The mountain rain was on her fresh cheek and herhair; a blue veil eddying round her head and face framed the brillianceof her eyes. Those who had known Elizabeth in Europe would hardly haverecognised her here. The spirit of earth's wild and virgin places hadmingled with her spirit, and as she had grown in sympathy, so also shehad grown in beauty. Anderson looked at her from time to time inenchantment, grudging every minute that passed. The temptationstrengthened to tell her his trouble. But how, or when? As he turned to her he saw that she, too, was gazing at him with ananxious, wistful expression, her lips parted as though to speak. He bent over her. "What was that?" exclaimed Elizabeth, looking round her. They had passed beyond the station where the train was at rest. But thesound of shouts pursued them. Anderson distinguished his own name. Acouple of railway officials had left the station and were hurryingtowards them. A sudden thought struck Anderson. He held up his hand with a gesture asthough to ask Lady Merton not to follow, and himself ran back tothe station. Elizabeth, from where she stood, saw the passengers all pouring out ofthe train on to the platform. Even Philip emerged and waved to her. Sheslowly returned, and meanwhile Anderson had disappeared. She found an excited crowd of travellers and a babel of noise. Delainehurried to her. It appeared that an extraordinary thing had happened. The trainimmediately in front of them, carrying mail and express cars but nopassengers, had been "held up" by a gang of train-robbers, at a spotbetween Sicamous junction and Kamloops. In order to break open the mailvan the robbers had employed a charge of dynamite, which had wreckedthe car and caused some damage to the line; enough to block thepermanent way for some hours. "And Philip has just opened this telegram for you. " Delaine handed it to her. It was from the District Superintendent, expressing great regret for the interruption to their journey, andsuggesting that they should spend the night at the hotel at Glacier. "Which I understand is only four miles off, the other side of the pass, "said Delaine. "Was there ever anything more annoying!" Elizabeth's face expressed an utter bewilderment. "A train held up in Canada--and on the C. P. R. --impossible!" An elderly man in front of her heard what she said, and turned upon hera face purple with wrath. "You may well say that, madam! We are a law-abiding nation. We don't putup with the pranks they play in Montana. They say the scoundrels havegot off. If we don't catch them, Canada's disgraced. " "I say, Elizabeth, " cried Philip, pushing his way to her through thecrowd, "there's been a lot of shooting. There's some Mounted Policehere, we picked up at Revelstoke, on their way to help catch thesefellows. I've been talking to them. The police from Kamloops came uponthem just as they were making off with a pretty pile--boxes full ofmoney for some of the banks in Vancouver. The police fired, so did therobbers. One of the police was killed, and one of the thieves. Then therest got off. I say, let's go and help hunt them!" The boy's eyes danced with the joy of adventure. "If they've any sense they'll send bloodhounds after them, " said theelderly man, fiercely. "I helped catch a murderer with my own hands thatway, last summer, near the Arrow Lakes. " "Where is Mr. Anderson?" The question escaped Elizabeth involuntarily. She had not meant to putit. But it was curious that he should have left them in the lurch atthis particular moment. "Take your seats!" cried the station-master, making his way through thecrowded platform. "This train goes as far as Sicamous Junction only. Anypassenger who wishes to break his journey will find accommodation atGlacier--next station. " The English travellers were hurried back into their car. Still no signof Anderson. Yerkes was only able to tell them that he had seenAnderson go into the station-master's private room with a couple of theMounted Police. He might have come out again, or he might not. Yerkeshad been too well occupied in exciting gossip with all his manyacquaintances in the train and the station to notice. The conductor went along through the train. Yerkes, standing on theinside platform, called to him: "Have you seen Mr. Anderson?" The man shook his head, but another standing by, evidently an officialof some kind, looked round and ran up to the car. "I'm sorry, madam, " he said, addressing Elizabeth, who was standing inthe doorway, "but Mr. Anderson isn't at liberty just now. He'll betravelling with the police. " And as he spoke a door in the station building opened, and Anderson cameout, accompanied by two constables of the Mounted Police and two orthree officials. They walked hurriedly along the train and got into anempty compartment together. Immediately afterwards the train moved off. "Well, I wonder what's up now!" said Philip in astonishment. "Do yousuppose Anderson's got some clue to the men?" Delaine looked uncomfortably at Elizabeth. As an old adviser andservant of the railway, extensively acquainted moreover with thepopulation--settled or occasional--of the district it was very naturalthat Anderson should be consulted on such an event. And yet--Delaine hadcaught a glimpse of his aspect on his way along the platform, and hadnoticed that he never looked towards the car. Some odd conjectures ranthrough his mind. Elizabeth sat silent, looking back on the grim defile the train was justleaving. It was evident that they had passed the water-shed, and thetrain was descending. In a few minutes they would be at Glacier. She roused herself to hold a rapid consultation over plans. They must of course do as they were advised, and spend the night atGlacier. * * * * * The train drew up. "Well, of all the nuisances!"--cried Philip, disgusted, as they preparedto leave the car. Yerkes, like the showman that he was, began to descant volubly on theadvantages and charms of the hotel, its Swiss guides, and thedistinguished travellers who stayed there; dragging rugs and bagsmeanwhile out of the car. Nobody listened to him. Everybody in thelittle party, as they stood forlornly on the platform, was in truthsearching for Anderson. And at last he came--hurrying along towards them. His face, set, strained, and colourless, bore the stamp of calamity. But he gave themno time to question him. "I am going on, " he said hastily to Elizabeth; "they will look after youhere. I will arrange everything for you as soon as possible, and if wedon't meet before, perhaps--in Vancouver--" "I say, are you going to hunt the robbers?" asked Philip, catching hisarm. Anderson made no reply. He turned to Delaine, drew him aside a moment, and put a letter into his hand. "My father was one of them, " he said, without emotion, "and is dead. Ihave asked you to tell Lady Merton. " There was a call for him. The train was already moving. He jumped intoit, and was gone. CHAPTER XII The station and hotel at Sicamous Junction, overlooking the lovely Maralake, were full of people--busy officials of different kinds, or excitedon-lookers--when Anderson reached them. The long summer day was justpassing into a night that was rather twilight than darkness, and in thelower country the heat was great. Far away to the north stretched thewide and straggling waters of another and larger lake. Woods of poplarand cottonwood grew along its swampy shore, and hills, forest clad, heldit in a shallow cup flooded with the mingled light of sunset andmoonlight. Anderson was met by a district superintendent, of the name of Dixon, ashe descended from the train. The young man, with whom he was slightlyacquainted, looked at him with excitement. "This is a precious bad business! If you can throw any light upon it, Mr. Anderson, we shall be uncommonly obliged to you--" Anderson interrupted him. "Is the inquest to be held here?" "Certainly. The bodies were brought in a few hours ago. " His companion pointed to a shed beyond the station. They walked thither, the Superintendent describing in detail the attack on the train and themeasures taken for the capture of the marauders, Anderson listening insilence. The affair had taken place early that morning, but thetelegraph wires had been cut in several places on both sides of thedamaged line, so that no precise news of what had happened had reachedeither Vancouver on the west, or Golden on the east, till the afternoon. The whole countryside was now in movement, and a vigorous man-hunt wasproceeding on both sides of the line. "There is no doubt the whole thing was planned by a couple of men fromMontana, one of whom was certainly concerned in the hold-up there a fewmonths ago and got clean away. But there were six or seven of themaltogether and most of the rest--we suspect--from this side of theboundary. The old man who was killed"--Anderson raised his eyes abruptlyto the speaker--"seems to have come from Nevada. There were somecuttings from a Nevada newspaper found upon him, besides the envelopeaddressed to you, of which I sent you word at Roger's Pass. Could yourecognise anything in my description of the man? There was one thing Iforgot to say. He had evidently been in the doctor's hands lately. Thereis a surgical bandage on the right ankle. " "Was there nothing in the envelope?" asked Anderson, putting thequestion aside, in spite of the evident eagerness of the questioner. "Nothing. " "And where is it?" "It was given to the Kamloops coroner, who has just arrived. " Andersonsaid nothing more. They had reached the shed, which his companionunlocked. Inside were two rough tables on trestles and lying on them twosheeted forms. Dixon uncovered the first, and Anderson looked steadily down at the faceunderneath. Death had wrought its strange ironic miracle once more, andout of the face of an outcast had made the face of a sage. There waslittle disfigurement; the eyes were closed with dignity; the mouthseemed to have unlearnt its coarseness. Silently the tension ofAnderson's inner being gave way; he was conscious of a passionateacceptance of the mere stillness and dumbness of death. "Where was the wound?" he asked, stooping over the body. "Ah, that was the strange thing! He didn't die of his wound at all! Itwas a mere graze on the arm. " The Superintendent pointed to a rent onthe coat-sleeve. "He died of something quite different--perhapsexcitement and a weak heart. There may have to be a post-mortem. " "I doubt whether that will be necessary, " said Anderson. The other looked at him with undisguised curiosity. "Then you do recognise him?" "I will tell the coroner what I know. " Anderson drew back from his close examination of the dead face, andbegan in his turn to question the Superintendent. Was it certain thatthis man had been himself concerned in the hold-up and in the strugglewith the police? Dixon could not see how there could be any doubt of it. The constableswho had rushed in upon the gang while they were still looting theexpress car--the brakesman having managed to get away and convey thealarm to Kamloops--remembered seeing an old man with white hair, apparently lame, at the rear of the more active thieves, and posted assentinel. He had been the first to give warning of the police approach, and had levelled his revolver at the foremost constable but had missedhis shot. In the free firing which had followed nobody exactly knew whathad happened. One of the attacking force, Constable Brown, had fallen, and while his comrades were attempting to save him, the thieves haddropped down the steep bank of the river close by, into a boat waitingfor them, and got off. The constable was left dead upon the ground, andnot far from him lay the old man, also lifeless. But when they came toexamine the bodies, while the constable was shot through the head, theother had received nothing but the trifling wound Dixon had alreadypointed out. Anderson listened to the story in silence. Then with a last long look atthe rigid features below him, he replaced the covering. Passing on tothe other table, he raised the sheet from the face of a splendid youngEnglishman, whom he had last seen the week before at Regina; an Englishpublic-school boy of the manliest type, full of hope for himself, and ofenthusiasm, both for Canada and for the fine body of men in which he hadbeen just promoted. For the first time a stifled groan escaped fromAnderson's lips. What hand had done this murder? They left the shed. Anderson inquired what doctor had been sent for. Herecognised the name given as that of a Kamloops man whom he knew andrespected; and he went on to look for him at the hotel. For some time he and the doctor paced a trail beside the line together. Among other facts that Anderson got from this conversation, he learntthat the American authorities had been telegraphed to, and that a coupleof deputy sheriffs were coming to assist the Canadian police. They wereexpected the following morning, when also the coroner's inquest wouldbe held. As to Anderson's own share in the interview, when the two men parted, with a silent grasp of the hand, the Doctor had nothing to say to thebystanders, except that Mr. Anderson would have some evidence to give onthe morrow, and that, for himself, he was not at liberty to divulge whathad passed between them. It was by this time late. Anderson shut himself up in his room at thehotel; but among the groups lounging at the bar or in the neighbourhoodof the station excitement and discussion ran high. The envelopeaddressed to Anderson, Anderson's own demeanour since his arrival on thescene--with the meaning of both conjecture was busy. * * * * * Towards midnight a train arrived from Field. A messenger from thestation knocked at Anderson's door with a train letter. Anderson lockedthe door again behind the man who had brought it, and stood looking atit a moment in silence. It was from Lady Merton. He opened it slowly, took it to the small deal table, which held a paraffin lamp, and satdown to read it. "Dear Mr. Anderson--Mr. Delaine has given me your message and read me some of your letter to him. He has also told me what he knew before this happened--we understood that you wished it. Oh! I cannot say how very sorry we are, Philip and I, for your great trouble. It makes me sore at heart to think that all the time you have been looking after us so kindly, taking this infinite pains for us, you have had this heavy anxiety on your mind. Oh, why didn't you tell me! I thought we were to be friends. And now this tragedy! It is terrible--terrible! Your father has been his own worst enemy--and at last death has come, --and he has escaped himself. Is there not some comfort in that? And you tried to save him. I can imagine all that you have been doing and planning for him. It is not lost, dear Mr. Anderson. No love and pity are ever lost. They are undying--for they are God's life in us. They are the pledge--the sign--to which He is eternally bound. He will surely, surely, redeem--and fulfil. "I write incoherently, for they are waiting for my letter. I want you to write to me, if you will. And when will you come back to us? We shall, I think, be two or three days here, for Philip has made friends with a man we have met here--a surveyor, who has been camping high up, and shooting wild goat. He is determined to go for an expedition with him, and I had to telegraph to the Lieutenant-Governor to ask him not to expect us till Thursday. So if you were to come back here before then you would still find us. I don't know that I could be of any use to you, or any consolation to you. But, indeed, I would try. "To-morrow I am told will be the inquest. My thoughts will be with you constantly. By now you will have determined on your line of action. I only know that it will be noble and upright--like yourself. "I remain, yours most sincerely" "ELIZABETH MERTON. " Anderson pressed the letter to his lips. Its tender philosophising foundno echo in his own mind. But it soothed, because it came from her. He lay dressed and wakeful on his bed through the night, and at ninenext morning the inquest opened, in the coffee-room of the hotel. The body of the young constable was first identified. As to the handwhich had fired the shot that killed him, there was no certain evidence;one of the police had seen the lame man with the white hair level hisrevolver again after the first miss; but there was much shooting goingon, and no one could be sure from what quarter the fatal bullethad come. The court then proceeded to the identification of the dead robber. Thecoroner, a rancher who bred the best horses in the district, calledfirst upon two strangers in plain clothes, who had arrived by the firsttrain from the South that morning. They proved to be the two officersfrom Nevada. They had already examined the body, and they gave clear andunhesitating evidence, identifying the old man as one Alexander McEwen, well known to the police of the silver-mining State as a lawless anddangerous character. He had been twice in jail, and had been theassociate of the notorious Bill Symonds in one or two criminal affairsconnected with "faked" claims and the like. The elder of the twoofficers in particular drew a vivid and damning picture of the man'slife and personality, of the cunning with which he had evaded the law, and the ruthlessness with which he had avenged one or twoprivate grudges. "We have reason to suppose, " said the American officer finally, "thatMcEwen was not originally a native of the States. We believe that hecame from Dawson City or the neighbourhood about ten years ago, and thathe crossed the border in consequence of a mysterious affair--which hasnever been cleared up--in which a rich German gentleman, Baron vonAeschenbach, disappeared, and has not been heard of since. Of that, however, we have no proof, and we cannot supply the court with anyinformation as to the man's real origin and early history. But we areprepared to swear that the body we have seen this morning is that ofAlexander McEwen, who for some years past has been well known to us, nowin one camp, now in another, of the Comstock district. " The American police officer resumed his seat. George Anderson, who wasto the right of the coroner, had sat, all through this witness'sevidence, bending forward, his eyes on the ground, his hands claspedbetween his knees. There was something in the rigidity of his attitude, which gradually compelled the attention of the onlookers, as though theperception gained ground that here--in that stillness--those bowedshoulders--lay the real interest of this sordid outrage, which had soaffronted the pride of Canada's great railway. The coroner rose. He briefly expressed the thanks of the court to theNevada State authorities for having so promptly supplied the informationin their possession in regard to this man McEwen. He would now ask Mr. George Anderson, of the C. P. R. , whether he could in any way assist thecourt in this investigation. An empty envelope, fully addressed to Mr. George Anderson, Ginnell's Boarding House, Laggan, Alberta, had, strangely enough, been found in McEwen's pocket. Could Mr. Andersonthrow any light upon the matter? Anderson stood up as the coroner handed him the envelope. He took it, looked at it, and slowly put it down on the table before him. He wasperfectly composed, but there was that in his aspect which instantlyhushed all sounds in the crowded room, and drew the eyes of everybody init upon him. The Kamloops doctor looked at him from a distance with asudden twitching smile--the smile of a reticent man in whom strongfeeling must somehow find a physical expression. Dixon, the youngSuperintendent, bent forward eagerly. At the back of the room a group ofJapanese railway workers, with their round, yellow faces and half-openedeyes stared impassively at the tall figure of the fair-haired Canadian;and through windows and doors, thrown open to the heat, shimmered lakeand forest, the eternal background of Canada. "Mr. Coroner, " said Anderson, straightening himself to his full height, "the name of the man into whose death you are inquiring is not AlexanderMcEwen. He came from Scotland to Manitoba in 1869. His real name wasRobert Anderson, and I--am his son. " The coroner gave an involuntary "Ah!" of amazement, which was echoed, itseemed, throughout the room. On one of the small deal tables belonging to the coffee-room, which hadbeen pushed aside to make room for the sitting of the court, lay thenewspapers of the morning--the _Vancouver Sentinel_ and the _MontrealStar_. Both contained short and flattering articles on the importantCommission entrusted to Mr. George Anderson by the Prime Minister. "Agreat compliment to so young a man, " said the _Star_, "but one amplydeserved by Mr. Anderson's record. We look forward on his behalf to abrilliant career, honourable both to himself and to Canada. " Several persons had already knocked at Anderson's door early thatmorning in order to congratulate him; but without finding him. And thishonoured and fortunate person--? Men pushed each other forward in their eagerness not to lose a word, ora shade of expression on the pale face which confronted them. Anderson, after a short pause, as though to collect himself, gave theoutlines of his father's early history, of the farm in Manitoba, thefire and its consequences, the breach between Robert Anderson and hissons. He described the struggle of the three boys on the farm, theirmigration to Montreal in search of education, and his own later sojournin the Yukon, with the evidence which had convinced him of hisfather's death. "Then, only a fortnight ago, he appeared at Laggan and made himselfknown to me, having followed me apparently from Winnipeg. He seemed tobe in great poverty, and in bad health. If he had wished it, I wasprepared to acknowledge him; but he seemed not to wish it; there were nodoubt reasons why he preferred to keep his assumed name. I did what Icould for him, and arrangements had been made to put him with decentpeople at Vancouver. But last Wednesday night he disappeared from theboarding house where he and I were both lodging, and various personshere will know"--he glanced at one or two faces in the ring beforehim--"that I have been making inquiries since, with no result. As towhat or who led him into this horrible business, I know nothing. TheNevada deputies have told you that he was acquainted with Symonds--afact unknown to me--and I noticed on one or two occasions that he seemedto have acquaintances among the men tramping west to the Kootenaydistrict. I can only imagine that after his success in Montana lastyear, Symonds made up his mind to try the same game on the C. P. R. , andthat during the last fortnight he came somehow into communication withmy father. My father must have been aware of Symonds's plans--and mayhave been unable at the last to resist the temptation to join in thescheme. As to all that I am entirely in the dark. " He paused, and then, looking down, he added, under his breath, as thoughinvoluntarily--"I pray--that he may not have been concerned in themurder of poor Brown. But there is--I think--no evidence to connect himwith it. I shall be glad to answer to the best of my power any questionsthat the court may wish to put. " He sat down heavily, very pale, but entirely collected. The room watchedhim a moment, and then a friendly, encouraging murmur seemed to risefrom the crowd--to pass from them to Anderson. The coroner, who was an old friend of Anderson's, fidgeted a little andin silence. He took off his glasses and put them on again. His tannedface, long and slightly twisted, with square harsh brows, and powerfuljaw set in a white fringe of whisker, showed an unusual amount ofdisturbance. At last he said, clearing his throat: "We are much obligedto you, Mr. Anderson, for your frankness towards this court. There'snot a man here that don't feel for you, and don't wish to offer you hisrespectful sympathy. We know you--and I reckon we know what to thinkabout you. Gentlemen, " he spoke with nasal deliberation, looking roundthe court, "I think that's so?" A shout of consent--the shout of men deeply moved--went up. Anderson, who had resumed his former attitude, appeared to take no notice, and thecoroner resumed. "I will now call on Mrs. Ginnell to give her evidence. " The Irishwoman rose with alacrity--what she had to say held theaudience. The surly yet good-hearted creature was divided between herwish to do justice to the demerits of McEwen, whom she had detested, andher fear of hurting Anderson's feelings in public. Beneath her roughexterior, she carried some of the delicacies of Celtic feeling, and shehad no sooner given some fact that showed the coarse dishonesty of thefather, than she veered off in haste to describe the pathetic efforts ofthe son. Her homely talk told; the picture grew. Meanwhile Anderson sat impatient or benumbed, annoyed with Mrs. Ginnell's garrulity, and longing for the whole thing to end. He had aletter to write to Ottawa before post-time. When the verdicts had been given, the doctor and he walked away fromthe court together. The necessary formalities were carried through, acoffin ordered, and provision made for the burial of Robert Anderson. Asthe two men passed once or twice through the groups now lounging andsmoking as before outside the hotel, all conversation ceased, and alleyes followed Anderson. Sincere pity was felt for him; and at the sametime men asked each other anxiously how the revelation would affect hispolitical and other chances. Late in the same evening the burial of McEwen took place. Acongregational minister at the graveside said a prayer for mercy on thesinner. Anderson had not asked him to do it, and felt a dull resentmentof the man's officiousness, and the unctious length of his prayer. Halfan hour later he was on the platform, waiting for the train to Glacier. He arrived there in the first glorious dawn of a summer morning. Overthe vast Illecillowaet glacier rosy feather-clouds were floating in acrystal air, beneath a dome of pale blue. Light mists rose from theforests and the course of the river, and above them shone the dazzlingsnows, the hanging glaciers, and glistening rock faces, ledge piled onledge, of the Selkirk giants--Hermit and Tupper, Avalanche and SirDonald--with that cleft of the pass between. The pleasant hotel, built to offer as much shelter and comfort aspossible to the tired traveller and climber, was scarcely awake. Asleepy-eyed Japanese showed Anderson to his room. He threw himself onthe bed, longing for sleep, yet incapable of it. He was once more underthe same roof with Elizabeth Merton--and for the last time! He longedfor her presence, her look, her touch; and yet with equal intensity heshrank from seeing her. That very morning through the length of Canadaand the States would go out the news of the train-robbery on the mainline of the C. P. R. , and with it the "dramatic" story of himself and hisfather, made more dramatic by a score of reporters. And as the news ofhis appointment, in the papers of the day before, had made him a publicperson, and had been no doubt telegraphed to London and Europe, so alsowould it be with the news of the "hold-up, " and his own connection withit; partly because it had happened on the C. P. R. ; still more because ofthe prominence given to his name the day before. He felt himself a disgraced man; and he had already put from him allthought of a public career. Yet he wondered, not without self-contempt, as he lay there in the broadening light, what it was in truth that madethe enormous difference between this Monday and the Monday before. Hisfather was dead, and had died in the very commission of a criminal act. But all or nearly all that Anderson knew now about his character he hadknown before this happened. The details given by the Nevada officerswere indeed new to him; but he had shrewdly suspected all along that therecord, did he know it, would be something like that. If such aparentage in itself involves stain and degradation, the stain anddegradation had been always there, and the situation, looked atphilosophically, was no worse for the catastrophe which had intervenedbetween this week and last. And yet it was of course immeasurably worse! Such is the "bubblereputation"--the difference between the known and the unknown. At nine o'clock a note was brought to his room: "Will you breakfast with me in half an hour? You will find me alone. "E. M. " Before the clock struck the half-hour, Elizabeth was already waiting forher guest, listening for every sound. She too had been awake halfthe night. When he came in she went up to him, with her quick-tripping step, holding out both her hands; and he saw that her eyes were full of tears. "I am so--so sorry!" was all she could say. He looked into her eyes, and as her hands lay in his he stooped suddenly and kissed them. Therewas a great piteousness in his expression, and she felt through everynerve the humiliation and the moral weariness which oppressed him. Suddenly she recalled that first moment of intimacy between them when hehad so brusquely warned her about Philip, and she had been wounded byhis mere strength and fearlessness; and it hurt her to realise thecontrast between that strength and this weakness. She made him sit down beside her in the broad window of her littlesitting-room, which over-looked the winding valley with the famous loopsof the descending railway, and the moving light and shade on the forest;and very gently and tenderly she made him tell her all the story fromfirst to last. His shrinking passed away, soothed by her sweetness, her restrainedemotion, and after a little he talked with freedom, gradually recoveringhis normal steadiness and clearness of mind. At the same time she perceived some great change in him. The hiddenspring of melancholy in his nature, which, amid all his practicalenergies and activities, she had always discerned, seemed to haveoverleaped its barriers, and to be invading the landmarks of character. At the end of his narrative he said something in a hurried, low voicewhich gave her a clue. "I did what I could to help him--but my father hated me. He died hatingme. Nothing I could do altered him. Had he reason? When my brother and Iin our anger thought we were avenging our mother's death, were we intruth destroying him also--driving him into wickedness beyond hope? Werewe--was I--for I was the eldest--responsible? Does his death, moral andphysical, lie at my door?" He raised his eyes to her--his tired appealing eyes--and Elizabethrealised sharply how deep a hold such questionings take on such a man. She tried to argue with and comfort him--and he seemed to absorb, tolisten--but in the middle of it, he said abruptly, as though to changethe subject: "And I confess the publicity has hit me hard. It may be cowardly, but Ican't face it for a while. I think I told you I owned some land inSaskatchewan. I shall go and settle down on it at once. " "And give up your appointment--your public life?" she cried in dismay. He smiled at her faintly, as though trying to console her. "Yes; I shan't be missed, and I shall do better by myself. I understandthe wheat and the land. They are friends that don't fail one. " Elizabeth flushed. "Mr. Anderson!--you mustn't give up your work. Canada asks it of you. " "I shall only be changing my work. A man can do nothing better forCanada than break up land. " "You can do that--and other things besides. Please--please--do nothingrash!" She bent over to him, her brown eyes full of entreaty, her hand laidgently, timidly on his. He could not bear to distress her--but he must. "I sent in my resignation yesterday to the Prime Minister. " The delicate face beside him clouded. "He won't accept it. " Anderson shook his head. "I think he must. " Elizabeth looked at him in despair. "Oh! no. You oughtn't to do this--indeed, indeed you oughtn't. It iscowardly--forgive me!--unworthy of you. Oh! can't you see how thesympathy of everybody who knows--everybody whose opinion you care for--" She stopped a moment, colouring deeply, checked indeed by the thought ofa conversation between herself and Philip of the night before. Andersoninterrupted her: "The sympathy of one person, " he said hoarsely, "is very precious tome. But even for her--" She held out her hands to him again imploringly-- "Even for her?--" But instead of taking the hands he rose and went out on the balcony amoment, as though to look at the great view. Then he returned, andstood over her. "Lady Merton, I am afraid--it's no use. We are not--we can'tbe--friends. " "Not friends?" she said, her lip quivering. "I thought I--" He looked down steadily on her upturned face. His own spoke eloquentlyenough. Turning her head away, with fluttering breath, she began tospeak fast and brokenly: "I, too, have been very lonely. I want a friend whom I might help--whowould help me. Why should you refuse? We are not either of us quiteyoung; what we undertook we could carry through. Since my husband'sdeath I--I have been playing at life. I have always been hungry, dissatisfied, discontented. There were such splendid things going on inthe world, and I--I was just marking time. Nothing to do!--as much moneyas I could possibly want--society of course--travelling--andvisiting--and amusing myself--but oh! so tired all the time. Andsomehow Canada has been a great revelation of real, strong, livingthings--this great Northwest--and you, who seemed to explain it to me--" "Dear Lady Merton!" His tone was low and full of emotion. And this timeit was he who stooped and took her unresisting hands in his. She went onin the same soft, pleading tone-- "I felt what it might be--to help in the building up a better humanlife--in this vast new country. God has given to you this task--such anoble task!--and through your friendship, I too seemed to have a littlepart in it, if only by sympathy. Oh, no! you mustn't turn back--youmustn't shrink--because of what has happened to you. And let me, from adistance, watch and help. It will ennoble my life, too. Let me!"--shesmiled--"I shall make a good friend, you'll see. I shall write veryoften. I shall argue--and criticise--and want a great deal ofexplaining. And you'll come over to us, and do splendid work, and makemany English friends. Your strength will all come back to you. " He pressed the hands he held more closely. "It is like you to say all this--but--don't let us deceive ourselves. Icould not be your friend, Lady Merton. I must not come and see you. " She was silent, very pale, her eyes on his--and he went on: "It is strange to say it in this way, at such a moment; but it seems asthough I had better say it. I have had the audacity, you see--to fall inlove with you. And if it was audacity a week ago, you can guess what itis now--now when--Ask your mother and brother what they would think ofit!" he said abruptly, almost fiercely. There was a moment's silence. All consciousness, all feeling in each ofthese two human beings had come to be--with the irrevocable swiftness oflove--a consciousness of the other. Under the sombre renouncing passionof his look, her own eyes filled slowly--beautifully--with tears. Andthrough all his perplexity and pain there shot a thrill of joy, oftriumph even, sharp and wonderful. He understood. All this might havebeen his--this delicate beauty, this quick will, this rareintelligence--and yet the surrender in her aspect was not the simplesurrender of love; he knew before she spoke that she did not pretend toignore the obstacles between them; that she was not going to throwherself upon his renunciation, trying vehemently to break it down, in amere blind girlish impulsiveness. He realised at once her heart, and hercommon sense; and was grateful to her for both. Gently she drew herself away, drawing a long breath. "My mother andbrother would not decide those things for me--oh, _never_!--I shoulddecide them for myself. But we are not going to talk of them to-day. Weare not going to make any--any rash promises to each other. It is you wemust think for--your future--your life. And then--if you won't give me afriend's right to speak--you will be unkind--and I shall respectyou less. " She threw back her little head with vivacity. In the gesture he saw thestrength of her will and his own wavered. "How can it be unkind?" he protested. "You ought not to be troubled withme any more. " "Let me be judge of that. If you will persist in giving up thisappointment, promise me at least to come to England. That will breakthis spell of this--this terrible thing, and give you courage--again. Promise me!" "No, no!--you are too good to me--too good;--let it end here. It ismuch, much better so. " Then she broke down a little. She looked round her, like some hurt creature seeking a means of escape. Her lips trembled. She gave a low cry. "And I have loved Canada so! Ihave been so happy here. " "And now I have hurt you?--I have spoilt everything?" "It is your unhappiness does that--and that you will spoil your life. Promise me only this one thing--to come to England! Promise me!" He sat down in a quiet despair that she would urge him so. A longargument followed between them, and at last she wore him down. She daredsay nothing more of the Commissionership; but he promised her to come toEngland some time in the following winter; and with that she had tobe content. Then she gave him breakfast. During their conversation, which Elizabethguided as far as possible to indifferent topics, the name of Mariettewas mentioned. He was still, it seemed, at Vancouver. Elizabeth gaveAnderson a sudden look, and casually, without his noticing, shepossessed herself of the name of Mariette's hotel. At breakfast also she described, with a smile and sigh, her brother'sfirst and last attempt to shoot wild goat in the Rockies, an expeditionwhich had ended in a wetting and a chill--"luckily nothing much; butpoor Philip won't be out of his room to-day. " "I will go and see him, " said Anderson, rising. Elizabeth looked up, her colour fluttering. "Mr. Anderson, Philip is only a boy, and sometimes a foolish boy--" "I understand, " said Anderson quietly, after a moment. "Philip thinkshis sister has been running risks. Who warned him?" Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders without replying. He saw a touch ofscorn in her face that was new to him. "I think I guess, " he said. "Why not? It was the natural thing. So Mr. Delaine is still here?" "Till to-morrow. " "I am glad. I shall like to assure him that his name was notmentioned--he was not involved at all!" Elizabeth's lip curled a little, but she said nothing. During thepreceding forty-eight hours there had been passages between herself andDelaine that she did not intend Anderson to know anything about. In hisfinical repugnance to soiling his hands with matters so distasteful, Delaine had carried out the embassy which Anderson had perforceentrusted to him in such a manner as to rouse in Elizabeth a maximum ofpride on her own account, and of indignation on Anderson's. She was noteven sorry for him any more; being, of course, therein a little unjustto him, as was natural to a high-spirited and warm-hearted woman. Anderson, meanwhile, went off to knock at Philip's door, and Philip'ssister was left behind to wonder nervously how Philip would behave andwhat he would say. She was still smarting under the boy's furiousoutburst of the night before when, through a calculated indiscretion ofDelaine's, the notion that Anderson had presumed and might still presumeto set his ambitions on Elizabeth had been presented to him for thefirst time. "My sister marry a mining engineer!--with a drunken old robber for afather! By Jove! Anybody talking nonsense of that kind will jolly wellhave to reckon with me! Elizabeth!--you may say what you like, but I amthe head of the family!" Anderson found the head of the family in bed, surrounded by novels, anda dozen books on big-game shooting in the Rockies. Philip received himwith an evident and ungracious embarrassment. "I am awfully sorry--beastly business. Hard lines on you, ofcourse--very. Hope they'll get the men. " "Thank you. They are doing their best. " Anderson sat down beside the lad. The fragility of his look struck himpainfully, and the pathetic contrast between it and the frettingspirit--the books of travel and adventure heaped round him. "Have you been ill again?" he asked in his kind, deep voice. "Oh, just a beastly chill. Elizabeth would make me take too many wraps. Everyone knows you oughtn't to get overheated walking. " "Do you want to stay on here longer?" "Not I! What do I care about glaciers and mountains and that sort ofstuff if I can't hunt? But Elizabeth's got at the doctor somehow, and hewon't let me go for three or four days unless I kick over the traces. Idaresay I shall. " "No you won't--for your sister's sake. I'll see all arrangements aremade. " Philip made no direct reply. He lay staring at the ceiling--till at lasthe said-- "Delaine's going. He's going to-morrow. He gets on Elizabeth's nerves. " "Did he say anything to you about me?" said Anderson. Philip flushed. "Well, I daresay he did. " "Make your mind easy, Gaddesden. A man with my story is not going to askyour sister to marry him. " Philip looked up. Anderson sat composedly erect, the traces of hisnights of sleeplessness and revolt marked on every feature, but as muchmaster of himself and his life--so Gaddesden intuitively felt--as he hadever been. A movement of remorse and affection stirred in the young manmingled with the strength of other inherited things. "Awfully sorry, you know, " he said clumsily, but this time sincerely. "Idon't suppose it makes any difference to you that your father--well, I'dbetter not talk about it. But you see--Elizabeth might marry anybody. She might have married heaps of times since Merton died, if she hadn'tbeen such an icicle. She's got lots of money, and--well, I don't want tobe snobbish--but at home--we--our family--" "I understand, " said Anderson, perhaps a little impatiently--"you aregreat people. I understood that all along. " Family pride cried out in Philip. "Then why the deuce--" But he saidaloud in some confusion, "I suppose that sounded disgusting"--thenfloundering deeper--"but you see--well, I'm very fond of Elizabeth!" Anderson rose and walked to the window which commanded a view of therailway line. "I see the car outside. I'll go and have a few words with Yerkes. " The boy let him go in silence--conscious on the one hand that he hadhimself played a mean part in their conversation, and on the other thatAnderson, under this onset of sordid misfortune, was somehow more of ahero in his eyes, and no doubt in other people's, than ever. On his way downstairs Anderson ran into Delaine, who was ascending withan armful of books and pamphlets. "Oh, how do you do? Had only just heard you were here. May I have a wordwith you?" Anderson remounted the stairs in silence, and the two men paused, seeingno one in sight, in the corridor beyond. "I have just read the report of the inquest, and should like to offeryou my sincere sympathy and congratulations on your very straightforwardbehaviour--" Anderson made a movement. Delaine went on hurriedly-- "I should like also to thank you for having kept my name out of it. " "There was no need to bring it in, " said Anderson coldly. "No of course not--of course not! I have also seen the news of yourappointment. I trust nothing will interfere with that. " Anderson turned towards the stairs again. He was conscious of a keenantipathy--the antipathy of tired nerves--to the speaker's mere aspect, his long hair, his too picturesque dress, the antique on his littlefinger, the effeminate stammer in his voice. "Are you going to-day? What train?" he said, in a careless voice as hemoved away. Delaine drew back, made a curt reply, and the two men parted. "Oh, he'll get over it; there will very likely be nothing to get over, "Delaine reflected tartly, as he made his way to his room. "A new countrylike this can't be too particular. " He was thankful, at any rate, thathe would have an opportunity before long--for he was going straight homeand to Cumberland--of putting Mrs. Gaddesden on her guard. "I may bethought officious; Lady Merton let me see very plainly that she thinksme so--but I shall do my duty nevertheless. " And as he stood over his packing, bewildering his valet with a number ofprecise and old-maidish directions, his sore mind ran alternately on thefiasco of his own journey and on the incredible folly of nice women. Delaine departed; and for two days Elizabeth ministered to Anderson. Sheherself went strangely through it, feeling between them, as it were, the bared sword of his ascetic will--no less than her own terrors andhesitations. But she set herself to lift him from the depths; and asthey walked about the mountains and the forests, in a glory of summersunshine, the sanity and sweetness of her nature made for him aspiritual atmosphere akin in its healing power to the influence of pineand glacier upon his physical weariness. On the second evening, Mariette walked into the hotel. Anderson, who hadjust concluded all arrangements for the departure of the car with itsparty within forty-eight hours, received him with astonishment. "What brings you here?" Mariette's harsh face smiled at him gravely. "The conviction that if I didn't come, you would be committing a folly. " "What do you mean?" "Giving up your Commissionership, or some nonsense of that sort. " "I have given it up. " "H'm! Anything from Ottawa yet?" It was impossible, Anderson pointed out, that there should be any letterfor another three days. But he had written finally and did not mean tobe over-persuaded. Mariette at once carried him off for a walk and attacked himvigorously. "Your private affairs have nothing whatever to do with yourpublic work. Canada wants you--you must go. " "Canada can easily get hold of a Commissioner who would do her morecredit, " was the bitter reply. "A man's personal circumstances are partof his equipment. They must not be such as to injure his mission. " Mariette argued in vain. As they were both dining in the evening with Elizabeth and Philip, atelegram was brought in for Anderson from the Prime Minister. Itcontained a peremptory and flattering refusal to accept his resignation. "Nothing has occurred which affects your public or private character. Myconfidence quite unchanged. Work is best for yourself, and the publicexpects it of you. Take time to consider, and wire me in two days. " Anderson thrust it into his pocket, and was only with difficultypersuaded to show it to Mariette. But in the course of the evening many letters arrived--letters ofsympathy from old friends in Quebec and Manitoba, from colleagues andofficials, from navvies and railwaymen, even, on the C. P. R. , from hisfuture constituents in Saskatchewan--drawn out by the newspaper reportsof the inquest and of Anderson's evidence. For once the world rallied toa good man in distress! and Anderson was strangely touched andoverwhelmed by it. He passed an almost sleepless night, and in the morning as he metElizabeth on her balcony he said to her, half reproachfully, pointing toMariette below-- "It was you sent for him. " Elizabeth smiled. "A woman knows her limitations! It is harder to refuse two than one. " For twenty-four hours the issue remained uncertain. Letters continued topour in; Mariette applied the plain-spoken, half-scornful argumentsnatural to a man holding a purely spiritual standard of life; andElizabeth pleaded more by look and manner than by words. Anderson held out as long as he could. He was assaulted by that darkmidway hour of manhood, that distrust of life and his own powers, whichdisables so many of the world's best men in these heightened, hurryingdays. But in the end his two friends saved him--as by fire. Mariette himself dictated the telegram to the Prime Minister in whichAnderson withdrew his resignation; and then, while Anderson, with afallen countenance, carried it to the post, the French Canadian andElizabeth looked at each other--in a common exhaustion and relief. "I feel a wreck, " said Elizabeth. "Monsieur, you are an excellentally. " And she held out her hand to her colleague. Mariette took it, andbowed over it with the air of a _grand seigneur_ of 1680. "The next step must be yours, madam--if you really take an interest inour friend. " Elizabeth rather nervously inquired what it might be. "Find him a wife!--a good wife. He was not made to live alone. " His penetrating eyes in his ugly well-bred face searched the features ofhis companion. Elizabeth bore it smiling, without flinching. A fortnight passed--and Elizabeth and Philip were on their way homethrough the heat of July. Once more the railway which had become theirkind familiar friend sped them through the prairies, already whiteningto the harvest, through the Ontarian forests and the Ottawa valley. Thewheat was standing thick on the illimitable earth; the plains in theirgreen or golden dress seemed to laugh and sing under the hot dome ofsky. Again the great Canadian spectacle unrolled itself from west toeast, and the heart Elizabeth brought to it was no longer the heart of astranger. The teeming Canadian life had become interwoven with her life;and when Anderson came to bid her a hurried farewell on the platform atRegina, she carried the passionate memory of his face with her, as theembodiment and symbol of all that she had seen and felt. Then her thoughts turned to England, and the struggle before her. Shebraced herself against the Old World as against an enemy. But her spiritfailed her when she remembered that in Anderson himself she was like tofind her chiefest foe. CHAPTER XIII "What about the shooters, Wilson? I suppose they'll be in directly?" "They're just finishing the last beat, ma'am. Shall I bring in tea?" Mrs. Gaddesden assented, and then leaving her seat by the fire she movedto the window to see if she could discover any signs in the wintrylandscape outside of Philip and his shooting party. As she did so sheheard a rattle of distant shots coming from a point to her right beyondthe girdling trees of the garden. But she saw none of the shooters--onlytwo persons, walking up and down the stone terrace outside, in the glowof the November sunset. One was Elizabeth, the other a tall, ungainly, yet remarkable figure, was a Canadian friend of Elizabeth's, who hadonly arrived that forenoon--M. Félix Mariette, of Quebec. According toElizabeth, he had come over to attend a Catholic Congress in London. Mrs. Gaddesden understood that he was an Ultramontane, and that she wasnot to mention to him the word "Empire. " She knew also that Elizabethhad made arrangements with a neighbouring landowner, who was also aCatholic, that he should be motored fifteen miles to Mass on thefollowing morning, which was Sunday; and her own easy-going Anglicantemper, which carried her to the parish church about twelve times ayear, had been thereby a good deal impressed. How well those furs became Elizabeth! It was a chill frosty evening, andElizabeth's slight form was wrapped in the sables which had been one ofpoor Merton's earliest gifts to her. The mother's eye dwelt with anhabitual pride on the daughter's grace of movement and carriage. "She isalways so distinguished, " she thought, and then checked herself by theremembrance that she was applying to Elizabeth an adjective thatElizabeth particularly disliked. Nevertheless, Mrs. Gaddesden knew verywell what she herself meant by it. She meant something--some quality inElizabeth, which was always provoking in her mother's mind despairingcomparisons between what she might make of her life and what she wasactually making, or threatening to make of it. Alas, for that Canadian journey--that disastrous Canadian journey! Mrs. Gaddesden's thoughts, as she watched the two strollers outside, werecarried back to the moment in early August when Arthur Delaine hadreappeared in her drawing-room, three weeks before Elizabeth's return, and she had gathered from his cautious and stammering revelations whatkind of man it was who seemed to have established this strange hold onher daughter. Delaine, she thought, had spoken most generously ofElizabeth and his own disappointment, and most kindly of thisMr. Anderson. "I know nothing against him personally--nothing! No doubt a veryestimable young fellow, with just the kind of ability that will help himin Canada. Lady Merton, I imagine, will have told you of the sad eventsin which we found him involved?" Mrs. Gaddesden had replied that certainly Elizabeth had told her thewhole story, so far as it concerned Mr. Anderson. She pointed to theletters beside her. "But you cannot suppose, " had been her further indignant remark, "thatElizabeth would ever dream of marrying him!" "That, my dear old friend, is for her mother to find out, " Delaine hadreplied, not without a touch of venom. "I can certainly assure you thatLady Merton is deeply interested in this young man, and he in her. " "Elizabeth--exiling herself in Canada--burying herself on theprairies--when she might have everything here--the best ofeverything--at her feet. It is inconceivable!" Delaine had agreed that it was inconceivable, and they had mournedtogether over the grotesque possibilities of life. "But you will saveher, " he had said at last. "You will save her! You will point out to herall she would be giving up--the absurdity, the really criminal wasteof it!" On which he had gloomily taken his departure for an archæologicalcongress at Berlin, and an autumn in Italy; and a few weeks later shehad recovered her darling Elizabeth, paler and thinner than before--andquite, quite incomprehensible! As for "saving" her, Mrs. Gaddesden had not been allowed to attempt it. In the first place, Elizabeth had stoutly denied that there was anythingto save her from. "Don't believe anything at all, dear Mummy, thatArthur Delaine may have said to you! I have made a great friend--of avery interesting man; and I am going to correspond with him. He iscoming to London in November, and I have asked him to stay here. And youmust be _very_ kind to him, darling--just as kind as you can be--for hehas had a hard time--he saved Philip's life--and he is an uncommonlyfine fellow!" And with that--great readiness to talk about everything except justwhat Mrs. Gaddesden most wanted to know. Elizabeth sitting on hermother's bed at night, crooning about Canada--her soft brown hair overher shoulders, and her eyes sparkling with patriotic enthusiasm, was acharming figure. But let Mrs. Gaddesden attempt to probe and penetratebeyond a certain point, and the way was resolutely barred. Elizabethwould kiss her mother tenderly--it was as though her own reticence hurther--but would say nothing. Mrs. Gaddesden could only feel sorely that agreat change had come over the being she loved best in the world, andthat she was not to know the whys and wherefores of it. And Philip--alack! had been of very little use to her in the matter! "Don't you bother your head, Mother! Anderson's an awfully goodchap--but he's not going to marry Elizabeth. Told me he knew he wasn'tthe kind. And of course he isn't--must draw the line somewhere--hang it!But he's an awfully decent fellow. He's not going to push himself inwhere he isn't wanted. You let Elizabeth alone, Mummy--it'll work off. And of course we must be civil to him when he comes over--I should jollywell think we must--considering he saved my life!" Certainly they must be civil! News of Anderson's sailing and arrivalhad been anxiously looked for. He had reached London three days beforethis date, had presented his credentials at the Board of Trade and theColonial Office, and after various preliminary interviews withministers, was now coming down to Martindale for a week-end before theassembling of the small conference of English and colonialrepresentatives to which he had been sent. Mrs. Gaddesden saw from the various notices of his arrival in theEnglish papers that even in England, among the initiated he wasunderstood to be a man of mark. She was all impatience to see him, andhad shown it outwardly much more plainly than Elizabeth. How quietElizabeth had been these last days! moving about the house so silently, with vaguely smiling eyes, like one husbanding her strength beforean ordeal. What was going to happen? Mrs. Gaddesden was conscious in her own mindof a strained hush of expectation. But she had never ventured to say aword to Elizabeth. In half an hour--or less--he would be here. A motorhad been sent to meet the express train at the country town fifteenmiles off. Mrs. Gaddesden looked round her in the warm dusk, as thoughtrying to forecast how Martindale and its inmates would look to thenew-comer. She saw a room of medium size, which from the end of thesixteenth century had been known as the Red Drawing Room--a roompanelled in stamped Cordovan leather, and filled with rare and beautifulthings; with ebony cabinets, and fine lacquer; with the rarest oforiental carpets, with carved chairs, and luxurious sofas. Set here andthere, sparingly, among the shadows, as though in scorn of any vulgarprofusion, the eye caught the gleam of old silver, or rock crystal, oragate; _bibelots_ collected a hundred and fifty years ago by a Gaddesdenof taste, and still in their original places. Overhead, the unevenstucco ceiling showed a pattern of Tudor roses; opposite to Mrs. Gaddesden the wall was divided between a round mirror, in whose depthsshe saw herself reflected and a fine Holbein portrait of a man, in aflat velvet hat on a green background. Over the carved mantelpiece withits date of 1586, there reigned a Romney portrait--one of the mostfamous in existence--of a young girl in black. Elizabeth Merton bore acurious resemblance to it. Chrysanthemums, white, yellow and purple, gleamed amid the richness of the room; while the light of the solitarylamp beside which Mrs. Gaddesden had been sitting with her embroidery, blended with the orange glow from outside now streaming in through theunshuttered windows, to deepen a colour effect of extraordinary beauty, produced partly by time, partly by the conscious effort of a dozengenerations. And from the window, under the winter sunset, Mrs. Gaddesden could see, at right angles to her on either side, the northern and southern wingsof the great house; the sloping lawns; the river winding through thepark; the ivy-grown church among the trees; the distant woods andplantations; the purple outlines of the fells. Just as in the roomwithin, so the scene without was fused into a perfect harmony andkeeping by the mellowing light. There was in it not a jarring note, aragged line--age and dignity, wealth and undisputed place: Martindaleexpressed them all. The Gaddesdens had twice refused a peerage; and withcontempt. In their belief, to be Mr. Gaddesden of Martindale was enough;a dukedom could not have bettered it. And the whole country-side inwhich they had been rooted for centuries agreed with them. There hadeven been a certain disapproval of the financial successes of PhilipGaddesden's father. It was true that the Gaddesden rents had gone down. But the country, however commercialised itself, looked with jealousy onany intrusion of "commercialism" into the guarded and venerableprecincts of Martindale. The little lady who was now, till Philip's majority and marriage, mistress of Martindale, was a small, soft, tremulous person, without theintelligence of her daughter, but by no means without character. Secretly she had often felt oppressed by her surroundings. WheneverPhilip married, she would find it no hardship at all to retire to thedower house at the edge of the park. Meanwhile she did her best touphold the ancient ways. But if _she_ sometimes found Martindaleoppressive--too old, too large, too rich, too perfect--how was it goingto strike a young Canadian, fresh from the prairies, who had never beenin England before? A sudden sound of many footsteps in the hall. The drawing-room door wasthrown open by Philip, and a troop of men entered. A fresh-coloured manwith grizzled hair led the van. "Well, Mrs. Gaddesden, here we all are. Philip has given us a capitalday!" A group of men followed him; the agent of the property, two smallneighbouring squires, a broad-browed burly man in knickerbockers, whowas apparently a clergyman, to judge from his white tie, the adjutant ofthe local regiment, and a couple of good-looking youths, Etonian friendsof Philip. Elizabeth and Mariette came in from the garden, and a youngcousin of the Gaddesdens, a Miss Lucas, slipped into the room underElizabeth's wing. She was a pretty girl, dressed in an elaboratedemi-toilette of white chiffon, and the younger men of the party intheir shooting dress--with Philip at their head--were presentlyclustered thick about her, like bees after pollen. It was clear, indeed, that Philip was paying her considerable attention, and as he laughed andsparred with her, the transient colour that exercise had given himdisappeared, and a pale look of excitement took its place. Mariette glanced from one to another with a scarcely disguisedcuriosity. This was only his third visit to England and he felt himselfin a foreign country. That was a _pasteur_ he supposed, in thegaiters--grotesque! And why was the young lady in evening dress, whileLady Merton, now that she had thrown off her furs, appeared in theseverest of tweed coats and skirts? The rosy old fellow beside Mrs. Gaddesden was, he understood from Lady Merton, the Lord Lieutenant ofthe county. But at that moment his hostess laid hands upon him to present him to herneighbour. "Monsieur Mariette--Lord Waynflete. " "Delighted to see you, " said the great man affably, holding out hishand. "What a fine place Canada is getting! I am thinking of sending mythird son there. " Mariette bowed. "There will be room for him. " "I am afraid he hasn't brains enough to do much here--but perhaps in anew country--" "He will not require them? Yes, it is a common opinion, " said Mariette, with composure. Lord Waynflete stared a little, and returned to hishostess. Mariette betook himself to Elizabeth for tea, and sheintroduced him to the girl in white, who looked at him with enthusiasm, and at once threw over her bevy of young men, in favour of thespectacled and lean-faced stranger. "You are a Catholic, Monsieur?" she asked him, fervently. "How I envyyou! I _adore_ the Oratory! When we are in town I always go there toBenediction--unless Mamma wants me at home to pour out tea. Do you knowCardinal C----?" She named a Cardinal Archbishop, then presiding over the diocese ofWestminster. "Yes, mademoiselle, I know him quite well. I have just been staying withhim. " She clasped her hands eagerly. "How _very_ interesting! I know him a little. _Isn't_ he nice?" "No, " said Mariette resolutely. "He is magnificent--a saint--ascholar--everything--but not nice!" The girl looked a little puzzled, then angry, and after a few minutes'more conversation she returned to her young men, conspicuously turningher back on Mariette. He threw a deprecating, half-penitent look at Elizabeth, whose facedtwitched with amusement, and sat down in a corner behind her that hemight observe without talking. His quick intelligence sorted the peopleabout him almost at once--the two yeoman-squires, who were not quite athome in Mrs. Gaddesden's drawing-room, were awkward with their tea-cups, and talked to each other in subdued voices, till Elizabeth found themout, summoned them to her side, and made them happy; the agent who washelping Lady Merton with tea, making himself generally useful; Philipand another gilded youth, the son, he understood, of a neighbouringpeer, who were flirting with the girl in white; and yet a thirdfastidious Etonian, who was clearly bored by the ladies, and was amusinghimself with the adjutant and a cigarette in a distant corner. His eyescame back at last to the _pasteur_. An able face after all; cool, shrewd, and not unspiritual. Very soon, he, the parson--whose name wasEverett--and Elizabeth were drawn into conversation, and Marietta underEverett's good-humoured glance found himself observed as wellas observer. "You are trying to decipher us?" said Everett, at last, with a smile. "Well, we are not easy. " "Could you be a great nation if you were?" "Perhaps not. England just now is a palimpsest--the new writingeverywhere on top of the old. Yet it is the same parchment, and the oldis there. Now _you_ are writing on a fresh skin. " "But with the old ideas!" said Mariette, a flash in his dark eyes. "Church--State--family!--there is nothing else to write with. " The two men drew closer together, and plunged into conversation. Elizabeth was left solitary a moment, behind the tea-things. The buzz ofthe room, the hearty laugh of the Lord Lieutenant, reached the outerear. But every deeper sense was strained to catch a voice--a step--thatmust soon be here. And presently across the room, her eyes met hermother's, and their two expectancies touched. "Mother!--here is Mr. Anderson!" Philip entered joyously, escorting his guest. To Anderson's half-dazzled sight, the room, which was now fully lit bylamplight and fire, seemed crowded. He found himself greeted by a gentlegrey-haired lady of fifty-five, with a strong likeness to a face heknew; and then his hand touched Elizabeth's. Various commonplaces passedbetween him and her, as to his journey, the new motor which had broughthim to the house, the frosty evening. Mariette gave him a nod and smile, and he was introduced to various men who bowed without any change ofexpression, and to a girl, who smiled carelessly, and turned immediatelytowards Philip, hanging over the back of her chair. Elizabeth pointed to a seat beside her, and gave him tea. They talked ofLondon a little, and his first impressions. All the time he was tryingto grasp the identity of the woman speaking with the woman he had partedfrom in Canada. Something surely had gone? This restrained and rathercold person was not the Elizabeth of the Rockies. He watched her whenshe turned from him to her other guests; her light impersonal mannertowards the younger men, with its occasional touch of satire; thefriendly relation between her and the parson; the kindly deference sheshowed the old Lord Lieutenant. Evidently she was mistress here, muchmore than her mother. Everything seemed to be referred to her, to circleround her. Presently there was a stir in the room. Lord Waynflete asked for hiscarriage. "Don't forget, my dear lady, that you open the new Town Hall nextWednesday, " he said, as he made his way to Elizabeth. She shrugged her shoulders. "But you make the speech!" "Not at all. They only want to hear you. And there'll be a great crowd. " "Elizabeth can't speak worth a cent!" said Philip, with brotherlycandour. "Can you, Lisa?" "I don't believe it, " said Lord Waynflete, "but it don't matter. Allthey want is that a Gaddesden should say something. Ah, Mrs. Gaddesden--how glorious the Romney looks to-night!" He turned to thefireplace, admiring the illuminated picture, his hands on his sides. "Is it an ancestress?" Mariette addressed the question to Elizabeth. "Yes. She had three husbands, and is supposed to have murdered thefourth, " said Elizabeth drily. "All the same she's an extremely handsome woman, " put in Lord Waynflete. "And as you're the image of her, Lady Merton, you'd better not run herdown. " Elizabeth joined in the laugh against herself and the speakerturned to Anderson. "You'll find this place a perfect treasure-house, Mr. Anderson, and Iadvise you to study it--for the Radicals won't leave any of us anything, before many years are out. You're from Manitoba? Ah, you're nottroubled with any of these Socialist fellows yet! But you'll get'em--you'll get 'em--like rats in the corn. They'll pull the old flagdown if they can. But you'll help us to keep it flying. The Colonies areour hope--we look to the Colonies!" The handsome old man raised an oratorical hand, and looked round on hisaudience, like one to whom public speaking was second nature. Anderson made a gesture of assent; he was not really expected to sayanything. Mariette in the background observed the speaker with an amusedand critical detachment. "Your carriage will be round directly, Lord Waynflete, " said Philip, "but I don't see why you should go. " "My dear fellow--I have to catch the night train. There is a mostimportant debate in the House of Lords to-morrow. " He turned to theCanadian politely. "Of course you know there is an autumn session on. With these Radical Governments we shall soon have one every year. " "What! the Education Bill again to-morrow?" said Everett. "What are yougoing to do with it?" Lord Waynflete looked at the speaker with some distaste. He did not muchapprove of sporting parsons, and Everett's opinions were too Liberal toplease him. But he let himself be drawn, and soon the whole room was ineager debate on some of the old hot issues between Church and Dissent. Lord Waynflete ceased to be merely fatuous and kindly. His talk becameshrewd, statesmanlike even; he was the typical English aristocrat andAnglican Churchman, discussing topics with which he had been familiarfrom his cradle, and in a manner and tone which every man in theroom--save the two Canadians--accepted without question. He was thenatural leader of these men of the land-owning or military class; theyliked to hear him harangue; and harangue he did, till the striking of aclock suddenly checked him. "I must be off! Well, Mrs. Gaddesden, it's the _Church_--the Church wehave to think of!--the Church we have to fight for! What would Englandbe without the Church--let's ask ourselves that. Good-bye--good-bye!" "Is he talking of the Anglican establishment?" muttered Mariette. "_Queldrôle de vieillard!_" The parson heard him, and, with a twinkle in his eyes, turned andproposed to show the French Canadian the famous library of the house. The party melted away. Even Elizabeth had been summoned for some lastword with Lord Waynflete on the subject of the opening of the Town Hall. Anderson was left alone. He looked around him, at the room, the pictures, the panelled walls, and then moving to the window which was still unshuttered, he gazed outinto the starlit dusk, and the dim, stately landscape. There were lightsin the church showing the stained glass of the perpendicular windows, and a flight of rooks was circling round the old tower. As he stood there, somebody came back into the room. It was theadjutant, looking for his hat. "Jolly old place, isn't it?" said the young man civilly, seeing that thestranger was studying the view. "It's to be hoped that Philip will keepit up properly. " "He seems fond of it, " said Anderson. "Oh, yes! But you've got to be a big man to fill the position. However, there's money enough. They're all rich--and they marry money. " Anderson murmured something inaudible, and the young man departed. A little later Anderson and Elizabeth were seated together in the RedDrawing Room. Mrs. Gaddesden, after a little perfunctory conversationwith the new-comer, had disappeared on the plea of letters to write. Thegirl in white, the centre of a large party in the hall, was flirting toher heart's content. Philip would have dearly liked to stay and flirtwith her himself; but his mother, terrified by his pallor and fatigueafter the exertion of the shoot, had hurried him off to take a warm bathand rest before dinner. So that Anderson and Elizabeth were alone. Conversation between them did not move easily. Elizabeth was consciousof an oppression against which it seemed vain to fight. Up to the momentof his sailing from Canada his letters had been frank and full, theletters of a deeply attached friend, though with no trace in them of thelanguage of love. What change was it that the touch of Englishground--the sight of Martindale--had wrought? He talked with somereadiness of the early stages of his mission--of the kindness shown tohim by English public men, and the impressions of a first night in theHouse of Commons. But his manner was constrained; anything that he saidmight have been heard by all the world; and as their talk progressed, Elizabeth felt a miserable paralysis descending on her own will. Shegrew whiter and whiter. This old house in which they sat, with itssplendours and treasures, this environment of the past all about themseemed to engulf and entomb them both. She had looked forward with agirlish pleasure--and yet with a certain tremor--to showing Anderson herold home, the things she loved and had inherited. And now it was asthough she were vulgarly conscious of wealth and ancestry as dividingher from him. The wildness within her which found its scope and itsvoice in Canada was here like an imprisoned stream, chafing in cavernsunderground. Ah! it had been easy to defy the Old World in Canada, itsmyriad voices and claims--the many-fingered magic with which an oldsociety plays on those born into it! "I shall be here perhaps a month, " said Anderson, "but then I shall bewanted at Ottawa. " And he began to describe a new matter in which he had been latelyengaged--a large development scheme applying to some of the great PeaceRiver region north of Edmonton. And as he told her of his August journeythrough this noble country, with its superb rivers, its shining lakesand forests, and its scattered settlers, waiting for a Government whichwas their servant and not their tyrant, to come and help their firststeps in ordered civilisation; to bring steamers to their waters, railways to link their settlements, and fresh settlers to let loose thefertile forces of their earth--she suddenly saw in him his old self--theAnderson who had sat beside her in the crossing of the prairies, who hadlooked into her eyes the day of Roger's Pass. He had grown older andthinner; his hair was even lightly touched with grey. But the traces inhim of endurance and of pain were like the weathering of a finebuilding; mellowing had come, and strength had not been lost. Yet still no word of feeling, of intimacy even. Her soul cried outwithin her, but there was no answer. Then, when it was time to dress, and she led him through the hall, to the inlaid staircase with itsfamous balustrading--early English ironwork of extraordinarydelicacy--and through the endless corridors upstairs, old and dim, butcrowded with portraits and fine furniture, Anderson looked round him inamazement. "What a wonderful place!" "It is too old!" cried Elizabeth, petulantly; then with a touch ofrepentance--"Yet of course we love it. We are not so stifled here as youwould be. " He smiled and did not reply. "Confess you have been stifled--ever since you came to England. " He drew a long breath, throwing back his head with a gesture which madeElizabeth smile. He smiled in return. "It was you who warned me how small it would all seem. Such littlefields--such little rivers--such tiny journeys! And these immense townstreading on each other's heels. Don't you feel crowded up?" "You are home-sick already?" He laughed--"No, no!" But the gleam in his eyes admitted it. AndElizabeth's heart sank--down and down. * * * * * A few more guests arrived for Sunday--a couple of politicians, ajournalist, a poet, one or two agreeable women, a young Lord S. , who hadjust succeeded to one of the oldest of English marquisates, and so on. Elizabeth had chosen the party to give Anderson pleasure, and as a guesthe did not disappoint her pride in him. He talked well and modestly, andthe feeling towards Canada and the Canadians in English society had beenof late years so friendly that although there was often colossalignorance, there was no coolness in the atmosphere about him. Lord S. Confused Lake Superior with Lake Ontario, and was of opinion that theMackenzie River flowed into the Ottawa. But he was kind enough to saythat he would far sooner go to Canada than any of "those beastly placesabroad"--and as he was just a simple handsome youth, Anderson took tohim, as he had taken to Philip at Lake Louise, and by the afternoon ofSunday was talking sport and big game in a manner to hold thesmoking-room enthralled. Only unfortunately Philip was not there to hear. He had been over-tiredby the shoot, and had caught a chill beside. The doctor was in thehouse, and Mrs. Gaddesden had very little mind to give to her Sundayparty. Elizabeth felt a thrill of something like comfort as she noticedhow in the course of the day Anderson unconsciously slipped back intothe old Canadian position; sitting with Philip, amusing him and"chaffing" him; inducing him to obey his doctor; cheering his mother, and in general producing in Martindale itself the same impression ofmasculine help and support which he had produced on Elizabeth, fivemonths before, in a Canadian hotel. By Sunday evening Mrs. Gaddesden, instead of a watchful enemy, hadbecome his firm friend; and in her timid, confused way she asked him tocome for a walk with her in the November dusk. Then, to hisastonishment, she poured out her heart to him about her son, whosehealth, together with his recklessness, his determination to live likeother and sound men, was making the two women who loved him more andmore anxious. Anderson was very sorry for the little lady, and genuinelyalarmed himself with regard to Philip, whose physical condition seemedto him to have changed considerably for the worse since the Canadianjourney. His kindness, his real concern, melted Mrs. Gaddesden's heart. "I hope we shall find you in town when we come up!" she said, eagerly, as they turned back to the house, forgetting, in her maternal egotism, everything but her boy. "Our man here wants a consultation. We shall goup next week for a short time before Christmas. " Anderson hesitated a moment. "Yes, " he said, slowly, but in a changed voice, "Yes, I shall still bethere. " Whereupon, with perturbation, Mrs. Gaddesden at last remembered therewere other lions in the path. They had not said a single word--howeverconventional--of Elizabeth. But she quickly consoled herself by thereflection that he must have seen by now, poor fellow, how hopeless itwas; and that being so, what was there to be said against admitting himto their circle, as a real friend of all the family--Philip's friend, Elizabeth's, and her own? That night Mrs. Gaddesden was awakened by her maid between twelve andone. Mr. Gaddesden wanted a certain medicine that he thought was in hismother's room. Mrs. Gaddesden threw on her dressing-gown and looked forit anxiously in vain. Perhaps Elizabeth might remember where it was lastseen. She hurried to her. Elizabeth had a sitting-room and bedroom atthe end of the corridor, and Mrs. Gaddesden went into the sitting-roomfirst, as quietly as possible, so as not to startle her daughter. She had hardly entered and closed the door behind her, guided by thelight of a still flickering fire, when a sound from the inner roomarrested her. Elizabeth--Elizabeth in distress? The mother stood rooted to the spot, in a sudden anguish. Elizabeth--sobbing? Only once in her life had Mrs. Gaddesden heard thatsound before--the night that the news of Francis Merton's death reachedMartindale, and Elizabeth had wept, as her mother believed, more forwhat her young husband might have been to her, than for what he hadbeen. Elizabeth's eyes filled readily with tears answering to pity orhigh feeling; but this fierce stifled emotion--this abandonment of pain! Mrs. Gaddesden stood trembling and motionless, the tears on her owncheeks. Conjecture hurried through her mind. She seemed to be learningher daughter, her gay and tender Elizabeth, afresh. At last she turnedand crept out of the room, noiselessly shutting the door. Afterlingering a while in the passage, she knocked, with an uncertain hand, and waited till Elizabeth came--Elizabeth, hardly visible in thefirelight, her brown hair falling like a veil round her face. CHAPTER XIV A few days later the Gaddesdens were in town, settled in a house inPortman Square. Philip was increasingly ill, and moreover shrouded in abitterness of spirit which wrung his mother's heart. She suspected a newcause for it in the fancy that he had lately taken for Alice Lucas, thegirl in the white chiffon, who had piped to Mariette in vain. Not thathe ever now wanted to see her. He had passed into a phase indeed ofrefusing all society--except that of George Anderson. A floor of thePortman Square house was given up to him. Various treatments were beingtried, and as soon as he was strong enough his mother was to take him tothe South. Meanwhile his only pleasure seemed to lie in Anderson'svisits, which however could not be frequent, for the business of theConference was heavy, and after the daily sittings were over, theinterviews and correspondence connected with them took much time. On these occasions, whether early in the morning before the business ofthe day began, or in the hour before dinner--sometimes even late atnight--Anderson after his chat with the invalid would descend fromPhilip's room to the drawing-room below, only allowing himself a fewminutes, and glancing always with a quickening of the pulse through theshadows of the large room, to see whether it held two persons or one. Mrs. Gaddesden was invariably there; a small, faded woman in trailinglace dresses, who would sit waiting for him, her embroidery on her knee, and when he appeared would hurry across the floor to meet him, droppingsilks, scissors, handkerchief on the way. This dropping of all herincidental possessions--a performance repeated night after night, andfollowed always by her soft fluttering apologies--soon came to besymbolic, in Anderson's eyes. She moved on the impulse of the moment, without thinking what she might scatter by the way. Yet the impulse wasalways a loving impulse--and the regrets were sincere. As to the relation to Anderson, Philip was here the pivot of thesituation exactly as he had been in Canada. Just as his physicalweakness, and the demands he founded upon it had bound the Canadian totheir chariot wheels in the Rockies, so now--_mutatis mutandis_--inLondon. Mrs. Gaddesden before a week was over had become pitifullydependent upon him, simply because Philip was pleased to desire hissociety, and showed a flicker of cheerfulness whenever he appeared. Shewas torn indeed between her memory of Elizabeth's sobbing, and herhunger to give Philip the moon out of the sky, should he happen to wantit. Sons must come first, daughters second; such has been the philosophyof mothers from the beginning. She feared--desperately feared--thatElizabeth had given her heart away. And as she agreed with Philip thatit would not be a seemly or tolerable marriage for Elizabeth, she would, in the natural course of things, both for Elizabeth's sake and thefamily's, have tried to keep the unseemly suitor at a distance. But herehe was, planted somehow in the very midst of their life, and she, makingfeeble efforts day after day to induce him to root himself there stillmore firmly. Sometimes indeed she would try to press alternatives onPhilip. But Philip would not have them. What with the physical and moralforce that seemed to radiate from Anderson, and bring stimulus with themto the weaker life--and what with the lad's sick alienation for themoment from his ordinary friends and occupations, Anderson reignedsupreme, often clearly to his own trouble and embarrassment. Had it notbeen for Philip, Portman Square would have seen him but seldom. ThatElizabeth knew with a sharp certainty, dim though it might be to hermother. But as it was, the boy's tragic clinging to his new friendgoverned all else, simply because at the bottom of each heart, unrecognised and unexpressed, lurked the same foreboding, the samefear of fears. The tragic clinging was also, alack, a tragic selfishness. Philip had asubstantial share of that quick perception which in Elizabeth becamesomething exquisite and impersonal, the source of all high emotions. When Delaine had first suggested to him "an attachment" between Andersonand his sister, a hundred impressions of his own had emerged to verifythe statement and aggravate his wrath; and when Anderson had said "a manof my history is not going to ask your sister to marry him, " Philipperfectly understood that but for the history the attempt would havebeen made. Anderson was therefore--most unreasonably andpresumptuously--in love with Elizabeth; and as to Elizabeth, theindications here also were not lost upon Philip. It was all veryamazing, and he wished, to use his phrase to his mother, that it would"work off. " But whether or no, he could not do without Anderson--ifAnderson was to be had. He threw him and Elizabeth together, recklessly;trusting to Anderson's word, and unable to resist his own craving forcomfort and distraction. The days passed on, days so charged with feeling for Elizabeth that theycould only be met at all by a kind of resolute stillness andself-control. Philip was very dependent on the gossip his mother andsister brought him from the world outside. Elizabeth therefore, toplease him, went into society as usual, and forgot her heartaches, forher brother and for herself, as best she could. Outwardly she was muchoccupied in doing all that could be done--socially and evenpolitically--for Anderson and Mariette. She had power and she used it. The two friends found themselves the object of one of those suddencordialities that open all doors, even the most difficult, and run likea warm wave through London society. Mariette remained throughout theironic spectator--friendly on his own terms, but entirely rejecting, often, the terms offered him tacitly or openly, by his Englishacquaintance. "Your ways are not mine--your ideals are not mine, God forbid theyshould be!"--he seemed to be constantly saying. "But we happen to beoxen bound under the same yoke, and dragging the same plough. No gush, please--but at the same time no ill-will! Loyal?--to your loyalties? Ohyes--quite sufficiently--so long as you don't ask us to let it interferewith our loyalty to our own! Don't be such fools as to expect us to takemuch interest in your Imperial orgies. But we're all right! Only let usalone--we're all right!" Such seemed to be the voice of this queer, kindly, satiric personality. London generally falls into the arms of those who flout her; andMariette, with his militant Catholicism, and his contempt for ourgoverning ideals, became the fashion. As for Anderson, the contact withEnglish Ministers and men of affairs had but carried on the generousprocess of development that Nature had designed for a strong man. Whereas in Mariette the vigorous, self-confident English world--based onthe Protestant idea--produced a bitter and profound irritation, Andersonseemed to find in that world something ripening and favouring thatbrought out all the powers--the intellectual powers at least--of hisnature. He did his work admirably; left the impression of a "coming man"on a great many leading persons interested in the relations betweenEngland and Canada; and when as often happened Elizabeth and he foundthemselves at the same dinner-table, she would watch the changes in himthat a larger experience was bringing about, with a heart half proud, half miserable. As for his story, which was very commonly known, ingeneral society, it only added to his attractions. Mothers who wereunder no anxieties lest he might want to marry their daughters, murmuredthe facts of his unlucky _provenance_ to each other, and then the moreeagerly asked him to dinner. Meanwhile, for Elizabeth life was one long debate, which left her oftenat night exhausted and spiritless. The shock of their first meeting atMartindale, when all her pent-up yearning and vague expectation had beenmet and crushed by the silent force of the man's unaltered will, hadpassed away. She understood him better. The woman who is belovedpenetrates to the fact through all the disguises that a lover mayattempt. Elizabeth knew well that Anderson had tones and expressions forher that no other woman could win from him; and looking back to theirconversation at the Glacier House, she realised, night after night, inthe silence of wakeful hours, the fulness of his confession, togetherwith the strength of his recoil from any pretension to marry her. Yes, he loved her, and his mere anxiety--now, and as things stood--toavoid any extension or even repetition of their short-lived intimacy, only betrayed the fact the more eloquently. Moreover, he had reason, good reason, to think, as she often passionately reminded herself, thathe had touched her heart, and that had the course been clear, he mighthave won her. But--the course was not clear. From many signs, she understood howdeeply the humiliation of the scene at Sicamous had entered into a proudman's blood. Others might forget; he remembered. Moreover, that sense ofresponsibility--partial responsibility at least--for his father's guiltand degradation, of which he had spoken to her at Glacier, had, sheperceived, gone deep with him. It had strengthened a stern andmelancholy view of life, inclining him to turn away from personal joy, to an exclusive concern with public duties and responsibilities. And this whole temper had no doubt been increased by his perception ofthe Gaddesdens' place in English society. He dared not--he wouldnot--ask a woman so reared in the best that England had to give, nowthat he understood what that best might be, to renounce it all in favourof what he had to offer. He realised that there was a generous weaknessin her own heart on which he might have played. But he would not play;his fixed intention was to disappear as soon as possible from her life;and it was his honest hope that she would marry in her own world andforget him. In fact he was the prey of a kind of moral terror that herealso, as in the case of his father, he might make some ghastly mistake, pursuing his own will under the guise of love, as he had once pursued itunder the guise of retribution--to Elizabeth's hurt and his own remorse. All this Elizabeth understood, more or less plainly. Then came thequestion--granted the situation, how was she to deal with it? Just as hesurmised that he could win her if he would, she too believed that wereshe merely to set herself to prove her own love and evoke his, she couldprobably break down his resistance. A woman knows her own power. Feverishly, Elizabeth was sometimes on the point of putting it out, ofso provoking and appealing to the passion she divined, as to bring him, whether he would or no, to her feet. But she hesitated. She too felt the responsibility of his life, as ofhers. Could she really do this thing--not only begin it, but carry itthrough without repentance, and without recoil? She made herself look steadily at this English spectacle with itsluxurious complexity, its concentration within a small space of all thedelicacies of sense and soul, its command of a rich European tradition, in which art and literature are living streams springing fromfathomless depths of life. Could she, whose every fibre responded soperfectly to the stimulus of this environment, who up till now--but formoments of revolt--had been so happy and at ease in it, could she wrenchherself from it--put it behind her--and adapt herself to quite another, without, so to speak, losing herself, and half her value, whatever thatmight be, as a human being? As we know, she had already asked herself the question in some fashion, under the shadow of the Rockies. But to handle it in London was a morepressing and poignant affair. It was partly the characteristic questionof the modern woman, jealous, as women have never been before in theworld's history, on behalf of her own individuality. But Elizabeth putit still more in the interests of her pure and passionate feeling forAnderson. He must not--he should not--run any risks in loving her! On a certain night early in December, Elizabeth had been dining at oneof the great houses of London. Anderson too had been there. The dinnerparty, held in a famous room panelled with full-length Vandycks, hadbeen of the kind that only London can show; since only in England issociety at once homogeneous enough and open enough to provide it. Inthis house, also, the best traditions of an older regime stillprevailed, and its gatherings recalled--not without some consciouseffort on the part of the hostess--the days of Holland House, and LadyPalmerston. To its smaller dinner parties, which were the object of somany social ambitions, nobody was admitted who could not bring apersonal contribution. Dukes had no more claim than other people, but asmost of the twenty-eight were blood-relations of the house, and someDukes are agreeable, they took their turn. Cabinet Ministers, Viceroys, Ambassadors, mingled with the men of letters and affairs. There wasindeed a certain old-fashioned measure in it all. To be merelynotorious--even though you were amusing--was not passport enough. Thehostess--a beautiful tall woman, with the brow of a child, a quickintellect, and an amazing experience of life--created round her anatmosphere that was really the expression of her own personality;fastidious, and yet eager; cold, and yet steeped in intellectualcuriosities and passions. Under the mingled stimulus and restraint ofit, men and women brought out the best that was in them. The talk wasgood, and nothing--neither the last violinist, nor the latest_danseuse_--was allowed to interfere with it. And while the dress andjewels of the women were generally what a luxurious capital expects andprovides, you might often find some little girl in a dyed frock--withcourage, charm and breeding--the centre of the scene. Elizabeth in white, and wearing some fine jewels which had been hermother's, had found herself placed on the left of her host, with anex-Viceroy of India on her other hand. Anderson, who was on the oppositeside of the table, watched her animation, and the homage that waseagerly paid her by the men around her. Those indeed who had known herof old were of opinion that whereas she had always been an agreeablecompanion, Lady Merton had now for some mysterious reason blossomed intoa beauty. Some kindling change had passed over the small features. Delicacy and reserve were still there, but interfused now with ashimmering and transforming brightness, as though some flame withinleapt intermittently to sight. Elizabeth more than held her own with the ex-Viceroy, who was a personof brilliant parts, accustomed to be flattered by women. She did notflatter him, and he was reduced in the end to making those efforts forhimself, which he generally expected other people to make for him. Elizabeth's success with him drew the attention of several other personsat the table besides Anderson. The ex-Viceroy was a bachelor, and oneof the great _partis_ of the day. What could be more fitting than thatElizabeth Merton should carry him off, to the discomfiture ofinnumerable intriguers? After dinner, Elizabeth waited for Anderson in the magnificent galleryupstairs where the guests of the evening party were beginning to gather, and the musicians were arriving. When he came she played her usual fairygodmother's part; introducing him to this person and that, creating aninterest in him and in his work, wherever it might be useful to him. Itwas understood that she had met him in Canada, and that he had beenuseful to the poor delicate brother. No other idea entered in. That shecould have any interest in him for herself would have seemed incredibleto this world looking on. "I must slip away, " said Anderson, presently, in her ear; "I promised tolook in on Philip if possible. And to-morrow I fear I shall betoo busy. " And he went on to tell her his own news of the day--that the Conferencewould be over sooner than he supposed, and that he must get back toOttawa without delay to report to the Canadian Ministry. That afternoonhe had written to take his passage for the following week. It seemed to her that he faltered in telling her; and, as for her, thecrowd of uniformed or jewelled figures around them became to her, as hespoke, a mere meaningless confusion. She was only conscious of him, andof the emotion which at last he could not hide. She quietly said that she would soon follow him to Portman Square, andhe went away. A few minutes afterwards, Elizabeth said good-night to herhostess, and emerged upon the gallery running round the fine Italianatehall which occupied the centre of the house. Hundreds of people werehanging over the balustrading of the gallery, watching the guests comingand going on the marble staircase which occupied the centre of the hall. Elizabeth's slight figure slowly descended. "Pretty creature!" said one old General, looking down upon her. "Youremember--she was a Gaddesden of Martindale. She has been a widow a longtime now. Why doesn't someone carry her off?" Meanwhile Elizabeth, as she went down, dreamily, from step to step, hereyes bent apparrently upon the crowd which filled all the spaces of thegreat pictorial house, was conscious of one of those transformingimpressions which represent the sudden uprush and consummation in themind of some obscure and long-continued process. One moment, she saw the restless scene below her, the diamonds, theuniforms, the blaze of electric light, the tapestries on the walls, thehandsome faces of men and women; the next, it had been wiped out; theprairies unrolled before her; she beheld a green, boundless land invadedby a mirage of sunny water; scattered through it, the white farms; aboveit, a vast dome of sky, with summer clouds in glistening ranks climbingthe steep of blue; and at the horizon's edge, a line of snow-peaks. Hersoul leapt within her. It was as though she felt the freshness of theprairie wind upon her cheek, while the call of that distantland--Anderson's country--its simpler life, its undetermined fates, beatthrough her heart. And as she answered to it, there was no sense of renunciation. She wasdenying no old affection, deserting no ancient loyalty. Old and new; sheseemed to be the child of both--gathering them both to her breast. Yet, practically, what was going to happen to her, she did not know. Shedid not say to herself, "It is all clear, and I am going to marry GeorgeAnderson!" But what she knew at last was that there was no dullhindrance in herself, no cowardice in her own will; she was ready, whenlife and Anderson should call her. At the foot of the stairs Mariette's gaunt and spectacled face broke inupon her trance. He had just arrived as she was departing. "You are off--so early?" he asked her, reproachfully. "I want to see Philip before he settles for the night. " "Anderson, too, meant to look in upon your brother. " "Yes?" said Elizabeth vaguely, conscious of her own reddening, and ofMariette's glance. "You have heard his news?" He drew her a little apart into the shelterof a stand of flowers. "We both go next week. You--Lady Merton--havebeen our good angel--our providence. Has he been saying that to you? Allthe same--_ma collégue_--I am disappointed in you!" Elizabeth's eye wavered under his. "We agreed, did we not--at Glacier--on what was to be done next to ourfriend? Oh! don't dispute! I laid it down--and you accepted it. As forme, I have done nothing but pursue that object ever since--in my ownway. And you, Madam?" As he stood over her, a lean Don Quixotish figure, his long arms akimbo, Elizabeth's fluttering laugh broke out. "Inquisitor! Good night!" "Good night--but--just a word! Anderson has done well here. Your publicmen say agreeable things of him. He will play your English game--yourEnglish Imperialist game--which I can't play. But only, if he ishappy--if the fire in him is fed. Consider! Is it not a patriotic dutyto feed it?" And grasping her hand, he looked at her with a gentle mockery thatpassed immediately into that sudden seriousness--that unconscious air ofcommand--of which the man of interior life holds the secret. In hisjests even, he is still, by natural gift, the confessor, the director, since he sees everything as the mystic sees it, _sub specieæternitatis_. Elizabeth's soft colour came and went. But she made no reply--except itwere through an imperceptible pressure of the hand holding her own. At that moment the ex-Viceroy, resplendent in his ribbon of the Garter, who was passing through the hall, perceived her, pounced upon her, andinsisted on seeing her to her carriage. Mariette, as he mounted thestaircase, watched the two figures disappear--smiling to himself. But on the way home the cloud of sisterly grief descended onElizabeth. How could she think of herself--when Philip wasill--suffering--threatened? And how would he bear the news ofAnderson's hastened departure? As soon as she reached home, she was told by the sleepy butler that Mrs. Gaddesden was in the drawing-room, and that Mr. Anderson was stillupstairs with Philip. As she entered the drawing-room, her mother came running towards herwith a stifled cry: "Oh, Lisa, Lisa!" In terror, Elizabeth caught her mother in her arms. "Mother--is he worse?" "No! At least Barnett declares to me there is no real change. But he hasmade up his mind, to-day, that he will never get better. He told me sothis evening, just after you had gone; and Barnett could not satisfyhim. He has sent for Mr. Robson. " Robson was the family lawyer. The two women looked at one another in a pale despair. They had reachedthe moment when, in dealing with a sick man, the fictions of love dropaway, and the inexorable appears. "And now he'll break his heart over Mr. Anderson's going!" murmured themother, in an anguish. "I didn't want him to see Philip to-night--butPhilip heard his ring--and sent down for him. " They sat looking at each other, hand in hand--waiting--and listening. Mrs. Gaddesden murmured a broken report of the few words of conversationwhich rose now, like a blank wall, between all the past, and thispresent; and Elizabeth listened, the diamonds in her hair and the foldsof her satin dress glistening among the shadows of the half-lit room, the slow tears on her cheeks. At last a step descended. Anderson entered the room. "He wants you, " he said, to Elizabeth, as the two women rose. "I amafraid you must go to him. " The electric light immediately above him showed his frowning, shakenlook. "He is so distressed by your going?" asked Elizabeth, trembling. Anderson did not answer, except to repeat insistently-- "You must go to him. I don't myself think he is any worse--but--" Elizabeth hurried away. Anderson sat down beside Mrs. Gaddesden, andbegan to talk to her. When his sister entered his room, Philip was sitting up in an arm-chairnear the fire; looking so hectic, so death-doomed, so young, that hissister ran to him in an agony--"Darling Philip--my precious Philip--whydid you want me? Why aren't you asleep?" She bent over him and kissed his forehead, and then taking his hand shelaid it against her cheek, caressing it tenderly. "I'm not asleep--because I've had to think of a great many things, " saidthe boy in a firm tone. "Sit down, please, Elizabeth. For a few dayspast, I've been pretty certain about myself--and to-night I screwed itout of Barnett. I haven't said anything to you and mother, but--well, the long and short of it is, Lisa, I'm not going to recover--that's allnonsense--my heart's too dicky--I'm going to die. " She protested with tears, but he impatiently asked her to be calm. "I'vegot to say something--something important--and don't you make it harder, Elizabeth! I'm not going to get well, I tell you--and though I'm not ofage--legally--yet I do represent father--I am the head of thefamily--and I have a right to think for you and mother. Haven't I?" The contrast between the authoritative voice, the echo of things in him, ancestral and instinctive, and the poor lad's tremulous fragility, wasmoving indeed. But he would not let her caress him. "Well, these last weeks, I've been thinking a great deal, I can tellyou, and I wasn't going to say anything to you and mother till I'd gotit straight. But now, all of a sudden, Anderson comes and says thathe's going back. Look here, Elizabeth--I've just been speaking toAnderson. You know that he's in love with you--of course you do!" With a great effort, Elizabeth controlled herself. She lifted her faceto her brother's as she sat on a low chair beside him. "Yes, dearPhilip, I know. " "And did you know too that he had promised me not to ask you to marryhim?" Elizabeth started. "No--not exactly. But perhaps--I guessed. " "He did then!" said Philip, wearily. "Of course I told him what Ithought of his wanting to marry you, in the Rockies; and he behavedawfully decently. He'd never have said a word, I think, without myleave. Well--now I've changed my mind!" Elizabeth could not help smiling through her tears. With what merryscorn would she have met this assertion of the _patria potestas_ fromthe mouth of a sound brother! Her poor Philip! "Dear old boy!--what have you been saying to Mr. Anderson?" "Well!"--the boy choked a little--"I've been telling him that--well, never mind!--he knows what I think about him. Perhaps if I'd known himyears ago--I'd have been different. That don't matter. But I want tosettle things up for you and him. Because you know, Elizabeth, you'repretty gone on him, too!" Elizabeth hid her face against his knee--without speaking. The boyresumed: "And so I've been telling him that now I thought differently--I hoped hewould ask you to marry him--and I knew that you cared for him--butthat he mustn't dream of taking you to Canada. That was allnonsense--couldn't be thought of! He must settle here. You've lots ofmoney--and--well, when I'm gone--you'll have more. Of course Martindalewill go away from us, and I know he will look after mother as wellas you. " There was silence--till Elizabeth murmured--"And what did he say?" The lad drew himself away from her with an angry movement. "He refused!" Elizabeth lifted herself, a gleam of something splendid and passionatelighting up her small face. "And what else, dear Philip, did you expect?" "I expected him to look at it reasonably!" cried the boy. "How can heask a woman like you to go and live with him on the prairies? It'sridiculous! He can go into English politics, if he wants politics. Whyshouldn't he live on your money? Everybody does it!" "Did you really understand what you were asking him to do, Philip?" "Of course I did! Why, what's Canada compared to England? Jolly goodthing for him. Why he might be anything here! And as if I wouldn'trather be a dustman in England than a--" "Philip, my dear boy! do rest--do go to bed, " cried his motherimploringly, coming into the room with her soft hurrying step. "It'sgoing on for one o'clock. Elizabeth mustn't keep you talking like this!" She smiled at him with uplifted finger, trying to hide from him alltraces of emotion. But her son looked at her steadily. "Mother, is Anderson gone?" "No, " said Mrs. Gaddesden, with hesitation. "But he doesn't want you totalk any more to-night--he begs you not. Please--Philip!" "Ask him to come here!" said Philip, peremptorily. "I want to talk tohim and Elizabeth. " Mrs. Gaddesden protested in vain. The mother and daughter looked at eachother with flushed faces, holding a kind of mute dialogue. ThenElizabeth rose from her seat by the fire. "I will call Mr. Anderson, Philip. But if we convince you that what youask is quite impossible, will you promise to go quietly to bed and tryto sleep? It breaks mother's heart, you know, to see you strainingyourself like this. " Philip nodded--a crimson spot in each cheek, his frail hands twining anduntwining as he tried to compose himself. Elizabeth went half-way down the stairs and called. Anderson hurried outof the drawing-room, and saw her bending to him from the shadows, verywhite and calm. "Will you come back to Philip a moment?" she said, gently. "Philip hastold me what he proposed to you. " Anderson could not find a word to say. In a blind tumult of feeling hecaught her hand, and pressed his lips to it, as though appealing to herdumbly to understand him. She smiled at him. "It will be all right, " she whispered. "My poor Philip!" and she led himback to the sick room. "George--I wanted you to come back, to talk this thing out, " saidPhilip, turning to him as he entered, with the tyranny of weakness. "There's no time to waste. You know--everybody knows--I may getworse--and there'll be nothing settled. It's my duty to settle--" Elizabeth interrupted him. "Philip darling!--" She was hanging over his chair, while Anderson stood a few feet away, leaning against the mantelpiece, his face turned from the brother andsister. The intimacy--solemnity almost--of the sick-room, the midnighthour, seemed to strike through Elizabeth's being, deepening and yetliberating emotion. "Dear Philip! It is not for Mr. Anderson to answer you--it is for me. Ifhe could give up his country--for happiness--even for love--I shouldnever marry him--for--I should not love him any more. " Anderson turned to look at her. She had moved, and was now standing infront of Philip, her head thrown back a little, her hands lightlyclasped in front of her. Her youth, her dress, her diamonds, combinedstrangely with the touch of high passion in her shining eyes, herresolute voice. "You see, dear Philip, I love George Anderson--" Anderson gave a low cry--and, moving to her side, he grasped her hand. She gave it to him, smiling--and went on: "I love him--partly--because he is so true to his own people--because Isaw him first--and knew him first--among them. No! dear Philip, he hashis work to do in Canada--in that great, great nation that is to be. Hehas been trained for it--no one else can do it but he--and neither younor I must tempt him from it. " The eyes of the brother and sister met. Elizabeth tried for a lightertone. "But as neither of us _could_ tempt him from it--it is no usetalking--is it?" Philip looked from her to Anderson in a frowning silence. No one spokefor a little while. Then it seemed to them as though the young manrecognised that his effort had failed, and his physical weakness shrankfrom renewing it. But he still resisted his mother's attempt to put anend to the scene. "That's all very well, Lisa, " he said at last, "but what are you goingto do?" Elizabeth withdrew her hand from Anderson's. "What am I going to do? _Wait_--just that!" But her lip trembled. And to hide it she sank down again in the lowchair in front of her brother, propping her face in both hands. "Wait?" repeated Philip, scornfully--"and what for?" "Till you and mother--come to my way of thinking--and"--shefaltered--"till Mr. Anderson--" Her voice failed her a moment. Anderson stood motionless, bendingtowards her, hanging upon her every gesture and tone. "Till Mr. Anderson--" she resumed, "is--well!--is brave enoughto--trust a woman! and--oh! good Heavens!"--she dashed the tears fromher eyes, half laughing, as her self-control broke down--"clever enoughto save her from proposing to him in this abominable way!" She sprang to her feet impatiently. Anderson would have caught her inhis arms; but with a flashing look, she put him aside. A wail broke fromMrs. Gaddesden: "Lisa--you won't leave us!" "Never, darling--unless you send me!--or come with me! And now, don'tyou think, Philip dearest, you might let us all go to bed? You arereally not worse, you know; and Mother and I are going to carry you offsouth--very, very soon. " She bent to him and kissed his brow. Philip's face gradually changedbeneath her look, from the tension and gloom with which he had begun thescene to a kind of boyish relief--a touch of pleasure--of mischief even. His high, majestical pretensions vanished away; a light and volatilemind thought no more of them; and he turned eagerly to another idea. "Elizabeth, do you know that you have proposed to Anderson?" "If I have, it was your fault. " "He hasn't said Yes?" Elizabeth was silent. Anderson came forward--but Philip stopped himwith a gesture. "He can't say Yes--till I give him back his promise, " said the boy, triumphantly. "Well, George, I do give it you back--on onecondition--that you put off going for a week, and that you come back assoon as you can. By Jove, I think you owe me that!" Anderson's difficult smile answered him. "And now you've got rid of your beastly Conference, you can come in, andtalk business with me to-morrow--next day--every day!" Philip resumed, "can't he, Elizabeth? If you're going to be my brother, I'll jolly wellget you to tackle the lawyers instead of me--boring old idiots! Isay--I'm going to take it easy now!" He settled himself in his chair with a long breath, and his eyelidsfell. He was speaking, as they all knew, of the making of his will. Mrs. Gaddesden stooped piteously and kissed him. Elizabeth's face quivered. She put her arm round her mother and led her away. Anderson went tosummon Philip's servant. A little later Anderson again descended the dark staircase, leavingPhilip in high spirits and apparently much better. In the doorway of the drawing-room, stood a white form. Then the man'spassion, so long dyked and barriered, had its way. He sprang towardsher. She retreated, catching her breath; and in the shadows of the emptyroom she sank into his arms. In the crucible of that embrace all thingsmelted and changed. His hesitations and doubts, all that hampered hisfree will and purpose, whether it were the sorrows and humiliations ofthe past--or the compunctions and demurs of the present--dropped awayfrom him, as unworthy not of himself, but of Elizabeth. She had made himmaster of herself, and her fate; and he boldly and loyally took up thepart. He had refused to become the mere appanage of her life, because hewas already pledged to that great idea he called his country. She lovedhim the more for it; and now he had only to abound in the same sense, inorder to hold and keep the nature which had answered so finely to hisown. He had so borne himself as to wipe out all the social and externalinequalities between them. What she had given him, she had had to suehim to take. But now that he had taken it, she knew herself a weak womanon his breast, and she realised with a happy tremor that he would makeher no more apologies for his love, or for his story. Rather, he stoodupon that dignity she herself had given him--her lover, and the captainof her life! EPILOGUE About nine months later than the events told in the last chapter, theAugust sun, as it descended upon a lake in that middle region of thenorthern Rockies which is known as yet only to the Indian trapper, and--on certain tracks--to a handful of white explorers, shone on a boatcontaining two persons--Anderson and Elizabeth. It was but twenty-fourhours since they had reached the lake, in the course of a long campingexpedition involving the company of two guides, a couple of half-breed_voyageurs_, and a string of sixteen horses. No white foot had everbefore trodden the slender beaches of the lake; its beauty of forest andwater, of peak and crag, of sun and shadow, the terror of its storms, the loveliness of its summer--only some stray Indian hunter, once ortwice in a century perhaps, throughout all the æons of human history, had ever beheld them. But now, here were Anderson and Elizabeth!--first invaders of aninviolate nature, pioneers of a long future line of travellers andworshippers. They had spent the day of summer sunshine in canoeing on the broadwaters, exploring the green bays, and venturing a long way up abeautiful winding arm which seemed to lose itself in the bosom of superbforest-skirted mountains, whence glaciers descended, and cataracts leaptsheer into the glistening water. Now they were floating slowly towardsthe little promontory where their two guides had raised a couple ofwhite tents, and the smoke of a fire was rising into the evening air. Sunset was on the jagged and snow-clad heights that shut in the lake tothe eastward. The rose of the sky had been caught by the water andinterwoven with its own lustrous browns and cool blues; whilefathom-deep beneath the shining web of colour gleamed the reflectedsnows and the forest slopes sliding downwards to infinity. A fewbird-notes were in the air--the scream of an eagle, the note of awhip-poor-will, and far away across the lake a dense flight of wild duckrose above a reedy river-mouth, black against a pale band of sky. They were close now to the shore, and to a spot where lightning andstorm had ravaged the pines and left a few open spaces for the sun towork. Elizabeth, in delight, pointed to the beds of wild strawberriescrimsoning the slopes, intermingled with stretches of bilberry, andstreaks of blue and purple asters. But a wilder life was there. Faraway the antlers of a swimming moose could be seen above the quiet lake. Anderson, sweeping the side with his field glass, pointed to the rippedtree-trunks, which showed where the brown bear or the grizzly had been, and to the tracks of lynx or fox on the firm yellow sand. And as theyrounded the point of a little cove they came upon a group of deer thathad come down to drink. The gentle creatures were not alarmed at their approach; they raisedtheir heads in the red light, seeing man perhaps for the first time, butthey did not fly. Anderson stayed the boat--and he and Elizabeth watchedthem with enchantment--their slender bodies and proud necks, the brightsand at their feet, the brown water in front, the forest behind. Elizabeth drew a long breath of joy--looking back again at the dyingglory of the lake, and the great thunder-clouds piled above the forest. "Where are we exactly?" she said. "Give me our bearings. " "We are about seventy miles north of the main line of the C. P. R. , andabout forty or fifty miles from the projected line of the Grand TrunkPacific, " said Anderson. "Make haste, dearest, and name your lake!--forwhere we come, others will follow. " So Elizabeth named it--Lake George--after her husband; seeing that itwas his topographical divination, his tracking of the lake through theingenious unravelling of a score of Indian clues which had led them atlast to that Pisgah height whence the silver splendour of it had firstbeen seen. But the name was so hotly repudiated by Anderson on theground of there being already a famous and an historical Lake George onthe American continent, that the probability is, when that noble sheetof water comes to be generally visited of mankind, it will be knownrather as Lake Elizabeth; and so those early ambitions of Elizabethwhich she had expressed to Philip in the first days of her Canadianjourneying, will be fulfilled. [Illustration: "LAKE ELIZABETH"] Alas!--poor Philip! Elizabeth's black serge dress, and the black ribbonon her white sun-hat were the outward tokens of a grief, cherished deepin her protesting, pitiful heart. Her brother had lived for some fourmonths after her engagement to Anderson; always, in spite of encouragingdoctors, under the same sharp premonition of death which had dictatedhis sudden change of attitude towards his Canadian friend. In theJanuary of the new year, Anderson had joined them at Bordighera, andthere, after many alternating hopes and fears, a sudden attack ofpneumonia had slit the thin-spun life. A few weeks later, at Mrs. Gaddesden's urgent desire, and while she was in the care of a youngersister to whom she was tenderly attached, there had been a quiet weddingat Genoa, and a very pale and sad Elizabeth had been carried by herAnderson to some of the beloved Italian towns, where for so long she hadreaped a yearly harvest of delight. In Rome, Florence, and Venice shemust needs rouse herself, if only to show the keen novice eyes, besideher what to look at, and to grapple with the unexpected remarks whichthe spectacle evoked from Anderson. He looked in respectful silence atBellini and Tintoret; but the industrial growth of the north, thestrikes of _braccianti_ on the central plains, and the poverty of Sicilyand the south--in these problems he was soon deeply plunged, teachinghimself Italian in order to understand them. Then they had returned to Mrs. Gaddesden, and to the surrender ofMartindale to its new master. For the estate went to a cousin, and whenthe beauty and the burden of it were finally gone, Philip's gentleineffectual mother departed with relief to the moss-grown dower-housebeside Bassenthwaite lake, there to sorrow for her only son, and to findin the expansion of Elizabeth's life, in Elizabeth's letters, and theprospects of Elizabeth's visits, the chief means left of courage andresignation. Philip's love for Anderson, his actual death in thosestrong arms, had strengthened immeasurably the latter's claim upon her;and in March she parted with him and Elizabeth, promising them boldlythat she would come to them in the fall, and spend a Canadian winterwith them. Then Anderson and Elizabeth journeyed West in hot haste to face ageneral election. Anderson was returned, and during three or four monthsat Ottawa, Elizabeth was introduced to Canadian politics, and to theswing and beat of those young interests and developing national hopeswhich, even after London, and for the Londoner, lend romance andsignificance to the simpler life of Canada's nascent capital. Butthrough it all both she and Anderson pined for the West, and whenParliament rose in early July, they fled first to their risingfarm-buildings on one of the tributaries of the Saskatchewan, and then, till the homestead was ready, and the fall ploughing in sight, they hadgone to the Rockies, in order that they might gratify a passionate wishof Elizabeth's--to get for once beyond beaten tracks, and surprise theunknown. She pleaded for it as their real honeymoon. It might never bepossible again; for the toils of life would soon have snared them. And so, after a month's wandering beyond all reach of civilisation, they were here in the wild heart of Manitou's wild land, and the red andwhite of Elizabeth's cheek, the fire in her eyes showed how the god'sspell had worked.... * * * * * The evening came. Their frugal meal, prepared by one of the Indianhalf-breeds, and eaten in a merry community among beds of orchids andvetch, was soon done; and the husband and wife pushed off again in theboat--for the densely wooded shores of the lake were impassable onfoot--to watch the moon rise on this mysterious land. And as they floated there, often hand in hand, talking a little, butdreaming more--Anderson's secret thoughts reviewed the past year, andthe incredible fortune which had given him Elizabeth. Deep in his nature was still the old pessimism, the old sadness. Couldhe make her happy? In the close contact of marriage he realised all thathad gone to the making of her subtle and delicate being--the influencesof a culture and tradition of which he was mostly ignorant, though herlove was opening many gates to him. He felt himself in many respects herinferior--and there were dark moments when it seemed to him inevitablethat she must tire of him. But whenever they overshadowed him, thenatural reaction of a vigorous manhood was not far off. Patriotism andpassion--a profound and simple pride--stood up and wrestled with hisdoubt. She was not less, but more, than he had imagined her. What was intruth his safeguard and hers, was the fact that, at the very root ofher, Elizabeth was a poet! She had seen Canada and Anderson from thebeginning in the light of imagination; and that light was not going tofail her now. For it sprang from the truth and glow of her own nature;by the help of it she _made_ her world; and Canada and Anderson movedunder it, nobly seen and nobly felt. This he half shrinkingly understood, and he repaid her with adoration, and a wisely yielding mind. For her sake he was ready to do a hundredthings he had never yet thought of, reading, inquiring, observing, inwider circles and over an ampler range. For as the New World, throughAnderson, worked on Elizabeth--so Europe, through Elizabeth, worked onAnderson. And thus, from life to life, goes on the greatinterpenetrating, intermingling flux of things! It seemed as though the golden light could not die from the lake, thoughmidsummer was long past. And presently up into its midst floated themoon, and as they watched the changing of the light upon the northernsnow-peaks, they talked of the vast undiscovered regions beyond, of thevalleys and lakes that no survey has ever mapped, and the rivers thatfrom the beginning of time have spread their pageant of beauty for theheavens alone; then, of that sudden stir and uproar of humanlife--prospectors, navvies, lumbermen--that is now beginning to be heardalong that narrow strip where the new line of the Grand Trunk Pacific issoon to pierce the wilderness--yet another link in the girdling of theworld. And further yet, their fancy followed, ever northward--solitudebeyond solitude, desert beyond desert--till, in the Yukon, it lit upongold-seeking man, dominating, at last, a terrible and hostile earth, which had starved and tortured and slain him in his thousands, before hecould tame her to his will. And last--by happy reaction--it was the prairies again--their fruitfulinfinity--and the emigrant rush from East and South. "When we are old"--said Elizabeth softly, slipping her hand intoAnderson's--"will all this courage die out of us? Now--nothing of allthis vastness, this mystery frightens me. I feel a kind of insolent, superhuman strength!--as if I--even I--could guide a plough, reap corn, shoot rapids, 'catch a wild goat by the hair--and hurl my lances atthe sun!'" "With this hand?" said Anderson, looking at it with a face ofamusement. But Elizabeth took no heed--except to slip the other handafter it--both into the same shelter. She pursued her thought, murmuring the words, the white lids fallingover her eyes: "But when one is feeble and dying, will it all grow awful to me?Suddenly--shall I long to creep into some old, old corner of England orItaly--and feel round me close walls, and dim small rooms, and dear, stuffy, familiar streets that thousands and thousands of feet have wornbefore mine?" Anderson smiled at her. He had guided their boat into a green cove wherethere was a little strip of open ground between the water and theforest. They made fast the boat, and Anderson found a mossy seat under atall pine from which the lightning of a recent storm had stripped agreat limb, leaving a crimson gash in the trunk. And there Elizabethnestled to him, and he with his arm about her, and the intoxication ofher slender beauty mastering his senses, tried to answer her as a plainman may. The commonplaces of passion--its foolish promises--its blindconfidence--its trembling joy--there is no other path for love to travelby, and Elizabeth and Anderson trod it like their fellows. Six months later on a clear winter evening Elizabeth was standing inthe sitting-room of a Saskatchewan farmhouse. She looked out upon adazzling world of snow, lying thinly under a pale greenish sky in whichthe sunset clouds were just beginning to gather. The land before hersloped to a broad frozen river up which a wagon and a team of horses wasplodding its way--the steam rising in clouds round the bodies of thehorses and men. On a track leading to the river a sledge wasrunning--the bells jingling in the still, light air. To her left werethe great barns of the homestead, and beyond, the long low cowshed, witha group of Shorthorns and Herefords standing beside the open door. Hereyes delighted in the whiteness of the snow, or the touches of orangeand scarlet in the clumps of bush, in a note of crimson here and there, among the withered reeds pushing through the snow, or in the thinbackground of a few taller trees--the "shelter-belt" of the farm--risingbrown and sharp against the blue. Within the farmhouse sitting-room flamed a great wood fire, which shedits glow on the white walls, on the prints and photographs and bookswhich were still Elizabeth's companions in the heart of the prairies, asthey had been at Martindale. The room was simplicity itself, yet fullof charm, with its blue druggetting, its pale green chairs andhangings. At its further end, a curtain half drawn aside showed anotherroom, a dining-room, also firelit--with a long table spread for tea, abare floor of polished woodblocks, and a few prints on the walls. The wagon she had seen on the river approached the homestead. The manwho was driving it--a strong-limbed, fair-haired fellow--lifted his capwhen he saw Elizabeth at the window. She nodded and smiled at him. Hewas Edward Tyson, one of the two engine-drivers who had taken her andPhilip through the Kicking Horse Pass. His friend also could be seenstanding among the cattle gathered in the farmyard. They had becomeAnderson's foremen and partners on his farm of twelve hundred acres, ofwhich only some three hundred acres had been as yet brought underplough. The rest was still virgin prairie, pasturing a large mixed herdof cattle and horses. The two North-Countrymen had been managing it allin Anderson's Parliamentary absences, and were quite as determined as heto make it a centre of science and progress for a still remote andsparely peopled district. One of the kinsmen was married, and lived in asmall frame house, a stone's throw from the main buildings of the farm. The other was the head of the "bothy" or boarding-house for hired men, a long low building, with cheerful white-curtained windows, which couldbe seen just beyond the cow-house. As she looked over the broad whiteness of the farmlands, above which thesunset clouds were now tossing in climbing lines of crimson and gold, rising steeply to a zenith of splendour, and opening here and there, amid their tumult, to show a further heaven of untroubledblue--Elizabeth thought with lamentation that their days on the farmwere almost done. The following week could see them at Ottawa for theopening of the session. Anderson was full of Parliamentary projects;important work for the Province had been entrusted to him; and in thegeneral labour policy of the Dominion he would find himself driven totake a prominent part. But all the while his heart and Elizabeth's werein the land and its problems; for them the true, the entrancing Canadawas in the wilds. And for Anderson, who through so many years, as anexplorer and engineer, had met Nature face to face, his will againsthers, in a direct and simple conflict, the tedious and tortuous methodsof modern politics were not easy to learn. He must indeed learn them--hewas learning them; and the future had probably great things in store forhim, as a politician. But he came back to the Saskatchewan farm withjoy, and he would leave it reluctantly. "If only I wasn't so rich!" thought Elizabeth, with compunction. For sheoften looked with envy on her neighbours who had gone through the realhardships of the country; who had bought their Canadian citizenship withthe toil and frugality of years. It seemed to her sometimes that she wasstep-child rather than daughter of the dear new land, in spite of heryearning towards it. And yet money had brought its own romance. It had enabled Anderson toembark on this ample farm of nearly two square miles, to staff it withthe best labour to be got, on a basis of copartnership, to bring herdsof magnificent cattle into these park-like prairies, to set uphorse-breeding, and to establish on the borders of the farm a largecreamery which was already proving an attraction for settlers. It wasgoing to put into Elizabeth's hands the power of helping the youngUniversity of Strathcona just across the Albertan border, and perhaps offounding in their own provincial capital of Regina a training collegefor farm-students--girls and boys--which might reproduce for the Westthe college of St. Anne's, that wonderful home of all the useful arts, which an ever-generous wealth has given to the Province of Quebec. Already she had in her mind a cottage hospital--sorely wanted--for thelittle town of Donaldminster, wherein the weaklings of this greatemigrant army now pouring into the country might find help. Her heart, indeed, was full of schemes for help. Here she was, a womanof high education, and much wealth, in the midst of this nascentcommunity. Her thoughts pondered the life of these scattered farms--ofthe hard-working women in them--the lively rosy-cheeked children. It washer ambition so to live among them that they might love her--trusther--use her. Meanwhile their own home was a "temple of industrious peace. " Elizabethwas a prairie housewife like her neighbours. She had indeed brought outwith her from Cumberland one of the Martindale gardeners and his youngwife and sister; and the two North-Country women shared with the farmmistress the work of the house, till such time as Anderson should helpthe husband to a quarter-section of his own, and take someone else totrain in his place. But the atmosphere of the house was one of friendlyequality. Elizabeth--who had herself gone into training for a few weeksat St. Anne's--prided herself on her dairy, her bread, her poultry. Onemight have seen her, on this winter afternoon, in her black serge dresswith white cap and apron, slipping into the kitchen behind thedining-room, testing the scones in the oven, looking to the preparationsfor dinner, putting away stores, and chatting to the two clear-eyedwomen who loved her, and would not for the world have let her try herstrength too much! For she who was so eagerly planning the help ofothers must now be guarded and cherished herself--lest ill befall! But now she was at the window watching for Anderson. The trail from Donaldminster to Battleford passed in front of the house, dividing the farm. Presently there came slowly along it a covered wagondrawn by a pair of sorry horses and piled at the back with householdpossessions. In front sat a man of slouching carriage, and in theinterior of the wagon another figure could be dimly seen. The wholeturn-out gave an impression of poverty and misfortune; and Elizabethlooked at it curiously. Suddenly, the wagon drew up with a jerk at the gate of the farm, and theman descended, with difficulty, his limbs being evidently numbwith cold. Elizabeth caught up a fur cloak and ran to the door. "Could you give us a bit of shelter for the night?" said the mansheepishly. "We'd thought of getting on to Battleford, but the littleun's bad--and the missus perished with cold. We'd give you no trouble ifwe might warm ourselves a bit. " And he looked under his eyebrows at Elizabeth, at the bright fire behindher, and all the comfort of the new farmhouse. Yet under his shufflingmanner there was a certain note of confidence. He was appealing to thatHomeric hospitality which prevails throughout the farms of theNorthwest. And in five minutes, the horses were in the barn, the man sitting by thekitchen fire, while Elizabeth was ministering to the woman and child. The new-comers made a forlorn trio. They came from a district some fiftymiles further south, and were travelling north in order to take shelterfor a time with relations. The mother was a girl of twenty, worn withhardship and privation. The father, an English labourer, had taken upfree land, but in spite of much help from a paternal Government, had notbeen able to fulfil his statutory obligation, and had now forfeited hisfarm. There was a history of typhoid fever, and as Elizabeth soonsuspected, an incipient history of drink. In the first two years of hisCanadian life the man worked for a farmer during the summer, and loafedin Winnipeg during the winter. There demoralisation had begun, and asElizabeth listened, the shadow of the Old World seemed to be creepingacross the radiant Canadian landscape. The same woes?--the sameweaknesses?--the same problems of an unsound urban life? Her heart sank for a moment--only to provoke an instant reaction ofcheerfulness. No!--in Canada the human will has still room to work, andis not yet choked by a jungle growth of interests. She waited for Anderson to come in, and meanwhile she warmed andcomforted the mother. The poor girl looked round her in amazement at thepretty spacious room, as she spread her hands, knotted and coarsened bywork, to the blaze. Elizabeth held her sickly babe, rocking it andcrooning to it, while upstairs one of kind-eyed Cumberland women wasgetting a warm bath ready, and lighting a fire in the guest-room. "How old is it?" she asked. "Thirteen months. " "You ought to give up nursing it. It would be better for you both. " "I tried giving it a bit o' what we had ourselves, " said the mother, dully--"But I nearly lost her. " "I should think so!" laughed Elizabeth indignantly; and she began topreach rational ways of feeding and caring for the child, while themother sat by, despondent, and too crushed and hopeless to take muchnotice. Presently Elizabeth gave her back the babe, and went to fetchhot tea and bread and butter. "Shall I come and get it in the kitchen?" said the woman, rising. "No, no--stay where you are!" cried Elizabeth. And she was just carryingback a laden tray from the dining-room when Anderson caught her. "Darling!--that's too heavy for you!--what are you about?" "There's a woman in there who's got to be fed--and there's a man inthere"--she pointed to the kitchen--"who's got to be talked to. Hopelesscase!--so you'd better go and see about it!" She laughed happily in his face, and he snatched a kiss from her as hecarried off the tray. The woman by the fire rose again in amazement as she saw thebroad-shouldered handsome man who was bringing in the tea. Anderson hadbeen tramping through the thin-lying snow all day, inquiring into thewater-supply of a distant portion of the farm. He was ruddy withexercise, and the physical strength that seemed to radiate from himintimidated the wanderer. "Where are you bound to?" he said kindly, as he put down the tea besideher. The woman, falteringly, told her story. Anderson frowned a little. "Well, I'd better go and talk to your husband. Mrs. Anderson will lookafter you. " And Elizabeth held the baby, while the woman fed languidly--too tiredand spiritless indeed to eat. When she could be coaxed no further, Elizabeth took her and the babeupstairs. "I never saw anything like this in these parts!" cried the girl, lookinground her at the white-tiled bathroom. "Oh, they're getting quite common!" laughed Elizabeth. "See how nice andwarm the water is! Shall we bathe the baby?" And presently the child laywarm and swaddled in its mother's arms, dressed in some baby-clothesproduced by Elizabeth from a kind of travellers' cupboard at the top ofthe stairs. Then the mother was induced to try a bath for herself, whileElizabeth tried her hand at spoon-feeding the baby; and in half an hourshe had them both in bed, in the bright spare-room--the young mother'sreddish hair unbound lying a splendid mass on the white pillows, and astrange expression--as of some long tension giving way--on herpinched face. "We'll not know how to thank you"--she said brokenly. "We were just atthe last. Tom wouldn't ask no one to help us before. But we'd only afew shillings left--we thought at Battleford, we'd sell our bits ofthings--perhaps that'd take us through. " She looked piteously atElizabeth, the tears gathering in her eyes. "Oh! well, we'll see about that!" said Elizabeth, as she tucked theblankets round her. "Nobody need starve in this country! Mr. Anderson'llbe able perhaps to think of something. Now you go to sleep, and we'lllook after your husband. " Anderson joined his wife in the sitting-room, with a perplexedcountenance. The man was a poor creature--and the beginnings of thedrink-craving were evident. "Give him a chance, " said Elizabeth. "You want one more man in thebothy. " She sat down beside him, while Anderson pondered, his legs stretched tothe fire. A train of thought ran through his mind, embittered by thememory of his father. He was roused from it by the perception that Elizabeth was lookingtired. Instantly he was all tenderness, and anxious misgiving. He madeher lie down on the sofa by the fire, and brought her some importantletters from Ottawa to read, and the English newspapers. From the elementary human need with which their minds had just beenbusy, their talk passed on to National and Imperial affairs. Theydiscussed them as equals and comrades, each bringing their owncontribution. "In a fortnight we shall be in Ottawa!" sighed Elizabeth, at last. Anderson smiled at her plaintive voice. "Darling!--is it such a tragedy?" "No, I shall be as keen as anybody else when we get there. But--we areso happy here!" "Is that really, really true?" asked Anderson, taking her hand andpressing it to his lips. "Yes"--she murmured--"yes--but it will be truer still next year!" They looked at each other tenderly. Anderson stooped and kissed her, long and closely. He was called away to give some directions to his men, and Elizabeth laydreaming in the firelight of the past and the future, her hands claspedon her breast, her eyes filling with soft tears. Upstairs, in the roomabove her, the emigrant mother and baby lay sleeping in the warmth andshelter gathered round them by Elizabeth. But in tending them, she hadbeen also feeding her own yearning, quickening her own hope. She hadgiven herself to a man whom she adored, and she carried his child on herheart. Many and various strands would have gone to the weaving of thatlittle soul; she trembled sometimes to think of them. But no fear withher lasted long. It was soon lost in the deep poetic faith thatAnderson's child in her arms would be the heir of two worlds, the pledgeof a sympathy, a union, begun long before her marriage in the depths ofthe spirit, when her heart first went out to Canada--to the beauty ofthe Canadian land, and the freedom of the Canadian life. THE END